"It doesn't matter," Finn told her, trying to contain just how much relief he felt at her willingness to go with him at all. Once he'd worked his head around to coming to talk to her he'd just made a run for it, and so he didn't really have very much of a plan here. All he knew was that he was glad he'd remembered to say please, glad he'd accepted the pains that it took to add that word on, because he was sure she'd appreciated it.
His rooms were nearby so he started that way, and only wondered briefly if the way she'd backed away from him the other night was still in there, if she was nervous around him. He dismissed the idea simply because of who Rory was. She could certainly handle him.
When they were clear of the mess hall and the surrounding traffic Finn looked to her, though he kept walking. His building was only the next one over, but he couldn't seem to wait until they got there to start talking. "I was wrong," he said, and the words came in a strange mix of halting and rushed and she could tell just how difficult they were for him. "I tried to do what I thought was right, that first night, and when it blew up in my face I got self-righteous and pissy," he began, pulling his fingers through his hair, which was getting long.
"When you came to me the other day I should have thanked my lucky fucking stars but you know... you know what it's like when you have a good mad going, and when you're still afraid it's all just going to happen again." He frowned, and now they'd reached his door so he opened it, but stayed there in the doorway facing her. His fingers traced the wood frame, scratching at splinters, and his dark eyes sought hers and held, frowning still. "It's no excuse. I treated you terribly the other night, and you didn't even go off. I should have... I'm sorry for the way I treated you, then."