The knock comes before he notices footsteps, so he jumps a little and knocks some papers off his desk, doesn’t bother to gather them up (they’re not doing any harm there, and it’s not like there aren’t other papers and things all over the place, anyway) before shuffling and stepping over salt to get to the door, sliding the lock open with a dull metal thunk sound that sort of makes him shudder every time (he’s not sure why, though, because it’s not like he’s had traumatic experiences with locks opening or anything, and he doesn’t remember having a dream about anything like that, so maybe it’s nothing, probably it’s nothing) and pulling the door open with a screech of hinges that really need oiling (it’s funny how that sound doesn’t do so much as make him cringe, but the lock does - shouldn't squeaky doors have a natural nails-on-a-chalkboard effect?).
“Cassie,” he starts, swallows, flashes a grin that’s mostly sort of awkward and uneasy, though not because he thinks she’s evil or dangerous or any of that (okay, she’s dangerous, he’s seen that much before, but she’s not a threat to him, so that has nothing to do with this unease, not at all), “Hey.”
And now he’s glad he’s dressed for the day. Times like these, he wonders if the psychic thing carries over to his subconscious, too.
He stands in place for a second, and then collects his brain’s scattered pieces and takes a step back, pulling the door open properly and waving a hand to invite her inside. “Um, come on in.” And he turns, and he didn’t make his bed today, damnit, and so he waves her towards the desk chair and sets himself on the mattress that sometimes doubles as a couch, when it's not all rumpled like it is, instead.
“Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting company. Should’a seen it coming,” poor attempt at a joke, slightly decent attempt at a grin that’s not horribly awkward, “Want anything? A drink?” It’s a common question for anyone visiting his room, usually because all the drinks in his mini-fridge are laced with holy water, but also because he’s pretty sure that’s the thing to do when you have company. Take their coat, comment on the weather, offer drinks. But living in a basement, he generally only gets to do one of the three - he’s not really sure what to say about the weather because he hasn't seen it in days, and most people aren’t wearing coats by the time they get to this point.