[a year ago, koby would’ve argued that, would’ve insisted on his wholehearted, pure-intentioned goodness. a year ago, he hadn’t seen firsthand that hurt makes people violent, sharp-edged, an oft-kicked dog that snaps first and asks later. his own coping is so different, forced out towards whatever, however he can best deplete the frenetic energy coiled in his mind, his body, until he can’t use either, until he’s too exhausted and drained to feel anything.

it’s simpler to snap instead – one size fits all, no need to linger, to form unnecessary attachments. it’s a foolproof, desperately lonely way to go through life, and it’s much easier to maintain when you don’t have to depend on others. but – here, this place, there’s not much choice. when the dead rise or the wolves attack again, maybe she’ll remember who tried to help. now, though, she flips him off, the butterfly charm like a firebrand and koby tugs his knees to his chest, hugging them, making himself small, unobtrusive, no reaching limbs or invasion of space. he thinks of nami and tries not to smile.]

It’d hurt, though. And you wouldn’t be able to get a new set until you got all the melted – gunk off. [koby scrunches his nose at the thought, then looks down at his nails. they’re cleaner than they’ve been, the grime from constantly killing things cleaned off, but they’re also ragged, picked at the edges, torn cuticles from constant anxiety.] They’re that bad? Really?