[Thank goodness for Astarion’s composure, since being laughed at this point might make Koby crawl under the bed and never come out. Instead he’s calm, gentle, light, and it soothes some of the fretful, frenetic pulse in the center of the young man’s chest, some rapid birdwing-flutter beneath his ribs. He even smiles back, shoulders dropping in relief at the easy answer. Sometimes it really is just that simple, despite all his anxious fretting.

The explanation gets a nod, Koby’s mind clicking over to – well, to certain people he knows who might have such restrictions on them. Reaching out to smooth one of the nearest garments – a sweater, loose-necked, soft, the color of new leaves – he keeps his eyes averted when he speaks.] And you were – okay with that? With them? [With me, unspoken, but there.

Then, glancing up, over the tops of his glasses:] I don’t really know. I thought I was the only one, until I came here and started reading. I’m sure there are others, but...the priority in my world is survival. Most people don’t care about anything else. [Koby lets go of the sweater, sits down on the bed amidst the clothes and folds his hands in his lap.] It’s hard to explain to them that it’s the same thing, for me. That – changing was necessary to my survival. It’s hard to explain to anyone.