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[redforce]

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SHANKS

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[redforce]

( shanks reacts, on instinct, pressing the call button before he can think better of it — but the deception has already fallen away, and shanks can't hide from this anymore. he can't ignore the tug of emotion, the ache in his chest, the overwhelming need to draw koby close, to tell him exactly what he wants to hear. what he needs to hear. but he isn't there and it would take too long to close that distance, when there's an urgency shanks can feel prickling against his skin, like the sting of claws, like the hot flash of panic in the face of something more animal than human.

so he calls, and his voice is steady, firm, decisive, yet still, always, effortlessly kind. )

It's on purpose. It always has been.

[kobes]

[Koby answers -- because of course he does, of course, he kept himself warm with the ghost of Shanks's blood in his mouth, he can survive this with only a note, he can keep himself together with the knowledge that Shanks is alive, but he can't ignore when he calls, when he lets himself slip just that little bit more. It's the undertow tugging at his ankles, it's the current and the tides, inexorable, inescapable. Koby wishes he could feel it, could show it in the way he'd become used to, that unspoken link beyond his stumbling words, right to the marrow of him. He misses it. He misses it, and if all he gets is Shanks's voice, it'll be enough.

It's evident from the moment he answers, though -- he's crying. Has been since the first message. He half-hoped Shanks could feel it.]

Don't ever do that to me again. [It comes out hoarse, hitching, hollow.] Please. Please, Shanks.

[redforce]

( 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. )