York expects to feel relieved, and she does, to a degree, but she also feels the prickle of heat creeping into her face, the dryness of her mouth and the tightness in her chest as she waits to breathe until he's finished talking and when he says the word gorgeous her fingers smooth over the edges of the burned skin on her left cheek, an old habit renewed.

"Hey -- hey, I know. You know the same goes for you, right?" Maybe they haven't ever said as much, but York feels like she's known that for awhile. Ever since that talk back on Asphodel, when they'd finally decided to really trust one another, it's only steadily grown. And ever since they came to Omega -- well, they really haven't had anyone else to rely on but each other.

But the rest of it -- she doesn't even know what to say to it, for once. She feels like she's still reeling a little, somehow, and she lets out a hoarse, self-deprecating laugh, pressing the heel of her hand into her forehead. "Man, I am such an asshole."