"Yeah? You remember that?"

Not that he's faulting him or anything. Hell, he drew the same thing once upon a time, he's pretty sure it's in there somewhere. Jesse wets his lips as he folds his arms against the back of the couch, beer dangling between his fingers. He taps a finger against the birds briefly, "My own murder'a crows."

There's a beat, but then the grin he gives is infectious. "You're drawin' me," he says, vaguely pleased as he straightens up and scrubs a hand over his head.