[JC manages to get down from the tree without falling, which he's mildly proud of. He's very out of practice with tree-climbing, and most other rural activities. He uses the pretense of dusting bark off his clothes to look away, still caught off guard by her lack of hesitation.]

I don't make a habit of setting myself on fire. I'd be fine, but my clothes don't tend to be, and it would make for a very awkward walk home. [The mental image gets a nostalgic chuckle out of him. Ah, the good old days of his mother throwing her coat at him and facepalming, muttering about decency. That's one of the few unambiguously funny things about the past.] But... that is my power, you know. Fire. That doesn't bother you?