It was all that was left of him. That scared, young child who suddenly had lost all the people closest to him. No parents, no siblings, no home. It had not been malice that made Korbin set it on fire. Rather the opposite. He cared, deeply, painfully, maddeningly about his family. Loved them more than anything, more than himself. Had never cared to seek anything beyond them, and clung hard to what he could when it kept falling apart around him. The boy had forced himself to grow up too quickly to keep the others hands free, but how much of it had been a facade? Maybe this was what he had always been. A quivering, terrified bundle in a bed, hugging a pillow to the chest in hope that it might all be a bad dream.
It was hard to open up. Even to someone who was almost family. Especially to this strong, unshakeable man who had been his brother's friend. Noah was never weak. Never broke down, or lost control. They were only almost family. That gap, that distance, it seemed so very vast now.
"They want me to trust them," he replied hoarsely, with an ironic edge to the smile. Korbin turned to his back. "They want me to open up and let them in. To be friends. They want me to care about their woes and cheer with enthusiasm when they deliver clever ideas that will 'save' this place. And they want it right away, without earning it." Like it wasn't the hardest thing he ever did. Like opening up to more loss, more dead loved ones wasn't the most dangerous thing Korbin could imagine.
He stared at the ceiling, lost in the gloom beyond the reach of firelight and lantern glow. Tried to recall what had mattered before everything was lost. There had been the music, and stories. The helping, the feeling of being needed. But most of all... "Fly. I would fly. Far, wherever I wanted. Maybe I wouldn't come back."
Korbin turned his head, gazed with dusky blue eyes on the man beside the bed. It was a look that pleaded forgiveness. Begged for understanding. Surely Noah had to see why he could never do that before. Not while Weaver was still here. She had needed him, at least until she got the Kraai, until Loren... Maybe even then. But now... Now he could.
Who needed him now? Surely not Noah, with his brother and his lover, his job - two of them - and a whole town that relied on him.
It was hard to open up. Even to someone who was almost family. Especially to this strong, unshakeable man who had been his brother's friend. Noah was never weak. Never broke down, or lost control. They were only almost family. That gap, that distance, it seemed so very vast now.
"They want me to trust them," he replied hoarsely, with an ironic edge to the smile. Korbin turned to his back. "They want me to open up and let them in. To be friends. They want me to care about their woes and cheer with enthusiasm when they deliver clever ideas that will 'save' this place. And they want it right away, without earning it." Like it wasn't the hardest thing he ever did. Like opening up to more loss, more dead loved ones wasn't the most dangerous thing Korbin could imagine.
He stared at the ceiling, lost in the gloom beyond the reach of firelight and lantern glow. Tried to recall what had mattered before everything was lost. There had been the music, and stories. The helping, the feeling of being needed. But most of all... "Fly. I would fly. Far, wherever I wanted. Maybe I wouldn't come back."
Korbin turned his head, gazed with dusky blue eyes on the man beside the bed. It was a look that pleaded forgiveness. Begged for understanding. Surely Noah had to see why he could never do that before. Not while Weaver was still here. She had needed him, at least until she got the Kraai, until Loren... Maybe even then. But now... Now he could.
Who needed him now? Surely not Noah, with his brother and his lover, his job - two of them - and a whole town that relied on him.
In loving memory of when I gave a shit
KORBIN
HALE
HALE
