After all the bluster, there it is: the conscience and the apology. It's almost like clockwork. Give it enough time; there comes repentance. In the dimness of the hallway and his face cast in shadow, Oliver grins to himself, slipping his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"'S'all right," he murmurs. A step is taken into the room, testing the waters. When she doesn't rebuke his encroaching presence, Oliver comes to stand nearer to Hara. The sitting room is dark, but small slivers of moonlight give him enough illumination to see it: the silvery tracks of a tears over her cheeks. Oliver takes silent note to tread carefully. "I didn't take it personally," he assures. "Figured somethin' else was going on."
His head gives a sympathetic tilt before he lowers to his haunches, making himself smaller. He lowers his voice, too, trying to coax out what's troubling her so much. "You know...you can talk to me, Hara. You don't have to t'suffer with whatever it is alone."