[it takes a bit, ten to fifteen minutes, he has to get some things packed and send lincoln towards astarion's to stay, has to send a few messages, but eventually the door opens.
and koby isn't in tears, isn't sniffing or red-faced or making any sound. he shuffles into the room and he keeps his head down and just looks sort of -- stunned. like after werewolf, but worse. like he's turned off the well of emotion that means koby, and what's left behind isn't much of anything. he stands for a minute, before slowly setting down his bag and crossing to sit on the couch, gingerly, stiffly.
[ He’d get up to meet him at the door, usually, but Harry is adamant about not moving around unless it’s necessary, and Tim himself is aching with the news, curled on his side with his foot propped up on some pillows, misty-eyed and deep in thought. No, he hadn’t loved him the same way that Koby loved him, but his friendship had been life changing in those early months. Would he be where he is right now, with Harry, making peace with the norms of Saltburnt if not for Quentin opening his mind, showing him that not every dalliance has to come with crippling guilt?
It was safe and easy with Quentin, always. The longer Tim stays here, the harder and more dangerous it all becomes, and his loss is an underline to that, in red, blotchy ink. ]
Not there. [ When Koby sits across the room, on the couch. ] Come here.
[ He opens his arms, inviting Koby into bed. Lay down and get cuddled. ]
[the careful neutrality on koby’s face wavers more and more with every second he's in tim's presence -- because they both know it's fake, an act, a desperate attempt at pretending he isn't falling apart from the inside out. he stands, crosses the room, and somewhere in that small distance, his faraway eyes go glassy and wet, welling up when he slowly sits on the edge of tim's bed.
koby opens his mouth to say -- something, anything, to verbalize the raw hurt written all over his face, but an extremely embarrassing, hitching sob comes out instead and he quickly clamps his mouth shut, ducks his head, sniffles once, a tiny, heartbroken sound. his shoulders are scrunched up around his ears, even as he scoots up to settle against tim, bravely attempting to keep from crying, because if he starts, he'll never stop.]
[ He doesn't have to ask how Koby's feeling, because it's in his nightmares, in all his worst case scenarios, it's the inevitable consequence of not finding the key to this place, of failing to understand it before it decides it's through with him. Harry will be gone, which means that Harry will be dead. Hawk will be gone, and so will any chance of him being his, he'll be married and safe and happy enough and Tim will be...
Tim will be alone and pressing his knuckles into his bruises, because it's all he'll have left.
He swallows, strained, going down like glass, and throws an arm around Koby's waist, tight. He pulls him into him, as warm and protective and shielding as he can. ]
I love you, Koby. [ His best friend and his first real one, that he could share every part of himself with, that he could tell anything. ] Stay as long as you want, okay?
[the shape of tim's thoughts registers as the gentle bump of concern, melancholy, protectiveness -- and normally koby would be honed in razor-sharp, feeling out where the worry comes from, gently ferreting out tim's feelings and talking them through until they're less insurmountable. sometimes it wears on him, being helpful, being useful, but with some people it's effortless, innate. tim is one of those people.
perhaps that's why when the arm settles around his waist, tugs koby's curled-up, miserable, trembling body close, nestles him into the safety of not having to think about the rest of the world, koby's immediate response is to burst into tears. real ones, not the bravely-suppressed, stifled, stoic ones he's had all over his face since he walked into tim's room.
these are deep and racking and helpless, welling up from some deep, devastated part of his soul, muffled against tim's shoulder, crying like a child, like it's all he knows how to do, completely undone, completely hollowed-out with grief.]
[ Tim holds him close, trying not to cry himself. It feels selfish, indulgent, to give in to his grief as he tries to shoulder the weight of Koby’s. He’s lost a close friend, someone he trusted in times where he was most vulnerable, but his friend’s specific sorrow is hard to imagine for himself. Getting close to it is almost like a pre-mourning, if he imagines Harry disappearing in the same way, so he tries so hard not to, but the possibility is shoved into his face today, that a piece of his heart could someday be buried a thousand miles and a century away.
Koby feels it now, real and inescapable, unlike his nightmares. How many long nights have they spent giggling and gossiping and sharing all their butterflies in gross detail? Dozens on dozens, and every one the same – with Koby hopelessly in love with seemingly the perfect match for him, and Tim so happy for him that he could cry. ]
Let it out. I’ve got you.
[ He doesn’t follow his own advice, but he stays as strong for Koby as his condition will let him, a steady wall for him to wail against as he soothes his fingers through his hair. ]
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2026-01-02 05:18 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2026-01-02 05:31 am (UTC)and koby isn't in tears, isn't sniffing or red-faced or making any sound. he shuffles into the room and he keeps his head down and just looks sort of -- stunned. like after werewolf, but worse. like he's turned off the well of emotion that means koby, and what's left behind isn't much of anything. he stands for a minute, before slowly setting down his bag and crossing to sit on the couch, gingerly, stiffly.
quietly:] Hi.
no subject
Date: 2026-01-02 06:46 pm (UTC)It was safe and easy with Quentin, always. The longer Tim stays here, the harder and more dangerous it all becomes, and his loss is an underline to that, in red, blotchy ink. ]
Not there. [ When Koby sits across the room, on the couch. ] Come here.
[ He opens his arms, inviting Koby into bed. Lay down and get cuddled. ]
no subject
Date: 2026-01-02 08:14 pm (UTC)koby opens his mouth to say -- something, anything, to verbalize the raw hurt written all over his face, but an extremely embarrassing, hitching sob comes out instead and he quickly clamps his mouth shut, ducks his head, sniffles once, a tiny, heartbroken sound. his shoulders are scrunched up around his ears, even as he scoots up to settle against tim, bravely attempting to keep from crying, because if he starts, he'll never stop.]
no subject
Date: 2026-01-03 01:04 am (UTC)Tim will be alone and pressing his knuckles into his bruises, because it's all he'll have left.
He swallows, strained, going down like glass, and throws an arm around Koby's waist, tight. He pulls him into him, as warm and protective and shielding as he can. ]
I love you, Koby. [ His best friend and his first real one, that he could share every part of himself with, that he could tell anything. ] Stay as long as you want, okay?
no subject
Date: 2026-01-03 03:02 am (UTC)perhaps that's why when the arm settles around his waist, tugs koby's curled-up, miserable, trembling body close, nestles him into the safety of not having to think about the rest of the world, koby's immediate response is to burst into tears. real ones, not the bravely-suppressed, stifled, stoic ones he's had all over his face since he walked into tim's room.
these are deep and racking and helpless, welling up from some deep, devastated part of his soul, muffled against tim's shoulder, crying like a child, like it's all he knows how to do, completely undone, completely hollowed-out with grief.]
no subject
Date: 2026-01-14 09:20 pm (UTC)[ Tim holds him close, trying not to cry himself. It feels selfish, indulgent, to give in to his grief as he tries to shoulder the weight of Koby’s. He’s lost a close friend, someone he trusted in times where he was most vulnerable, but his friend’s specific sorrow is hard to imagine for himself. Getting close to it is almost like a pre-mourning, if he imagines Harry disappearing in the same way, so he tries so hard not to, but the possibility is shoved into his face today, that a piece of his heart could someday be buried a thousand miles and a century away.
Koby feels it now, real and inescapable, unlike his nightmares. How many long nights have they spent giggling and gossiping and sharing all their butterflies in gross detail? Dozens on dozens, and every one the same – with Koby hopelessly in love with seemingly the perfect match for him, and Tim so happy for him that he could cry. ]
Let it out. I’ve got you.
[ He doesn’t follow his own advice, but he stays as strong for Koby as his condition will let him, a steady wall for him to wail against as he soothes his fingers through his hair. ]