What?! [it comes out as a squawk, as koby sits upright, expression pure indignation.] That’s like – that’s – [a brief moment wherein he tries (and fails) to do the math on what he’s about to be shorted] – so many! That’s like, all of them!

[he scrambles out of his chair, clomping back onto the rug, expression beseeching and – yes, okay, a little desperate. he cannot do this damn trip sober, there’s no way in hell. reaching out, koby sets a hand on will’s arm, eyes wide, teeth notched into his lower lip.] I’m sorry. Really, I’m – sorry, I-I just got lost, I swear.

[he’s playing it up, stroking his palm along will’s arm slowly, feeling the work of his muscle beneath the fabric, the solid, firm shape of him, standing there offering everything koby wants – oblivion, drugged and dreamy and painless. that’s what will’s been, since the beginning of all this, a doorway out of the life koby didn’t ask for, didn’t want, and he’d be lying if he said it was only the drugs. it’s those and it’s everything else.

so he looks upwards with those big blue eyes, steps closer, drags his tongue over the swell of his lip in a slow, deliberate movement.] Can’t I – make it up to you somehow?