[ quentin's hands work through koby's cropped hair, nails scratching into the scalp - a deep clean, if koby asks, nothing more - humming to acknowledge he's listening. the morning swim and the hot water have left him amiable and relaxed, muscles tired and stretched. ]

Patchouli and weed is exactly what I'd expect it to smell like. I went to a PT once for a shoulder thing and I left smelling like a cannabis shop. And hush - if I didn't mind doing this I wouldn't. So maybe I want to do it.

[ he scrubs through koby's hair, massaging his scalp toward the end of it, sliding his fingers around the hungover man's temples, the hinge of his jaw, the ridge behind his ear and down his neck. ]

How's that headache of yours?