"You have nothing to apologize for," Marius assures her, offering her a smile, sober though it may be, as he takes a seat next to her with his own mug of tea. He always does like this part, when the liquid is still too warm to drink, when he can simply cradle the mug and feel the warmth sink into his hands. Such a sensation is its own kind of intimacy, a comforting gesture, whether in the middle of July or on a cold winter's night.

His expression grows concerned at her words, not to mention the harsh sound of her laughter.

"I'm sorry to hear you've had bad news," he says. "I promise, if you want to talk about it, you won't be burdening me with anything. Promise."