A breath. An internal sigh and a straightening of his already straight back.

"Do you suppose if you look at them for long enough they might do something?"

Pushing from the doorway, he stepped closer, around her, a pointed glance towards her feet on the sofa. Her shoes on the furnishing. Not that she could help that. He crouched down and brushed the crumbs into his hand, before lifting the packet, and a scan of his eyes to asess what else could be done, what order could be added to the space around them.

"It won't help to torture yourself," he told her, speaking as one who knew.