Antigone looked at him trying to figure him out: those were not words that men just said, or said and meant, at any rate. But she rather got the feeling that Asterion did mean it.
She spotted a bathroom and pointed her intentions toward the door, then dried up the worst of her dripping hair with a handful of paper towels, and washed her face. Her suspicions were correct; her face bore all the signs of someone who'd spent their recent past sobbing heavily and now was feeling stripped back, and raw, and angry, and clingy, and a little shaken apart trying to fit so many feelings in one small frame.
She sat down heavily in the booth across from him, elbows on the table to keep herself upright. "I literally do not remember the last time a man told me I could say anything I wanted to and he'd listen," she said, returning to her previous thought. "Or that I didn't have to be calm."
Not that he deserved a badge or anything for doing something a woman would have done without thinking twice about it, she was just too worn thin to hide her surprise.