Isabella may be sleeping in; she's not at breakfast when Sadde manages to drag herself away from the mirror.

Blink. "Hey, Jackson?" she calls before he's too far. "Everything alright?"

He looks over his shoulder at her and sighs. He stops walking, apparently indecisive.

"I mean you don't need to have lunch with me if you don't want to...?" she says, somewhat confused (and maybe a little bit hurt?).

"Do you have to wear it? I mean I knew but do you have to just sort of - wear it?"

She blinks. Then blinks again. Then raises one hand to the collar. "Um. I don't have to, but I—want to?" She's not sure what else to say, she won't ask 'Why?' because she knows the answers, or thinks she knows anyway, and...

He looks at the floor, slouching.

"...are you okay? Do you wanna talk?"

"Ugh."

"...I'm not sure how to interpret that answer."

"I was going to have lunch with you but I'm going to be staring at your neck and being depressed about it the entire time and I'm not sure if that's better than staring at Victor's shoes and being depressed about that!"

"Ugh," says Jackson, and he drags himself back to Sadde's table and stares into his soup.

"...um. I'm sorry."

"No you're not."

"I'm not sorry I'm wearing it, I'm sorry you're not wearing one." She sighs.

"What are you going to do, set me up on a blind date and cross your fingers?"

"...would you like that?"

"If I thought it'd work."

Sigh. "Um... Do you think you may have clinical depression?"

Shrug. "I got a student health office call, they wanted me to be screened, they said my screening was 'worrying', they want me to come back. I guess if they give me pills I'll take them? And then be alone with different chemicals in my head?"

"What do you mean, 'be alone with different chemicals in your head'?"

"They can't prescribe me a dom. I'll still be alone. Which is my actual problem."