[Neal withdraws his hand at the flinch, resting it close-but-not-touching on the edge of the couch. He listens as Kendall talks, listens to the way he talks, every dip and pause and change in cadence. Where Kendall looks when he's saying things, how he holds his body, his hands, what moments elicit a shift in him physically or tonally.
Kendall is telling the truth, that much is obvious. A story he's told before, one with details that--intentionally or not--he's practiced through repetition. It clearly doesn't make them easier to say. Neal's stomach knots with a mix of horror for the kid in the car and sympathy for Kendall's own shell shock. He takes a deep, quiet breath and nods. The words are frank, without accusation. Seeking facts without judgement.]
no subject
Kendall is telling the truth, that much is obvious. A story he's told before, one with details that--intentionally or not--he's practiced through repetition. It clearly doesn't make them easier to say. Neal's stomach knots with a mix of horror for the kid in the car and sympathy for Kendall's own shell shock. He takes a deep, quiet breath and nods. The words are frank, without accusation. Seeking facts without judgement.]
No one else knew you were in the car, did they.