There's a silence there between them, soft like feathers, like the steam that comes from a neglected cup of tea left to cool on their perch. Erin isn't going to let her call herself a liar either, and it's a frustrating, difficult thing, to accept being loved in a way where others will hold your hands so gently, to prevent you from digging your nails into your own nerves.

"What do I do, then?"

This is her agreement. This isn't hiding behind I'm fine by comparing her injuries to other people. This is admission that perhaps, it hasn't been fine for a very long time. Enough that to find the way out, help is needed.