Chloe knows that itch, feels just as pent up when she's down for a few days with a cold-- were their places swapped, she'd be climbing out the bloody window just to get a lungful of fresh air; it's not a hard concept to understand, much less sympathize with.

The tea bag's dragged out, dripping water all over stained counter top on its way to the bin. Chloe dumps the half-steeped cup's contents down the drain a few seconds later. A sort of non-verbal sign that she's committing to the idea against her better judgment.

She's already lost Nate. No reason to go adding Charlie's name to the list of friendships strained on account of butting heads over reckless behavior.