This is a better choice than the last one. There are inklings of comforting familiarity in the accents and the music - even, a little, in the artwork itself - but nothing that hits too painfully close to home. She can enjoy it for what it is, not ache over how near it lands to what she's lost.

But the real comfort is having Iman curled up next to her. She can't remember the last time they were close like this just for the sake of it, without one or the other (or both) being completely miserable. Without it being a need and not a want.

And she does want it. It's nice and cozy and makes her feel... cared for. Safe. Things she rarely gets here. More to miss, she supposes, whenever things get sorted out and they all go their separate ways.

If they go their separate ways.

She would survive if they didn't. She could. Sometimes, as the weeks drag on, she wonders if that wouldn't be easier, or at least less complicated, than eventually making it home, after all.

She's tired. It easier to entertain the idea of not going home when she's tired, harder to feel upset beneath her haze of exhaustion and the comforting closeness of her friend.

She'll be all right, as long as she has this.

Her eyes have drifted shut, she's not even sure how long ago, but it doesn't trouble her. A soft sigh escapes her as she shifts closer to Iman and settles her head on her shoulder, unconsciously curling a possessive arm around her waist.