She studied him quietly, dark brown eyes taking in everything with a stillness Lancelot had never quite mastered, not until the end, not until it was all gone and it didn't matter any longer. Finally she reached out to lightly lay her hand on his arm, fingers far too small, she sometimes thought, as if she was used to a stronger hand, a firmer grip, a larger body. But that was the ghost of Christmas past, or something very much like it, and she tried to forget.
"You look about ready to jump out of your skin," she commented quietly, lips settling into a soft, sober half frown. "What is it?"
Like this was normal, like she couldn't for the life of her consider why he might be nervous. Hell, she was jittery and ready to climb out of her skin, too, though Lexi couldn't pin down why.
(Maybe Lance could have, if she'd let herself remember that far back, but she didn't want to, because he was dead, he'd died in his failures and his faults, and Lexi just wanted to forget already.)
"And don't thank me," she ordered quietly, corner of her mouth turning up just a little. "I'm a horrible roommate, I'm sure. Never actually had one before, so I'll bet you'll be begging to leave inside a week."