He sees her half settled on the edge of the bed, and that tightly wound tangle of emotions cracks open in his chest. It washes over him, visibly, to anyone who would know how to see it, and she certainly does. He opens his mouth, but nothing comes out, for a moment, and he realizes he's lingering in the door like a fool.

He steps inside. Closes it carefully, quietly.

"Do you need anything?"

There, in fact, isn't any We need to talk in his voice and in his posture. In all manner of other matters, he's always been persistent in his desire to know everything and anything pertaining to her both here and back home. But this is... something slightly different. A facet he isn't going to force himself into.

So, he simply wonders if she wants her foot bath. Or if her shoulders ache.