He does as much; the lights aren't on, of course, leaving the room in darkness when he shuts the door and seals off the light from the hall.

A moment passes. "Oh, wait, you can't see." And he turns on a lamp.

The room is a decorated one, full of the evidence of his being here; piano books, rubber ducks, an ominous dagger peeking out from an open drawer in his desk which is full of half-projects and the wall above it tacked full of writing and notes. But he gestures to the couch, where both of them can sit. Well, if Grace cares to sit. He's gonna sit.