Swann's shower is a marvel of indulgence. Multiple heads with a bevy of adjustable configurations spit water out, and soaps of a thousand different scents are available at the touch of a button. Jason imagines himself climbing into an escape pod that's taking him far, far away from a doomed planet, him and Swann, being rinsed down with the hot water and leaving the world behind.

He lets her closer to the main showerhead so that she's getting enough water, and runs his hand over the button for soap without looking or trying to read in the dim light for what the scents are. He gets a handful of something foamy and floral and rubs it into Swann's shoulder, using the feeling of her body as the one focal point of this unorthodox sensory experience.

"This is good." He realizes he's paid her and her home more compliments in the last year than he has to the entire rest of the world in a decade. "I'd probably still be stuck at the Tribute Center without you."

And her, too, honestly - she can't leave without his car.