"Ah, yes." He's known this was coming, both broadly - this isn't a place where she's had the luxury of choice - and specifically. Two relationships, she'd said earlier, but nothing serious. Serious enough to receive a description half a year after meeting the people involved, but hardly the stuff of long-term futures. "You'd mentioned."

There's no reason for him to be jealous. He can't expect her to have been faithful to him when they haven't so much as kissed - and even if they had, he still couldn't ask fidelity of this sort with her life hanging in the balance. But there's something jealous burrowed in his chest all the same, something shriveled and sour at the thought of sharing her with anyone. A bitter little voice echoing from somewhere behind his tired lungs, up into his skull: Do you think they had to die before she acknowledged her feelings?

It doesn't matter, he reminds himself, and undoubtedly will remind himself over and over again for the remainder of his time here. She's experienced things he hasn't, lived through horrors he's only begin to understand - and if she can't blame his absence, how can he blame her for finding comfort in the people who were here?

It's a tug-of-war that's going to go on inside him for a long time. For now, it only takes as long as he needs to reach again for the bottle and a splash a bit more into each of their glasses. A silent suggestion, it might be easier this way. Once he's looking at her again, he forces himself to be the friend she deserves in this situation. "Is he, erm, one of them?"