Luckily, Pete was sleeping alone that night. 'Sleeping' might be putting it lightly. 'Extremely drunkenly passed out' might be a better way to describe it. He was so passed out that it was a wonder he actually woke up and dragged his feet all the way to the door, without falling over or using his lips to crawl across the floor. The falling over was still very tempting.
Instead, by some miracle, a grumbly Pete managed to remain upright. He was wearing a plain t-shirt and questionable boxers, and was smushing his unshaven face between a partially open door and the doorframe.
For a long moment, he was silent. The entire effect of him smushing his own face with the door made Pete resemble a disgruntled and very squinty chipmunk. But through that disgruntled squint, Pete had gotten a measure of Gwen's distress. Even he wasn't immune to the thoroughly traumatized puppy stare. Damn it all.
That was why he told Gwen with a sigh, "I should be asking wot's the bloody password, but I've already opened the door. Like an idiot. Get in 'ere, you."
The door was held open for her to enter, just as Pete dragged the other hand down over the entirety of his face.