I know. We can do that at the gym later, maybe? I know you want...you know. [A quirk of a smile, looking down at his lap, at his picked-apart cuticles.] To be treated like you can throw things and be angry and strong and powerful. [There's a bit of a sniff and -- maybe Koby wants to cry for himself too, a bit.] But I think you came to me for the drinking, crying, complaining, gossiping kind of comfort. Right?

[So: he sits forward, holding out his glass, looking up with red-rimmed eyes -- he's more sensitive to other's emotions when he's upset, Tim's fury and hurt bleeding over into Koby's own grief and loss.] Fair warning, I'll probably start crying if I drink much more. It's been -- an eventful day.

[Once his wine is topped off, Koby scoots back towards the pillows, flopping back against them with a soft, weary sigh.] I can tell you all about it, if you want the distraction?