[Koby pauses a moment, holds up his hands, like -- what, like Tim is some sort of easily-spooked forest creature? Maybe. Maybe. He looks awful; exhausted and shivery and red-eyed from weeks and weeks of crying. Not in the chapel yet, though -- maybe that'll make a good change of pace?
But then Tim sniffles, and Koby's chest aches, thinking of him in the hallway, asking to stay the first time, thinking of the weeks that had followed, when the hardest thing facing them was sorting out how to exist here, how to love someone without constantly stumbling over and over it. That's still an issue, but it's so muddied now, so many secrets, so many deaths, so much pain. Koby almost wishes for the nights with a bottle of wine and Tim ranting about Hawk's ineffability, his exasperating qualities, met with flat recountings of the more absurd things the Straw Hats had gotten up to in the village.
And now: this. Here. The chapel, clean and scrubbed, but still tainted. Koby sits on the pew, folds his hands in his lap, bitten-down nails and ragged cuticles.]
I think it sounds nice. Cleansing by fire. Like lockdown again. [Koby glances over, scoots a little closer to Tim, not too close just -- in case. Just.] You could make something your own, not the Balfours. Not this house's.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-10-23 03:25 am (UTC)But then Tim sniffles, and Koby's chest aches, thinking of him in the hallway, asking to stay the first time, thinking of the weeks that had followed, when the hardest thing facing them was sorting out how to exist here, how to love someone without constantly stumbling over and over it. That's still an issue, but it's so muddied now, so many secrets, so many deaths, so much pain. Koby almost wishes for the nights with a bottle of wine and Tim ranting about Hawk's ineffability, his exasperating qualities, met with flat recountings of the more absurd things the Straw Hats had gotten up to in the village.
And now: this. Here. The chapel, clean and scrubbed, but still tainted. Koby sits on the pew, folds his hands in his lap, bitten-down nails and ragged cuticles.]
I think it sounds nice. Cleansing by fire. Like lockdown again. [Koby glances over, scoots a little closer to Tim, not too close just -- in case. Just.] You could make something your own, not the Balfours. Not this house's.