She pulls in a shuddering breath as he takes her hands again, wanting to thank him, wanting to just apologize, profusely, forever, and crying too hard for either option. When he shifts back a little, in… invitation?… part of her thinks: you can't hug an angel. It wouldn't be shadow-reading rude, but she already feels so… small, and ridiculous, like such a pathetic imposition.

But if she hugs him, she won't have to watch him looking at her so kindly.

Is hugging an angel really that much stranger than befriending a vampire?

She slides off the armchair with an abrupt little thump and buries her face in his shoulder, probably getting tears all over his argyle-patterned cardigan. He doesn't feel Other to her. She doesn't blaze away into nothingness at his touch. He just feels normal, and she leans against the reassuring warm solidity of him and weeps.

Well, she was already a wreck, anyway. Maybe he won't hold it against her.