Jason's never known happiness as a state of being so much as the occasional moment. It's not the climate of his life so much as the odd crack of lightning. It's precious, fleeting, frustrating and coquettish in how elusive it is. He cannot point to a period in his life, like Peggy can, where happiness existed as something that could be dependably given. The one time he might be able to identify it comes before his living memory, when he was too young to record anything for review in adulthood.

Perhaps that's something that makes connecting to Tributes difficult. Jason can't picture being taken from an alright existence and having a life destroyed.

"I think Swann might be in love with me." He doesn't say that as if he's skeptical that Swann loves him so much as generally suspicious of love as a general concept, all the more so that he's afraid he might return it to someone. It's a strange foe, one built more of expectation and rumor than flesh and bone. "But she threw a cake at me, like I said, so who really knows? Maybe she's just menstruating."

Because it would hardly be a conversation with Jason without something prejudiced coming out of his mouth.