Qui-Gon's hand reaches out instinctually before he can stop it--possibly because he doesn't want to. A ruffle of Ezra's hair seems too condescending given the situation, but he doesn't feel right placing his palm against Ezra's cheek. Not when the boy is so clearly by his words. So Qui-Gon settles on squeezing his shoulder, stepping within a comfortably close range. Personal space didn't mean much to them anymore, not with the familiarity of the past year and the influence of the near decade's worth of fake memories, but Qui-Gon doesn't want to invade more than he has to.

"You could have trusted either myself or someone else to go with you. You're not alone, Ezra. It's okay to rely on others for help, even when--especially when--things can get dangerous."