"Don't worry about it," Laurel murmured. She stepped back to give him room to walk past her toward her door. She wanted to touch his back, to comfort him, to guide him into her dark, safe space, away from the murmurs in the hallway and eyes pressed to peepholes.
"Would you like something to drink?" She was going to make him tea anyway, and if he didn't want it, he didn't have to drink it, but it was polite to ask.