Abby, who got up the moment Clarisse entered the door, has to take her seat again with no small amount of awkwardness but she still does, and next to her on the bed. This time, she can allow their legs to touch a little, as they did before, with less nervousness. And thankfully there's something to do with her hands — she brings the other mug up to her nose and inhales the rusty, deep smell of the coffee.

Sitting here holding it, noting the rest of the food Clarisse has brought back up the stairs for her, she doesn't assume for a second that she's talking about that. She shrugs. "It's okay. I — um, hope it happens again."

So. Yeah.

She's staring into her coffee for emotional support.