[Mihawk's hands are huge, which Koby had expected. They're also warm, which he hadn't. There's one reflexive flinch at the first touch -- he can count on one hand the amount of times someone's touched him gently, and his body is used to tensing up in anticipation. But once that instinct has passed, Koby doesn't twitch or flinch as Mihawk carefully plucks the tiny shards of metal free of his shoulder. It's worse there than his arm or shin -- those times he'd been running, but the metal dog thing had cornered him and he'd taken the full brunt of the explosion on his shoulder before Mihawk had saved him.

That in itself had been...more than Koby had anticipated. Maybe that's why he'd felt confident proposing an alliance, because Mihawk had already saved him once. Maybe that's why he'd asked for the help with his wounds, though truthfully Koby had only expected Mihawk to glance at his shoulder and tell him to stop complaining. Instead he was genuinely...helping. It was probably just altruistic -- Koby wouldn't be any help as an ally if he was injured.

Then again, he's already burst into tears once in front of the pirate. Mihawk probably isn't expecting much from him.

Once Mihawk's done, Koby exhales softly, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. The sun is warm and bright enough that he isn't cold after handing over the unbuttoned uniform shirt, even just in his tight, thin undershirt. But he crosses his arms anyways, instinctively, prompting more blood to well up as he moves.]

There was a fully-stocked kitchen in the house I woke up in -- I think I saw some bottles of liquor there. Maybe they'd have a first aid kit. [Sternly, scowling:] I'd prefer a first aid kit to pouring alcohol on it and hoping for the best.