She's about to comment on his supposed lack of chill when she can see it happen. That hasn't changed, at least - his flight instinct seems intact.

She parts with the lighter but takes a step forward.

"York," she says, and it's a sharp tone, a familiar command in her eyes and in the set of her shoulders before - they sag, her expression softening.

"Taylor, please. We need to talk." And that is quieter, tangled up in bits of hurt and honesty. "You can't run away from this."

They can't pretend that they can avoid each other, or that this isn't long overdue.