"Okay," he says, guilt clawing up his throat with a will to offer more apologies. He shouldn't have left her, should know better than to try and touch her.

"Yeah. Yeah, they're for you." Elliott reaches behind him for the plate and offers it out to her, then follows her gaze to the door. Maybe he should text his mom and try to ask her how her errands are going to gauge whether or not he needs to ask her not to come home or not.

"You're safe," he assures, then stands. "I'm just going to go shut the burners off, then I'll be straight back."

A lie as it turns out, as he stops to grab syrup from the fridge on his way back. But he does return in under a minute and a half. He sets the syrup on the coffee table, then decides to sit on the floor against the arm of the couch. He drapes his arms over his knees and tips his head back to meet her eyes.

"There. Now, I'll stay right here, okay?