[ There's a shift where he sits, discomfort made physical, as if Charles is already regretting his request that she be honest at him, but no other move to interrupt her. His blunt fingernails set against the table, where his gaze has lowered for the moment.

That last part gets a vocalisation -- hmm -- that never graduated to an actual laugh, but exists in the category of 'mirth'. Understated. ]

I did skip time, and change.

[ He sits back in his chair, as if he can make himself relax if he wrenches himself into the obligatory positions to do so. ]

Fairly significantly in both cases, I suppose. Thing about being lonely is that it's a lot easier to put up with when you decide to be.