No, nothing about this is normal. Nothing is safe and detached. They're right in the thick of it, messy and raw and exposed. She wants to hate him for it, and can't, and ends up coming out the other side almost grateful. It's deeply strange, but here she is, enjoying the feel of him carding his fingers through her hair.

"More people who know me seem to turn up every day, and every one of them makes me feel more alone." Damnit. More of what she doesn't want to be saying slipping past her lips, because she's tired, she's so very tired. She closes her eyes, turns her face into his shirt, as though hiding will make it easier. He'll judge her for it, won't he? She'd judge herself. Still, it's not like his opinion won't plummet sooner or later. Either she'll be forgotten, or he'll continue to try to get to know her, and things will reach the inevitable end. At least this time, it won't be a dozen connections cut all at once. She can handle one. At least, in the meantime, she'll have someone to talk to.