He hadn't been alone in the kitchen, not completely. Gretel had lingered in the doorway, one shoulder exposed from the way her modern sweater draped off from it (no matter how many times she tried to fix it) pressed against the door jamb. Watching him mildly. Part of her was simply curious as to how to work the coffee machine, but it wasn't coffee she was thinking about. Her concern for whatever plagued him would have been there before the other night at hos birthday, but there was more to it now. Undefinable, and probably best left that way. Before he caught her, she melted back into the living room, and accepted the mug with a warm and crooked smile.
"My hero," she commented with honeyed sarcasm, sipping lightly as she followed him to sit. He looked more than troubled. Tormented was more appropriate.