“For the kid?”

He gives her a slight smile. Loving someone is, he supposes, not the worst way it could happen.

“Fucking awful that somebody did that to you in the first place, though.”

She nods, biting at her lip, but then shrugs. "They didn't- it was fine. Just. Couldn't. Be sure she'd be safe." (She owed them, and maybe she shouldn't have run, but her baby didn't deserve that. Maybe...Maybe she could go back once the baby was born. Apologise. Surely they'd understand?)

“...how old are you, again?”

She keeps her head ducked, considers evading that question. But.

"Fifteen," she mumbles. (Nearly.)

“Jesus.”

He turns his head so he can look furious at the wall for a second.

When he turns back he looks calm again.

“I guess this stuff can wait until you eat something, huh?”

He holds the door for her before he goes into the place himself. It’s a tiny Chinese restaurant with a few faded pictures of glazed chicken and rice bowls in the windows. There’s a disinterested teenage girl behind the register (apparently, you order at the counter).

She seems to have noticed his anger and put some space between them. (Enough that she's not in arm's reach.)

She stares blankly ahead of herself, not really taking in the menu - the pictures make as much sense to her as any of the words do. (She'll eat whatever she's given, what other option does she have?)

“D’you know what you want?” he says after a minute.

She freezes and then gives a rapid shake of her head. "Sorrysorry."

"It's okay. Do you like spicy stuff?"

He might as well order two of something he knows is good.

She shrugs again. "Whatever is fine." (She does look painfully malnourished, so too spicy is probably to be avoided if possible.)

He puts in an order for his own (spicy) favorite thing, and picks a citrusy chicken dish that the cashier assures him (with very little emotion) is “great”.

He goes to sit after that, watching her to make sure she’s following.

She is following, arms wrapped around herself, head down, eyes fixed on the back of his knees to be able to. She stays behind him, and only just in arm's reach. (She seems to be watching him for any cues as well.)

He pulls out a chair for her before he sits down.

”Do you have a place to stay right now?”

She slides into the seat, but stays perched on the edge of it.

She shrugs slightly. "Here and there."

It's easy to make a decision from there.

"Well, I have a couch."

She manages to hunch in on herself further, and is an impressively small figure on the seat, she shakes her head slightly. "I-" she looks at him from under her eyelashes. "...why?"

"Cause you need help, and I can help."

She slides one hand up to gnaw at her nails. He must want something, she just can't figure out what. And asking...

"S'fine, sir," she mumbles. "Not worth it."

"...'worth it'?"

"I-" she doesn't know how to explain it. "you won't think I'm worth it."

That's both awful and so familiar it hurts.

"...you're worth it. I promise."

She looks down, nods silently - it isn't really an answer to his question, more an acknowledgement. (She supposes he would know best what her worth was to his preferences.)

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to. I’m not gonna make you or anything. But...I don’t want you to have to go back out there not knowing where you’re gonna sleep.”