[ The steps he takes are ginger, delicate, trying not to track rainwater as they enter the other man's home. It's not too different from his own, maybe a smidgen nicer (definitely cleaner), but he still doesn't want to make a mess. Lor brushes a hand back through his hair, lets out a quiet breath.

How did he get here? To following others home?

(—he knows full well, but he was always spectacularly good at denial.)

There's a quick nod, offering him a small smile. ]

Um. Yeah. I mean- it's great, not that I have standards. [ A pause. ] Wait, that came out wrong, I— [ He sighs, scrubs his hands over his face. C'mon. ]

Sorry. It's- it's just fine, thanks for, um. Inviting me in.