[There's a brief flash of fear when Mihawk reaches out, though it's more out of concern that this condition is somehow contagious. The idea of this splintering, fracturing, debilitating thing spreading to the strongest person Koby knows is somehow more unsettling than the fractals of gold themselves.

But there's no infection, at least not visibly, and something in Koby's chest unravels a bit. He closes his eyes, leans his cheek into Mihawk's hand -- half porcelain, half flesh, the spread of the strange affliction slowing considerably. The answer takes a moment to come, like Koby has to actively focus on selecting the words.]

That's...probably a good idea. I don't -- I'm not tired, but I feel like...if I stumble or something, I'll fall to bits. [A laugh, and he blinks his eyes back open, looks down into Mihawk's familiar, intent, golden ones.] Does that sound insane? It feels sort of insane.