You are the night-time fear
He feels guilty for startling her, dismay flashing across his face before it clears again. Perhaps he should've ghosted back to the bathroom, hidden away there until she came back from wherever she had been on her own, but...She's just returned from death to find her twin sister gone. He doesn't know what to say, how to help her—suspects he can't, anyway. Not unless he can find Evelyn. He'll just have to do what he can to keep her interested in life until she figures things out on her own.
The confusion is evident on his face (what was so funny about how he looked?) as he reaches to take the old coat from her, giving it a cursory inspection to hide what feels like the Ascended equivalent of a blush. It's not out of some sort of modesty, he just doesn't know what it was he did to elicit such a response, so he focuses on the garment instead. She's done a good job covering up the gaps and gashes ground into it by stones, but not even a master seamstress could save it for more than a few more seasons anyway. It's just too worn, too old. He gives her a small, warm smile. "Thank you."
She says she doesn't need anything and disappears. Aamu remains standing in the kitchen with a frown on his face, listening to her quiet footfalls, the occasional protesting squeak of a floorboard too used to emptiness. He's not doing anything, but turns his head to watch when she emerges again, clothing in her arms, before disappearing into the bathroom. He hears the taps turn on, pipes groaning and rattling. Then...
Nothing?
He wants to go there, ask if she's alright, if she doesn't need anything after all?
But she is not his daughter, and he does not dare to.
Instead he busies himself with mundane things: he tries to make sure the chimney's not blocked before clearing the fireplace and laying a fresh, crackling fire. When it seems he's neither about to burn the house down nor choke (well, hypothetically) them on foul smoke he disappears to retrieve his wet clothes, hanging them over the backs of chairs and drawing them closer. Licks his lips. Remembers the feeling of a heart wildly pounding when doing something he's not sure of.
He hunts through the kitchen cabinets, but finds nothing from which to make a hot drink that will actually taste something. He makes a mental note to find someone selling strong teas, conveniently skipping over the fact Mabel hasn't invited him to stay for longer.
Still. He's at an impasse again, needs something else to do—
He wanders back to the door. Scans for shelves and cabinets, before carefully searching around for boots. He would go look in the room Mabel had gone to previously, but that would be to overstep his boundaries too much. He hopes she won't mind even this smaller transgression. Finally, he finds what he's looking for.
With his own worn boots in one hand a pair of Mabel-sized in the other (why'd you think he looked at her tracks in the snow?) he returns to the kitchen to place them down, disappearing again to find some fat and a couple of clean rags. He leaves the fat where the fire's heat will make it soft and pliable and draws a little water to wet one of the rags before settling down on the chair Mabel had previously occupied, intending to clean both pairs of boots (one worn, one dusty), maybe repair any frayed seams, and work the fat into the starved leather.
You are the morning when it's clear
AAMU
