A small door wasn't going to get him out of the break room, which was the only thing Ford wanted at the moment. It wasn't as though he had any better ideas, though. He'd never been the sort to be intuitively good with practical magic; what he did regularly was smooth and reliable only through practice. He was hardly the sort to go experimenting with unknown spells to try and solve a problem. Honestly, the Fisks probably would have done better without him, and he briefly considered walking back to where he'd been eating before and just waiting for them to figure it out. At least then he'd have several feet between himself and Dorian Fisk, and could pretend not to be paying attention. Since he'd been in the middle of leaving, though, he wasn't sure he could manage it without looking strange.

"Well, uhm," he said a little helplessly. "You want to try, then? You're the expert."

It was an innocent statement, and factually true — this was literally Dorian Fisk's job — but it was also only a few syllables away from the you're my hero comment he'd made at the post office before he could think better of it. Ford's cheeks flushed red at the memory. He looked at the floor a few feet away, just to not be looking at either of the Fisks for a moment, and awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.