[He shrugs, hopes he manages nonchalance, and nearly jumps out of his skin when the coffee maker dings, announcing that Paige's tea is finished. He swallows. He needs to calm the fuck down. He wasn't this bad yesterday, or at least wasn't this jumpy yesterday. He'd managed to work himself up into have two panic attacks yesterday- thank you Cam, really-, and he still hadn't been this jumpy. He felt like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. Instead, though, he lifts Paige's mug up from under the machine and sort of holds it out toward her where she's sitting on the floor reading the back of a box of pancake mix.]
Here, your, uh, tea is done, or whatever.
[He doesn't move toward her, though. He doesn't really want to. He doesn't want to touch her, though he knows that touching a girl has never actually done anything bad to him. Well, except make him feel wrong and sick and violated and like 'no' is a word he no longer has any actual right to. But touching a girl has never hurt. He knows that. God, he knows that. What the fuck is wrong with him?
But he still can't seem to bring himself to cross over to her, so he just sort of sets it on the counter beside him, and starts about the process of making himself another cup of coffee, playing it off like he's just too damn lazy to bring the cup to her.]