[Koby would argue he’s improved – of course he would, he’s his own harshest critic and worst advocate, he pushes and pushes and pushes until his body aches and his mind spirals and all that’s left is whether he’s been useful, helpful, worthy somehow, based on an impossible list of factors. But he eats, he sleeps, he spends time out under the sun, with other people, and it shows in the way he stands a bit taller, in the freckles scattered across his nose, the way he fills out his clothes instead of disappearing inside them.

And, ultimately, the individual has become more important than the overall, for better or worse, because there’s very little Koby wouldn’t still sacrifice for someone he admires, someone he cares about. Daniel’s hunger is like a knife edge, lancing through his voice, an echo of the weariness that would come after a long day, of the moments they’d sit in silence while the older man wrestled with his own body, trying to bring it back under control. There’s a metallic taste like dread, like anguish, and Koby’s already shaking his head, laughing incredulously.]

You’re not asking, I’m offering. [Firm, stubborn, the way Koby is with so, so many things. His instincts are still jittery, a mouse, a moth, a bird in front of an apex predator so deadly it defies explanation. But he ignores them, he sets them aside and he inexplicably, impossibly, steps closer, reaches out, one scarred-up, callused hand coming to touch Daniel’s arm, very, very lightly.]

That’s different. Louis will understand. [Possibly. Potentially. He’s seen Koby’s mind, the way his emotions are still impossibly entangled in his thoughts, the way nothing he does is bloodless, not really. Everything wrenches at that bleeding heart of his, in the end, and that’s evident in his voice, soft and near-pleading:] You’re not supposed to be in pain anymore. It’s not fair.