[It's not that she didn't have friends before SEES -- of course she did, if only because talking to people around her and spending time with them made the silence when she she did go back to an empty house a little more bearable. But after she moved to Iwatodai, none of them ever messaged her or called her. Out of sight, out of mind, right? It's not like she called any of them, either.
It wasn't like that with SEES, though. They didn't always get along, sure, and sometimes they fought or yelled at each other, but...
She exhales quietly through her nose while she waits for Shinji to answer, nervous in spite of herself. He probably doesn't get it, huh? It's not just that it's a second chance to get to know him, to spend more time with him like she'd wanted back in October; it's that she can trust him with just about anything, if only she could get over her own reluctance to speak about it. He's the only one she has who really gets even half of what they'd been through, and she'd sooner cut off her own hand than have him think that he can't take hers for support.
So when he finally opens his arms, she can't help but laugh a little with relief, some of the tension that had been building in her shoulders melting away; she pushes herself out of her chair to sit next to him on the bed and wrap her arms tightly around his chest, burying her face in his shoulder. He's solid, breathing on his own and unmistakably alive.]
Thanks. [Her voice is muffled against his shoulder, and if he wants to think this is purely for her benefit, well, that's fine. Her pride isn't that fragile.]
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It wasn't like that with SEES, though. They didn't always get along, sure, and sometimes they fought or yelled at each other, but...
She exhales quietly through her nose while she waits for Shinji to answer, nervous in spite of herself. He probably doesn't get it, huh? It's not just that it's a second chance to get to know him, to spend more time with him like she'd wanted back in October; it's that she can trust him with just about anything, if only she could get over her own reluctance to speak about it. He's the only one she has who really gets even half of what they'd been through, and she'd sooner cut off her own hand than have him think that he can't take hers for support.
So when he finally opens his arms, she can't help but laugh a little with relief, some of the tension that had been building in her shoulders melting away; she pushes herself out of her chair to sit next to him on the bed and wrap her arms tightly around his chest, burying her face in his shoulder. He's solid, breathing on his own and unmistakably alive.]
Thanks. [Her voice is muffled against his shoulder, and if he wants to think this is purely for her benefit, well, that's fine. Her pride isn't that fragile.]