[If Koby were a little less flustered, he'd note the way Hao is immediately quieted by the hair pulling, would file that away to use later, in some other circumstance. But he's focused on applying the dye, gloved hands smeared with pink, held out of the way carefully whenever he reloads the goo onto the brush.]

I was. Is that so shocking? [A little huffy, but not quite as embarrassed as he might've been the night of. Koby's still a bundle of anxious nerves, most of the time, but he's definitely come (a lot) a long way since that first night in Otherworld. Much of it's hazy, the people he encountered, the heated encounters with friends of the Balfours, but the warmth of Hao's body against his, the sharpness of teeth at the place his neck and shoulder meet (gone now, though sometimes Koby feels a phantom ache, like there's still a bruise in the shape of Hao's mouth) -- that's very, very vivid. He remembers how he'd clung to the other boy, how he'd teared up at the end, how Hao had been laughing and teasing, but not cruel.

It matters, that he hadn't been cruel. That Koby's first time was something bright and dizzying and exciting, instead of overwhelming or scary. So even when he's being an enormous pain in the ass, Koby doesn't snap back, doesn't do much else except roll his eyes and start wrapping the dye-smeared ends of Hao's hair in aluminum foil.]

Well, there's a first time for everything, including being thanked, I guess. It made all the times after less intimidating. [There's a smug note in Koby's voice, in the curl of his pouty mouth, one hand tugging Hao's hair to prompt him to look up, back.] Hold still. [Stay put and think about how often Koby's getting railed.]