[Koby listens, quietly, one leg crossed over the other – unlike the last time, where he’d needed to talk and distract and soothe, the only way out of the pain is through. Letting it bleed clean, letting Tim vent until the furious rusty haze of his aura abates, lifts, until he’s worked himself breathless and finished his first glass of wine.

Then, nudging at the furious patchwork of yellow and rust with the calming, comforting warmth of his own aura, Koby stands, interrupts a rambling sentence with his hands on Tim’s shoulders. He looks up, big earnest blue eyes, knowing and grieving and upset on his friend’s behalf.]

He hurt you. I can feel that. I can feel you’re angry, but – you’re hurt too. You’re allowed to be. You opened yourself up and got hurt because of it, and that’s not fair. [Squeezing Tim’s shoulder’s once.] And if anyone says “I told you so”, I’ll give them a piece of my mind. Okay?