Uh-huh. [Another of those huffy, trying-to-be-stern expressions that Koby’s getting worse and worse at, because Fearless moves forward, ducks his head, smiles and smiles and there's a whole list of reasons why this is a bad idea, but they all melt away in light of those hands settling at his waist. Koby nudges his hat back, back, until it falls off, leaving his candyfloss-pink hair fluffy and missed, and he lets himself be pulled closer, blushing and smiling and forgetting to pretend to be stern.] I'll tell you something about how a busted lip just enhances your overall look, how's that?

[Still, he reaches up, looks up with those wide, serious eyes, notes the bruises and cuts with careful brushes of his fingertips, tracing the shape of Fearless's lower lip. The compliment gets a wry laugh, a flicker of something pained in Koby’s expressive eyes.] I think you're the only one who feels that way.

[The military is kinder than the dragons, but yapping, as Koby is prone to, is frowned on in both. And the training is hard already, but Koby pushes himself harder, harder, bandaged and sore and exhausted and still: pushing, pushing. Like he needs to earn his place, somehow.

But it passes, and Koby rises up on his toes until theyre nearly face to face, softens his voice:] Do you want me to keep talking? Or would you rather I do something...um, else?