"No," he affirms, the last bits of smartass attitude bleeding out finally with a tired exhale. "It's flared up a couple times since I've been here."

There's something incredibly grim about that comment, it lingers in the lines of his brow, in the corners of his eyes. In the crow's feet wrinkles that are just starting to find a home, too solemn to be called laugh lines. Any further maudlin explanation goes out the window, thankfully, because she takes that opportunity to start crawling around on his bed like this is a freshmen dorm and the RA is out of town.

"Wait- what, why?"

It's a demand, but it's thrown out there while being perfectly complicit. He doesn't move, other than to twist his head far enough to try and get a look over his shoulder. Doesn't do him much good, because over his shoulder's just a crapload of feathers blocking the view.

"If you start plucking me like a chicken, Jolene, I swear to god..."