By the time the words are coming out of his mouth, he realizes Bodhi only meant--in the moment. Couldn't stay in the house at that moment. Had to wander, had to wind up here. It trails him off as he asks, "Did you want to spend the night--" and sets him searching for some way to qualify it, to not make it too much.

It isn't. What's a day with Bodhi in the falling leaves, what's a night in the dark with a dog between them? He's spent prolonged periods of time with him before, even since--this.

"The bedrooms--I don't really keep them up," he starts to explain. "But it'd be your pick of the couch or the cushions, and I'd take whatever's left." Not together, obviously, just in the same closed up room with Jude tending the fire through the night. Freeing himself from the weight of it, he stands up, mug in hand, to pull the pan off the grate and pour Bodhi his drink.