Sure. My coat cost me forty, and this stitchwork looks better. And the material's sound. [He slides it off, not because it's uncomfortable but so he can hang it up on the rack, which he does so with a faint sort of pride akin to a child at Christmas putting their prized toy on the mantle for other kids to covet.

And then he settles into the routine their morning shifts together have, him setting up the drinks counter and loading the cash register from the safe - Enjolras hasn't quite revoked that task from Jason's purview yet.]

I don't think my wings will be coming back any time soon. Not that it matters, much. I reckon my posture's better without them weighing me down.