[At the core of Koby's near-delirious, almost hyperventilating state, there's a strange sort of calm, like the eye of a hurricane. He can't breathe right, his head is spinning, his body is uncontrollably shaking, but now that he's started the panic, there's nothing he can do. It's happening, it's going to keep happening, he's powerless to do anything but ride the crest of mindless terror until it either kills him or stops. There's nothing that can make it better, nothing that can soothe it along -- Koby's tried everything he knows of, everything he can do by himself.
Because that's what he's always been: by himself. Whatever happened, whoever hurt him, whatever long empty endless nights he endured, Koby was always wholly alone. He stitched up his own wounds, he fought with his own ghosts, he sat and stared out from the dank, dark hold and tried to imagine something other than a lifetime of this. When the dreams or fears grabbed hold of him, he didn't reach out for help, because he knew nobody would ever be there. Not for him.
But then -- in the midst of a shivering, whining terror that's as familiar as his own flesh, there's something there. Someone. A low sound, a long, slender nose bumping against Koby's leg, silky fur brushing his shivering thigh. And though he can't remember where he is or how or why, Koby knows this much: everyone who's ever hurt him has done so with a human face and human touch and human voice. Not canine. There's not a place for the touch of the wolfish muzzle, the tremor of a gruff beast's voice, the bright glow of canine eyes when Koby tears his blank gaze away from the empty darkness, looks down instead. Unlike the touch of Mihawk's hand, the wolf resting it's head against his leg doesn't remind Koby of anything painful or frightening or bad.
He's still shaking all over, still breathing in and in, gasping, choking sounds, but one hand is moving, lowering to the silky, plush fur. Clumsily, Koby strokes over the back of one of Mihawk's pointed ears, then curls his icy fingers around it, like he suddenly can't let go. There's no flicker of recognition in his glassy, teary eyes, not yet, but he's actually looking at Mihawk, instead of through him. That's something.]
(There's a hitch of relief when Koby doesn't jerk away from him again. There's a deeper part of him that's pleased like he did something close to the right thing. Some people hated dogs, certainly, but they were a constant companion of man for a reason, right? His eyes shut briefly when Koby moves to pet him, and that feels good too, but mostly because it feels like an anchor being dropped into a swirling sea.
It was progress. He could work with this. He opens his eyes back up when Koby grips his ear. It doesn't hurt in the slightest, even if tight. He lets out another low whine at the back of his throat as if to ask if Koby was okay and if he was with him. But Koby is looking at him now, eyes wet, something still tender and vulnerable in his face.
Mihawk steadily moves up, gently nudging his snout under Koby's chin, as if to say now, now. Then he's giving a small lick to Koby's face, then another bigger one, whimpering quietly, tag wagging hesitantly behind him. He just...wanted to get Koby to stop looking like that. Even if he couldn't make him smile, he wanted Koby to come back to himself, to Mihawk, to where they are right now, and even without fully understanding mental health, Mihawk realizes that Koby is still miles away in whatever hell his own mind put him in.
And he could hear his heart thumping. He just needed to get him to calm down, to reel him in. To ground him. Somehow.)
[Koby's cold fingers loosen as the warm, soft, furry weight moves, tucked under his chin, so huge that it -- that he doesn't fit easily across the young man's shivering thighs. There's just a mass of silky fluff, a wet heat against his face, a weight against his body that's unmistakably real. It's not the amorphous swirling terror, it's not the numbing horror of being back where he'd been for so long, caught in a memory -- it's immediate, it's tactile, it's creating a tether back to the now.
A soft, whimpering growl, the swish of a long, silky tail, and the name comes to him, like an anchor, like a lighthouse --] Mihawk. [It comes out as a sob and Koby squeezing his eyes shut, tears streaking down his face, relief flooding through his body as his tight chest releases just a bit, as breathing comes suddenly easier. He's still shaking violently, still struggling with each inhale, movements jerky and uncoordinated as both hands slide deep into Mihawk's fur and cling tight, but now Koby knows where he is. Who he's with. Now there's something to hold onto, a true north to follow.
Eyes still closed, Koby tugs a little at Mihawk's massive, canine bulk, needing more of the weight, the warmth, something to remind him where his body is, to keep him in it. It's hard, he keeps wanting to slip back into that other, alternate place, that unhinged, untethered nightmare. But Mihawk across his lap, resting against his chest is something Koby can focus on to stay here. Where nothing and nobody can hurt him.]
(The smell of Koby's tears somehow relaxes Mihawk. It's a release of emotions, a collapse that needed to happen. He leans into Koby's arms, as he always did, but this time with a bit more confidence behind it. When Koby says his name, he realizes perhaps he wasn't as hopeless with this as he had thought.
This was Koby. His Koby and he could handle him in every facet he had. If he couldn't right now, in the best way, then he would simply learn. It's instinctual after that. He presses against Koby and moves to put his entire weight on top of Koby, pinning him to the bed.
Then, slowly, the fur recedes and Mihawk ebbs back into a more human shape of himself. His back and shoulders are still dense with fur, his eyes still bright and golden, but it's his face again. Comfort isn't his strong suit, but for Koby, it would be. He presses his mouth against the side of Koby's head in a proper kiss, sighing against him.)
I will not let anything hurt you, Koby. (He murmurs softly against the shell of Koby's ear.) You're here. With me. All right?
[Koby hadn't been able to say it, hadn't known how to verbalize what he needed to bring him back to the real world, to release the grip his silent, mental torment had, but Mihawk had known. He'd known, had pressed forward and brought him into his body and kept him there, kept him safe with the sheer force of his presence.
Each shaky, stuttering breath pulls Koby a little more back to where he is, who he is, reminds him that the things that used to be ever-present -- fear and hunger and exhaustion and loneliness -- are gone. They can't touch him here. Not when Mihawk's there, invincible and immovable and his.
This time the sound of Mihawk's voice doesn't prompt Koby to flinch away or try to protect himself. He lets out a shuddery sob, pressing closer to the sound, letting it curl around him like a physical touch. It's the familiar, adored timbre, tone, endlessly gentle, soothing the frenetic, wild beat of Koby's heart. He curls towards it, tucks himself under Mihawk's chin and manages a nod.]
(It felt natural, really, now that he thought about it. He couldn't cut Koby's problems down with a sword, but his body had always been reliable. Perhaps he could just remind Koby of where he was and who he was with. That Mihawk would cut down entire cities for him without a second thought.
Hearing Koby so terrified and broken struck something deep inside of Mihawk, and for the first time ever, Mihawk realized that he wanted to keep someone safe for once. Not just happy, but safe. Secure. Protected.
Everything Mihawk has never bothered with out of the callousness of his own indifference. He had never had to bother with keeping Shanks safe whether from other threats or his own mind - at least not like this. Shanks could keep himself safe. Koby though...
Perhaps in the future he could, but right now, he was Mihawk's responsibility.)
Of course, I won't leave. (Determined and fierce. He pulls up, bracing himself on an arm so that he can look Koby in the eye. He pauses, hesitating a moment, and then slowly forces himself to say what he always knew to be true:)
You...couldn't get me to leave even if you begged me, Koby. (The very opposite of Mihawk's usual stance on giving Koby all the power, all the control. For this thing and this thing alone, Mihawk thinks that maybe it's all right if he is selfish.)
Whatever strikes this terror in your heart - I won't let you deal with it alone. Ever.
[The warmth of the blankets, the pillows, Mihawk's body against his is slowly coaxing the shivering to abate, keeping Koby present, aware. He tucks closer to Mihawk, knees bumping against his, breathing in his scent, hand sliding down his side, finding the familiar jut of his hip, the contour of the muscles in his lower back. It's a pattern Koby would know from touch alone, tracing over the warm, skin, the fur, curling his fingers gently in it.
Looking up, eyes teary and deep blue in the dim light, Koby hiccups out a breath, coming back to himself more with each word.] Sorry. [Of course that's the first thing he manages to say, reaching up to wipe at his tear-streaked face.] It's -- just dreams I have sometimes. They're not...not real, I'm. It's over. It's fine.
[Voice breaking, squeezing his eyes shut:] I'm f-fine.
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Because that's what he's always been: by himself. Whatever happened, whoever hurt him, whatever long empty endless nights he endured, Koby was always wholly alone. He stitched up his own wounds, he fought with his own ghosts, he sat and stared out from the dank, dark hold and tried to imagine something other than a lifetime of this. When the dreams or fears grabbed hold of him, he didn't reach out for help, because he knew nobody would ever be there. Not for him.
But then -- in the midst of a shivering, whining terror that's as familiar as his own flesh, there's something there. Someone. A low sound, a long, slender nose bumping against Koby's leg, silky fur brushing his shivering thigh. And though he can't remember where he is or how or why, Koby knows this much: everyone who's ever hurt him has done so with a human face and human touch and human voice. Not canine. There's not a place for the touch of the wolfish muzzle, the tremor of a gruff beast's voice, the bright glow of canine eyes when Koby tears his blank gaze away from the empty darkness, looks down instead. Unlike the touch of Mihawk's hand, the wolf resting it's head against his leg doesn't remind Koby of anything painful or frightening or bad.
He's still shaking all over, still breathing in and in, gasping, choking sounds, but one hand is moving, lowering to the silky, plush fur. Clumsily, Koby strokes over the back of one of Mihawk's pointed ears, then curls his icy fingers around it, like he suddenly can't let go. There's no flicker of recognition in his glassy, teary eyes, not yet, but he's actually looking at Mihawk, instead of through him. That's something.]
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It was progress. He could work with this. He opens his eyes back up when Koby grips his ear. It doesn't hurt in the slightest, even if tight. He lets out another low whine at the back of his throat as if to ask if Koby was okay and if he was with him. But Koby is looking at him now, eyes wet, something still tender and vulnerable in his face.
Mihawk steadily moves up, gently nudging his snout under Koby's chin, as if to say now, now. Then he's giving a small lick to Koby's face, then another bigger one, whimpering quietly, tag wagging hesitantly behind him. He just...wanted to get Koby to stop looking like that. Even if he couldn't make him smile, he wanted Koby to come back to himself, to Mihawk, to where they are right now, and even without fully understanding mental health, Mihawk realizes that Koby is still miles away in whatever hell his own mind put him in.
And he could hear his heart thumping. He just needed to get him to calm down, to reel him in. To ground him. Somehow.)
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A soft, whimpering growl, the swish of a long, silky tail, and the name comes to him, like an anchor, like a lighthouse --] Mihawk. [It comes out as a sob and Koby squeezing his eyes shut, tears streaking down his face, relief flooding through his body as his tight chest releases just a bit, as breathing comes suddenly easier. He's still shaking violently, still struggling with each inhale, movements jerky and uncoordinated as both hands slide deep into Mihawk's fur and cling tight, but now Koby knows where he is. Who he's with. Now there's something to hold onto, a true north to follow.
Eyes still closed, Koby tugs a little at Mihawk's massive, canine bulk, needing more of the weight, the warmth, something to remind him where his body is, to keep him in it. It's hard, he keeps wanting to slip back into that other, alternate place, that unhinged, untethered nightmare. But Mihawk across his lap, resting against his chest is something Koby can focus on to stay here. Where nothing and nobody can hurt him.]
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This was Koby. His Koby and he could handle him in every facet he had. If he couldn't right now, in the best way, then he would simply learn. It's instinctual after that. He presses against Koby and moves to put his entire weight on top of Koby, pinning him to the bed.
Then, slowly, the fur recedes and Mihawk ebbs back into a more human shape of himself. His back and shoulders are still dense with fur, his eyes still bright and golden, but it's his face again. Comfort isn't his strong suit, but for Koby, it would be. He presses his mouth against the side of Koby's head in a proper kiss, sighing against him.)
I will not let anything hurt you, Koby. (He murmurs softly against the shell of Koby's ear.) You're here. With me. All right?
no subject
Each shaky, stuttering breath pulls Koby a little more back to where he is, who he is, reminds him that the things that used to be ever-present -- fear and hunger and exhaustion and loneliness -- are gone. They can't touch him here. Not when Mihawk's there, invincible and immovable and his.
This time the sound of Mihawk's voice doesn't prompt Koby to flinch away or try to protect himself. He lets out a shuddery sob, pressing closer to the sound, letting it curl around him like a physical touch. It's the familiar, adored timbre, tone, endlessly gentle, soothing the frenetic, wild beat of Koby's heart. He curls towards it, tucks himself under Mihawk's chin and manages a nod.]
You're here. [It's soft, barely audible. Then, again, firmer:] You're here. You're real. You -- won't leave.
no subject
Hearing Koby so terrified and broken struck something deep inside of Mihawk, and for the first time ever, Mihawk realized that he wanted to keep someone safe for once. Not just happy, but safe. Secure. Protected.
Everything Mihawk has never bothered with out of the callousness of his own indifference. He had never had to bother with keeping Shanks safe whether from other threats or his own mind - at least not like this. Shanks could keep himself safe. Koby though...
Perhaps in the future he could, but right now, he was Mihawk's responsibility.)
Of course, I won't leave. (Determined and fierce. He pulls up, bracing himself on an arm so that he can look Koby in the eye. He pauses, hesitating a moment, and then slowly forces himself to say what he always knew to be true:)
You...couldn't get me to leave even if you begged me, Koby. (The very opposite of Mihawk's usual stance on giving Koby all the power, all the control. For this thing and this thing alone, Mihawk thinks that maybe it's all right if he is selfish.)
Whatever strikes this terror in your heart - I won't let you deal with it alone. Ever.
no subject
Looking up, eyes teary and deep blue in the dim light, Koby hiccups out a breath, coming back to himself more with each word.] Sorry. [Of course that's the first thing he manages to say, reaching up to wipe at his tear-streaked face.] It's -- just dreams I have sometimes. They're not...not real, I'm. It's over. It's fine.
[Voice breaking, squeezing his eyes shut:] I'm f-fine.