Whatever Helena was expecting, it's not this. This open pouring out of vulnerability, of exactly how to counter her - it's more than she would have expected, and though neither of them can see her face, the stunned silence probably says enough. Helena swallows down why would you tell me this much and instead takes a deep breath instead. That's a lot to take in over two sips of orange juice.
She could have held back, but she didn't. Could have left it at that people knew how to destroy her, and Helena would have thought it enough, and left it there. But instead, in response to a lack of trust, she gave out more of her own. People don't...do that. Not around her. It's not something she foresaw in this discussion, and so instead she has to gather her thoughts on the fly.
What comes out instead of something practiced is something soft, honest.
"Thank you, for telling me all of this. Not a hint of it will I share with anyone, or so help me."
What comes next? She doesn't know. But...
"Do you want to come back?"
To the cabin, she means. If she decides to stay with her girlfriend, Helena won't blame her. But she wants it to be Erin's choice as much as anything else.
"I would like to," Erin murmurs, without hesitation. "I'd like to sleep in the bed my friend made with her own hands, out of thoughtless kindness. I'd like a door I can lock when the world is simply too much, so I can read or cry or just roll the dice on a nap. And..."
"...I'd like to keep being your friend, Helena. If you'll have me."
She blows the match out before the flame can burn her, and drops it in the ashtray.
She doesn't want to be touched without warning, Helena knows. So when she extends her hand on the table, palm up, it's a deliberate thing. An offer, if she wants it, for the reassurance that chosen touch can bring. Reaching out towards her, so that she's not the one that has to put in all the effort.
It's as easy as choosing to walk back, to where there are clothes not steeped in the smoke of stress and misery, to where her bed has been neatly kept, to let a very long day wind down. The shrapnel's been extracted from the wound, now what it needs is care and time.
There's a lot Helena doesn't know, won't know, unless it's given out or thrust into her lap. But that's all right - she's still learning the shape of this particular thing. It has softer edges than she first thought it did.
It's a long moment of wrangling immediate, irrelevant thoughts that try to distract Erin from the reality of Helena's choice; Erin should put the juice away, she needs to get her sculpture from Crabb's room, Helena doesn't have the full story -
(It doesn't matter, Peters. Suck it up.)
She reaches out, and takes her roommate's hand with a shy smile.
"Alright," Erin murmurs softly. "...I can do the laundry in the morning."
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no subject
She could have held back, but she didn't. Could have left it at that people knew how to destroy her, and Helena would have thought it enough, and left it there. But instead, in response to a lack of trust, she gave out more of her own. People don't...do that. Not around her. It's not something she foresaw in this discussion, and so instead she has to gather her thoughts on the fly.
What comes out instead of something practiced is something soft, honest.
"Thank you, for telling me all of this. Not a hint of it will I share with anyone, or so help me."
What comes next? She doesn't know. But...
"Do you want to come back?"
To the cabin, she means. If she decides to stay with her girlfriend, Helena won't blame her. But she wants it to be Erin's choice as much as anything else.
no subject
"...I'd like to keep being your friend, Helena. If you'll have me."
She blows the match out before the flame can burn her, and drops it in the ashtray.
no subject
She doesn't want to be touched without warning, Helena knows. So when she extends her hand on the table, palm up, it's a deliberate thing. An offer, if she wants it, for the reassurance that chosen touch can bring. Reaching out towards her, so that she's not the one that has to put in all the effort.
It's as easy as choosing to walk back, to where there are clothes not steeped in the smoke of stress and misery, to where her bed has been neatly kept, to let a very long day wind down. The shrapnel's been extracted from the wound, now what it needs is care and time.
There's a lot Helena doesn't know, won't know, unless it's given out or thrust into her lap. But that's all right - she's still learning the shape of this particular thing. It has softer edges than she first thought it did.
no subject
(It doesn't matter, Peters. Suck it up.)
She reaches out, and takes her roommate's hand with a shy smile.
"Alright," Erin murmurs softly. "...I can do the laundry in the morning."
Things...
Might just be okay.
Wouldn't that be new?