There was only the time lapsed between couch and door after her knuckles lightly rapped upon his door. The archangel had been quietly watching his laptop for any new developments, while the television played some random science exclusive to explain the freak snowstorm to the masses somehow.
The door pulled away to reveal the archangel on the other side. His eyes are soft, kind, while a small smile seems to always play upon his lips. Tall, as the angels often were, and fairly broad across the chest and shoulders; He was both the Strength of God and the Angel of Mercy, and his appearance reflected both, even as was simply bumming around in a pair of faded, soft trackpants and a sleeveless t-shirt.
He regards her for a long moment, exhaling a slow breath at the shave-headed woman stood at his threshold. The apartment behind him was fairly Spartan, but comfortable, his collection of books dominating most of the walls, giving the place a feeling of cozy warmth. His lips press together then, and one hand reaches to lovingly cup her jaw and the side of her face; his fingers are warm, smoothly calloused, but gentle, drawing her in toward him as the other arm lifted from his torso. She would fit there, perfectly against him, if she were to step forward and be embraced.