She hums, twirling the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. Somewhere along the line, she'd clutched one of the tiny couch pillows against her stomach, ostensibly as something to rest her hands on. (In a distant memory, it still feels like a wound that needs protecting. She wonders if that will ever change.)

'Yeah, but I was wearing white, and I could hardly break his nose and get blood all over me. Though it would have been -- a very satisfying way to shut him up.' She looks up at him from beneath her lashes, and it's clear, she's relaxing as well.