She knows, though. It's there in his tone, despite the pasted-on smile. "Church," she sighs. "Don't try to lie to me." He'd always been a terrible, terrible liar—even worse than her old friend York. It bothers him to hear, and she should have known it would. She always hides bad memories from him, anyway, and there are bad things coming if she continues down this line. It's better just to...stop, just stop, or gloss over it somehow.

And with that, it's determined in her mind. She's not going to tell him about her death. He can find out about the impermanence of death here in some other way. He'll never really have real context for that desperate kiss she'd attacked him with in the mess hall, but he probably doesn't need it. It's not like her telling him he said he loved her would make him realize he does. Those aren't words they ever bandied about very freely, but...well, she thinks it's probably true of him, even now.

So the emotional is out. Which leaves the physical. Which is her domain anyway. She shifts again, onto her knees, leveraging herself by tugging at his waist with the hand that's been holding on to him, and swings one leg over to straddle his lap. This feels better. Forget reminiscing. Forget the version of Church that wore Adrien's face. This man is gorgeous. And she has him now. She settles onto him, pressing her chest to his.