[Interesting. No explanation of the keen sense of direction, not even the slightest bit of self-aggrandizing. Koby arches both eyebrows, nudges his glasses up, files the thought away. A good navigator is always useful, especially in a place that changes between breakfast and dinner.
Besides, there are more concerning things -- the way Quentin moves, the subtle favoring of his side, the way he covers winces with that flash of a grin. It's a nice grin, and it makes Koby's chest knot up to realize it's meant to be, it's meant to distract from the fact that Quentin's injured. He'd ask why, demand it, but -- he knows. He knows all about weakness being opportunity, about the hypervigilance that comes when you're used to being cornered. Koby makes connections, looks for patterns, thinks too damn much for his own good.
Don't think, act, in the back of his mind, seared like a brand, and Koby darts forward, blocks Quentin's path, one hand up to press against his chest, to stop him.] My room. It's closer. [There's genuine concern in his face now, in the knit of his brow, the set of his mouth, in the way he keeps his touch gentle, having clocked that the worst of the pain comes from somewhere on Quentin's torso.]
You shouldn't walk very far, if you're hurt. [A breath, then Koby ducks under Quentin's arm, presses against his side, bracing him up with his squared shoulders. It's not especially effective, considering the dramatic size difference, but Koby is lean muscle in his every inch, shockingly strong for someone his height.] Don't -- say anything. [Quick, businesslike bossiness laced with that concern. Lean on him, damn it.]
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Besides, there are more concerning things -- the way Quentin moves, the subtle favoring of his side, the way he covers winces with that flash of a grin. It's a nice grin, and it makes Koby's chest knot up to realize it's meant to be, it's meant to distract from the fact that Quentin's injured. He'd ask why, demand it, but -- he knows. He knows all about weakness being opportunity, about the hypervigilance that comes when you're used to being cornered. Koby makes connections, looks for patterns, thinks too damn much for his own good.
Don't think, act, in the back of his mind, seared like a brand, and Koby darts forward, blocks Quentin's path, one hand up to press against his chest, to stop him.] My room. It's closer. [There's genuine concern in his face now, in the knit of his brow, the set of his mouth, in the way he keeps his touch gentle, having clocked that the worst of the pain comes from somewhere on Quentin's torso.]
You shouldn't walk very far, if you're hurt. [A breath, then Koby ducks under Quentin's arm, presses against his side, bracing him up with his squared shoulders. It's not especially effective, considering the dramatic size difference, but Koby is lean muscle in his every inch, shockingly strong for someone his height.] Don't -- say anything. [Quick, businesslike bossiness laced with that concern. Lean on him, damn it.]