Relief crashes into Vanya. She nods gratefully. The books are guarded closely in her arms against her chest. There's a strange sensation of at her elbow where she doesn't know her hoodie has ripped.
This man leans out and so, too, does Vanya, looking both ways, as well. On the outside, it must look ridiculous: two disembodies heads with a foot and a half of vertical distance between them glancing paranoid out of an alley. Vanya takes one last glance behind at what she's done and all but launches herself out of the alley.
At some point, she notices they've fallen into stride side-by-side. Her heart is starting to slow its nauseating cadence. Now, she looks all the way up to get a good look at him, eyes shining appreciatively. Without someone there to talk her through it, she fears she may have stayed stuck in a terror-loop in that alley or much, much worse. He might have saved three people's lives tonight. Does he know that?
"Okay," she says, eyes snapping back down to the pavement. Her fingers are fraying at the edge of the already-worn edges of the bound folder of sheet music and practice books she's clinging to. There's still the aftershocks of that faint whine tickling at her ear, like the energy is still close to the surface. She shakes her head a little, but it doesn't seem to do much. It's a little hard to breathe. This is when she would have been reaching for her pills. Understanding that she misses the relief of safety doesn't lessen the vitriol she feels for the things. She's fucking shaking. How is she supposed to learn how to be now?
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what to say..." she realizes, crestfallen. She hears a voice say, if you're going to make a mess, Number Seven, at least have the decency to explain yourself.
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This man leans out and so, too, does Vanya, looking both ways, as well. On the outside, it must look ridiculous: two disembodies heads with a foot and a half of vertical distance between them glancing paranoid out of an alley. Vanya takes one last glance behind at what she's done and all but launches herself out of the alley.
At some point, she notices they've fallen into stride side-by-side. Her heart is starting to slow its nauseating cadence. Now, she looks all the way up to get a good look at him, eyes shining appreciatively. Without someone there to talk her through it, she fears she may have stayed stuck in a terror-loop in that alley or much, much worse. He might have saved three people's lives tonight. Does he know that?
"Okay," she says, eyes snapping back down to the pavement. Her fingers are fraying at the edge of the already-worn edges of the bound folder of sheet music and practice books she's clinging to. There's still the aftershocks of that faint whine tickling at her ear, like the energy is still close to the surface. She shakes her head a little, but it doesn't seem to do much. It's a little hard to breathe. This is when she would have been reaching for her pills. Understanding that she misses the relief of safety doesn't lessen the vitriol she feels for the things. She's fucking shaking. How is she supposed to learn how to be now?
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what to say..." she realizes, crestfallen. She hears a voice say, if you're going to make a mess, Number Seven, at least have the decency to explain yourself.