"Dammit," she replies, half-joking, but she's too tired to try to be funny so she just slumps against him and sniffles into his shoulder, letting her hands settle on his chest, her fingers curling under the apron he's still wearing to hold on. He's clearly not good with hugs — but this is why she has gay best friends, right? — but he's trying, and that's good enough for right now. Plus he smells nice, like coffee and sugar and sweet breads overlaying his aftershave, and it's comforting.