"Well, it helps to talk them out with you," Koby huffs, thought he goes when Quentin reaches for him, grimacing a bit at himself for bringing down the mood. The apology is there, bubbling in his throat, on his tongue, but he holds it, lets the urge pass. He knows blame, knows anger seeking an outlet, and it's nowhere in Quentin, even when Koby's being his usual pessimistic, worst-case-scenario-preparing self. His greatest strength, his biggest weakness. "You have good ideas."

There's another of those soft, slight thrills at the touch, the slip of Quentin's arms around him, the public, easily-seen you're special to me that he's seen between others in Saltburnt. He thinks of Louis and Daniel, Nami and Zoro and Sanji, the connection there even when they don't touch or speak, the sense of belonging. He thinks of among the many, there will always be you. He thinks of you're my true north. He thinks of the wristbands, the purple one he'd nearly grabbed until he'd second-guessed himself out of it. Maybe it could be that easy.

Koby smiles, slips his arms back around Quentin's neck, tugs at a lock of his hair reassuringly. "I enjoy myself plenty, and you know it, because you're usually the cause of it." Twining that same curl around his finger, he breathes in, leaning forward and kissing the corner of Quentin's mouth, softly, soothing. "I'm not afraid. I'm just prepared, because -- I want to make sure you're safe, while you're finding me and dragging me out. Yeah?"

Another kiss, then Koby nudges his nose to Quentin's, hands slipping down over his shoulders to his chest, pinky nudging his piercing, that slight tease he tends towards in public, accompanied by a curl of his mouth. "Don't give me permission, I'll start writing down your favorite -- toothpaste or something dumb like that."