"No, it's--" He says, cutting himself short and forcing himself to look at her. Even when the rest of him is carefully assembled and neat and in control, he's never been that good at stripping his eyes like he can the rest of him. The lines of tension around them would be enough.

"I can't," he admits, barely raising his voice above a whisper for needing it to stay steady and firm. He can't crack, so his voice can't either.

"I don't know where to start, so I can't, and--" He shakes his head, clears his throat, "Let's just find a place for that one, all right? Then we'll have some coffee at my place, or tea. Maybe sandwiches, would you like a sandwich? I'm not half bad at sandwiches."