Eyebrow? [Koby, of course, immediately looks up at the mostly-clotted wound, frowns in concern, reaching up and tracing the end of the wound with his thumb. Light touches, delicate, almost shy, like he doesn't know (hope, hunger, crave) they'll likely end up in his bunk, eventually. It's the same dance, every time, Fearless touches him first, breaks the veil between their worlds and Koby answers, toes past the stark line he holds to in the light.
Outside there's smoke and stars, inside its only Koby’s hand settling at the sharp line of Fearless's face.] A match. Did you get hurt anywhere else?
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Outside there's smoke and stars, inside its only Koby’s hand settling at the sharp line of Fearless's face.] A match. Did you get hurt anywhere else?