Jerry shuts the door behind them, locks it out of instinct, and stays put as she heads towards him, not sure how to do anything else. He can't even lift his arms to wrap around her, at least not right away, too shaken and guilty and frustrated with himself for that. How he's supposed to tell her any of this, he doesn't have the first goddamn idea, not least when nothing's actually happened, and when it comes to the question of his being alright, he doesn't know the answer. He wants to say that, yes, of course he is — he's a lot better off than a lot of other guys, not someone who jumps at the slightest noise or starts fights over nothing — but he's pretty sure that, in anyone else, this isn't what he'd call alright at all.

He just has to get his head back on straight, is all, and stop remembering the chaos he couldn't stop.

"I'm sorry," he says again, the only thing he's sure of, eyes shutting for a moment. It's as much now for worrying her as for having kept her waiting, but he isn't sure it makes much difference. There isn't any taking back either and he knows it, especially not if he looks bad enough for her to have guessed that something's wrong so quickly. Letting an arm wrap loosely around her waist, he sighs. "I just got caught off-guard by something, and I... lost track of time, wasn't paying attention to it. But I should've called or something."