Marco wouldn't admit it out loud, but hearing Jean's voice answer him is an immeasurable relief, as are the clothes Jean passes to him. They're not the clothes Marco remembers, but they're close enough: a pair of tan pants that fit better than the ones he used to wear in the evenings, and a green sweater that doesn't rasp against his skin. Marco shrugs into them, and then spends a few moments combing his wet hair, carefully parting it down the center, before venturing back into the living area.

He goes directly to the couch, plopping down next to Jean, sitting perhaps a bit closer than normal but not getting up in Jean's space either, and points at the large, black mirror on the wall across from them. "What's that?"

What's the point of a mirror if it's black?