It’s not self-deprecating. [Said very huffily as Koby tugs a little harder than strictly necessary at the next hank of dark-rooted hair, smearing more of the pinkish goo onto it.] It’s self-awareness. It was dark, there was a lot of alcohol involved, I know that. I don’t expect–

[A lull in his words, the sounds catching in his throat for a moment, mouth open for an embarrassing pause before Koby mindfully shuts it, crossing over to Hao’s other side to start slathering more dye onto that half of his head. When he speaks again, it’s quiet, resigned, seemingly unconcerned, though there’s a vivid flush spreading from the tips of his ears down his neck.] I don’t expect anything, from you. [From anyone. He wouldn’t know how to ask for it if he did, anyway.

Still, it makes him think of – something he wants to add, wants to say, tongue flicking over his lower lip as he works. So:] You were kind when it mattered, and I’m grateful for that. I’d never – you know. Done that. Before. [Koby lets it linger for a moment, turning even redder.] So. Thank you. For that. For being [gentle, caring, careful, in the club, if nowhere else] that way. I realize I didn’t thank you, before.