Whether Finn granted him the period of silence out of kindness or simply not knowing what to say, Jermaine didn't care. You don't look a gift horse in the mouth.

He felt his breathing, in and out. Meditating wasn't usually his thing -- his mind raced too fast for it, anxieties amplifying when given the room to run wild. That said, there was something he learned a long time ago that cut through the noise. It was a little silly, but it usually worked. Funnily enough, Jake had taught it to him. Maybe that made it all the more appropriate, huh? Or maybe disembodied Jake would just tell him he was doing it wrong...

"Oh c'mon man, at least gimme a chance..."

Ridding his mind of thoughts for Jake to respond to was enough incentive to try. The method was simple enough -- picture an object, real or imagined, and mentally catalogue everything about it. Go deep. What was it made of, was it worn in places, were there intricacies in the carving...

It took a moment, but before long Jermaine realizes exactly what he was picturing. A golden statue. Him. Settled on a little pie piece, arms outstretched like mom's old music box. And when Finn's arms closed around him, Jermaine could swear they felt like cold metal. Just for a moment.

He opens his eyes, hugging Finn back fiercely.

'...I think I--" He stops, recognizing the heaviness in his lap as real. Looking down between them, the glint of gold shines back with silent acknowledgement. It was--

"Me." He says, dumbly, separating just a hair from Finn. "How'd I...Jake?"

There was no response. The Jake voice, finally, had quieted for both of them.