Koby huffs out a sound that pitches up high into a giggle as he tries squirming away from the tickling fingers along his ribs, skin drawn more taut over new muscle, still unused to seeing so much sun, so much air. There's still the reflexive impulse to cross his arms over his chest, over the scars, or sink down into the water so they can't be seen. But Quentin's (wonderful, lovely) broad shoulders are preventing most direct views, and it makes him feel oddly safer, protected.

Another flick of water, small, careful, there are still people walking around and the last thing Koby wants is to create a slipping hazard, then he leans back against the lip of the pool. "Mmmm, swabbing decks and mending sails. Maybe scraping barnacles off the hull, if your insubordination continues." It's close, close enough to have Koby tasting iron, thinking about his own pirate punishments, but the edges are softened, blunted by Quentin's presence. He can joke about it. He'd never thought he'd be able to joke about it.

Then Quentin is languidly floating backwards, and Koby's chest, his shoulders immediately shiver into goosebumps at the absence of his warmth, so close. He sinks down in the water, letting the unnatural heat of it lap over his shoulders. "Well, I did a lot of reorganization last night, of my notes. I needed to, uh...redact some things. Dispose of others." The fireplace is full of ash now, bits of paper Koby's torn free or plucked from otherwise innocuous files. Keeping lists of people's weaknesses is hard when you start caring about them. "So it was time for a break."

The question gets a moment of blinking, a slight headtilt. "You mean -- do I keep notes on you?"