Again, Neal doesn’t answer right away. He’s been holding on to it, the wish, the boon, whatever it might be called. Keeping it between them as proof of something he didn’t realize he still needed to prove to himself. Acting on it means it’s done.

“I was hurt,” Neal says softly. “I was hurt and I hid from it and I wanted you to come and find me and make it better, which wasn’t fair, and wasn’t the right way to handle it, and got the reaction I should have expected. The reason I kept trying to get you to read my file after—I was so tired of reliving it. I wanted you to know without having to drag myself through it and explain all over again. I didn’t know how to say that then.”

Neal closes his eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I want.”