Jon has the urge to cover himself but given how absurd that would be in the circumstances, settles instead on clasping his hand together in his lap. Jean-Claude is, usefully, very distracting. Jon finds himself cataloging all the little ways Jean-Claude differs when he is well-fed. Compulsively, he reaches out to sweep the curtain of Jean-Claude's hair away from it brushes against his sticky, sweaty thigh. It's tantalizingly sleek and cool, and Jon twitches his hand away from the temptation to slide his fingers through the soft weight of it.

"I, I believe you," Jon says, voice subdued. It's quite an admission given how fanatically Jon has clung to suspicion in the past. But the revelation he had during dinner, that nothing Jean-Claude was likely to do do him would be worse than the institute, gave him ground enough to hope. He offers the other man a strained smile. "I, um, I'm very glad it did. However."