When she'd first started dropping by, honestly, she'd just been impressed that things seemed reasonably well-kept and neat. She'd worried about him immensely, in those days after she'd left; in a sense that's why she'd had to go. And it had been strange, at first, to visit-- but not as uncomfortable as she might have expected. The house had lost her particular touch, but it had never felt like she'd been wholly driven out of it, either.

And now... It's nice. Still familiar, but with some of the ghosts chased away. Less polished than her condo, but more cozy. She feels welcome to stay, but not too worried to go; and that's something they haven't had in a long time, such a long time. Their relationship went from a secret to a mourned memory, to an uncertainty. And then he was gone. And then they were gone, together. And through all of that there were good times, and terrible times, and they'd fought and they'd loved and they'd saved each other through and through-- but there was nearly always some desperation, some circumstance forcing their hands. It's different now, because they both know they can go on alone if they have to; that if they're here together, it's an active choice every moment. It's part of why she usually drives over herself. If she can leave, it means something specific when she stays.

Leaning back against the counter, she watches him for a moment; the spark of hope that shines through, the way he can't entirely seem as casual as he wants to. (Though he's doing a good job.)

They can't pick up where they left off; they shouldn't, because there were real problems, important reasons they'd had to part. And she appreciates the invitation as a favor-- but at the same time, it's not just that. She's not a guest; she isn't here for lack of other options. She's going to spend time with him because she wants to, and he wants her here, and that seems like a solid starting point.

"It'd be good for us to get some rest."

Together, yes.