[It's calming, and Eleven doesn't quite understand why, just accepts it. Someone else might theorize it's because in the fact of her storm of emotions, Peter remains calm and patient and earnest, and she needs that. Her own emotions are quick to turn volatile if aggravated, and they don't need the risk of her powers going haywire right here and now. More than anything though, it's his honesty that helps her, that feels like Hopper's hand in her hair. Soothing. Good.
Eleven still sniffles, breath hitching on the intake every now and again, but she's calmin down, the onslaught of emotion ebbs and is gentled. Still she reaches up, wipes at the tears, and then drops her hands back into her lips. She doesn't look at him for a moment, instead reaches down to the hair tie around her wirst. She pulls it up, off her wrist and into her fingers instead, so she can twist it a little, toy with the material. If he happens to look when she does so, he might spot it in the light of their lanterns and the bonfire; "011" in black against the thin skin on the inside of her left wrist where she wears the blue hair tie that is now clearly something of a physical reminder to her, of comfort and good things.
Finally she looks up at Peter, eyes still wet and red and puffy, but tear tracks drying on her cheeks. Eleven nods.]
Yes.
[And then, carefully, as if she's unsure whether he'll understand the importance and what she says in between the words:]
no subject
Eleven still sniffles, breath hitching on the intake every now and again, but she's calmin down, the onslaught of emotion ebbs and is gentled. Still she reaches up, wipes at the tears, and then drops her hands back into her lips. She doesn't look at him for a moment, instead reaches down to the hair tie around her wirst. She pulls it up, off her wrist and into her fingers instead, so she can twist it a little, toy with the material. If he happens to look when she does so, he might spot it in the light of their lanterns and the bonfire; "011" in black against the thin skin on the inside of her left wrist where she wears the blue hair tie that is now clearly something of a physical reminder to her, of comfort and good things.
Finally she looks up at Peter, eyes still wet and red and puffy, but tear tracks drying on her cheeks. Eleven nods.]
Yes.
[And then, carefully, as if she's unsure whether he'll understand the importance and what she says in between the words:]
Friends don't lie.