[Koby smiles a little, squeezing Astarion’s hand lightly, following it up with an echo of his soft, blush-colored presence, like a mental embrace, like a hand smoothing back a loose strand of hair – affectionate, soft, careful. And then he withdraws, having found what he needed to, having satisfied the question asked of him, stepping politely back from Astarion’s mind with nary a ripple in the mental stillness of his psyche.]

You’re welcome. [The pink aura is gone, like it had never been there, as is the odd glimmer in Koby’s wide eyes. They’re back to sky blue, albeit slightly wearier, slightly more strained with effort. He loosens his hand, exhales slowly, swallowing back the annoyance at how something so simple had drained him so much.]

It’s no trouble at all, really. I need a chance to practice, if I’m ever going to be able to master what I can do. Right now it sort of feels like trying to steer a ship straight in a storm. [There’s a youthful frustration in his face, in the way his brow furrows, the way he picks at a loose fingernail and lets out a soft huff.] It’ll get easier, Shanks said. So – really you did me a favor, see?