"Yeah," he breathes, but doesn't open his eyes. It's easier - Fives went to the door, Fives is at the door. He could leave any second - could be gone, if he wants to be gone, already. Jedao swallows, fingertips finding the bits of gold trim along his waistband that trigger the nanoseals to part, then gets frustrated with the details and just shoves his pants and underwear down to his thighs.

"Maybe don't talk," he suggests, rough-voiced, because sounds would be okay, he thinks, but anything he's supposed to acknowledge feels dicey.