She looks tired. Not like that makes her less pretty or anything, it’s just that, you know, he notices. Because he knows things, and because he knows her well enough to know she’s not trying to hide it from him (which she does with other people, he knows, even though he’s rarely ever seen her with other people but Aaron, because he, er, doesn’t get out much). And the fact that she doesn’t try to hide from him makes him happy.
Yeah, so she notices the awkward doorway moment, too, evidently. He’s glad when they’re both inside and sitting (and the door is closed behind them, which he’d ordinarily not do so no one got the wrong idea, except that it’s not safe to leave it open - but no one comes down here, so no one will care anyway).
She nods to his question about a drink, and he goes for the fridge with a grin. It’s not until he opens it that he notices he’s got very little in the way of drinks - or, okay, in the way of not-childish drinks, because for all that he’s firmly into adulthood, there’s something comforting about nice a cold glass plastic cup of Kool-Aid, and it looks like that’s about the only drink he’s got left. And the only other things that seem to be in there are condiments, candy, and leftovers from last night that’s going to be tonight’s dinner.
“...I really need to go shopping. Sorry.” He pulls the pitcher out of the fridge with a grimace, because, um, shopping? Is sort of a horrendous and terrifying experience most of the time. And involves a lot of planning and strategy and hoping for a good night’s sleep (which he never gets anymore, not lately; used to be the dreams, visions, whatever, wouldn’t be every night, but it’s like the worse things get in the world, the more often he’s seeing it in vivid detail). He grabs a cup off the stack of them, cheap disposable plastic cups, bright neon green and slightly transparent, looks like he’s planning a party while his parents are away or something, and he fills it with the punch and passes it to her without looking at her because he’s pretty sure he’s blushing at least a little.
Living in a little saferoom in the basement may sound like a great plan, but it makes it really hard to have any kind of a social life, sometimes.
He pours himself a cup, too, and drinks half of it in one gulp while he’s shoving the pitcher back where it belongs. He goes to close the fridge, then pauses, grabs the bowl of little chocolates and sets it on the edge of the desk between them with a little smile.