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SHANKS

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( he expected to hear the hitching breaths on the other line; the soft, wet sobs; the choked way his name comes out — but it all curls like a fist around his heart nonetheless, squeezing. his own throat clenches tight, his voice escaping raggedly, barely holding back his own emotion: )

I won't. I promise. ( it's an easy promise to make; a harder one to keep, perhaps. does koby mean don't fake your death again or don't leave me again? maybe, ultimately, it's a bit of both. (maybe more of one than the other.) but shanks knows koby isn't naive enough anymore to think that whatever this is — whatever they are — is permanent. and yet, that doesn't make their bond any less real. in a way, the inherent, inevitable impermanence makes it that much more sweet, something precious and fleeting to cherish, to look back on fondly and think it was worth it.

shanks, one day, will leave. they both know this, as well as they know the rise and fall of the tide. but he's still here now — and he intends to stay as long as he can. as long as koby will have him.

he swallows hard, wishes he could reach out and comfort koby with the warmth of his presence, with a flicker of crimson, strong and steady — but they both know a stabbing pain is all he'd get for the effort. for now, it's enough to hear the rhythm of koby's breathing, even as unsteady as it still is. so he takes a deep breath, then: ) Breathe, cadet.

( with me, he doesn't say, but he doesn't need to. )