"Okay," he whispers back, still with that ghost of a smile. Slowly, carefully, as if to prevent startling a bird into flight, Albert slips his arms around Jet into a proper hug. One hand moves continuously, tracing lazy circles on the blond's back, while the other finds solace at the nape of his neck; cool, silver fingers against warm skin and gold hair.

He says nothing else, just holds Jet in shape long enough that he prays his husband will remember it permanently with some time. And even if he doesn't, even if they use this as a foundation to build upon again, they can do that too.

Jet is still Jet. Still Albert's Jet, whatever form that takes.