Jess can barely stand the smile she's guilty of causing. It soaks in first like a sunburn, before she glances his way and bears the brunt of it. It pulls her back, albeit weakly, to the memory of him in uniform, all decked out like a Clue character. Admittedly, she was too. He'll never see her wear as much colour as she did that night, nor will she ever wear a suit again, and his formal blues have burned up. Good to know they can mock up their own simulation of peace without relying on omniscient supercomputers and chronic existential mania.

"Yeah," she answers simply, kicking her caveats under the rug. She squeezes his hand and turns her head toward the lake to downplay her contentment. It's inherently fragile and it's neither of their friend. She's just tolerating it for a minute at a time. "I wouldn't have, you know? Thought of it. I wouldn't have done it if I did." If not for him.