If she were anyone else. There are so many bad responses that could answer all of these things he keeps saying, if someone didn't care. Or didn't notice. But Jean is who she is, and not noticing isn't something she can often be accused of. She steps closer, both toward him, and raises smoothly up into the air, a sheen of rippling pink appearing all around her. It boosts her to be more on a level with his height. Her hands lift, fingers slightly curled still, in a gesture toward his head. "May I?"

Even as she asks, she knows the black irony of how requesting complicity of someone potentially stripped of theirs, is a losing game of shadows. But it doesn't change someone deserving to be asked, deserving to always have the right to say no.