Re: Sitting area; sofa
"Once, it was the only kind." Was he using her words to experience vicariously through her? Would she have been as free with her offered information if she thought that he was? The answers didn't matter, as the questions didn't even occur to her.
Whatever he felt about contact, he didn't flinch away from here and didn't move to put space between them. That was what mattered to her at that moment, and likely other moments as well. He didn't pull away from her as if she was a monster, and he didn't paw at her as if she was something exotically desirable. He was simply there, and that was what she needed in order to let the words continue to spill for him. "I can't explain it. It's like... being trapped." People. Questions about people. She took a breath. "People can be good. But the other things... those are always bad."
It was the difference in sound that made her turn her head (still resting on his shoulder, much the way he'd rolled his own against the back of the sofa earlier). There was something wrong about writing on furniture - someone else's furniture - but all she could think was that he'd have to leave his words behind. He couldn't take the table with him. "No... wait. We need to find something else for you." She looked around, but nothing came immediately to her attention.