[That little knot of worry between Koby's brows relaxes just slightly, though not always isn't the same as never, and there remains the slightest flutter of worry, deep in his stomach. Still, Matt is a grown man, just like Koby himself -- and who's to say he wouldn't give his own blood, if the cause was great enough? In fact, he'd shed it in an instant, if there was a way to help people through it.

So he lets it go, swallows back the concern, resolves to be ready should Matt ever go too far, need help of his own. If you're always taking care of others, it's easy to lose sight of yourself. Koby knows that very, very well.] Well, if you were to help me shield my notes -- would it be blood then?

Ahhhh, I see. [There's a touch of sadness there, because Koby trusts Matt's advice, had wanted to ask him specifically because...well. Because. Because of that first embrace, the words Koby had hungered for in a small, secret part of him for years, you're doing great, I promise you are. Because if that part of Koby had been -- more than okay, had been capable of so many wonderful, amazing, thrilling things, if his body that he hated so, so much could be good, maybe this part was too.

So, before he can second-guess it:] Was it -- hard? When you first started doing magic? Did you worry that...that you'd never be any good at it? That maybe you were destined to be a failure all along? [It tumbles out of him like a waterfall, raw with the fearful insecurity that still lurks in everything Koby does, constantly warring with his newfound confidence, with the warmth and light that's been given him, a perpetual war somewhere beneath his ribs.] When did it finally start getting easier?