You hear the scrape of the chair in front of you, but you don't look up through your tear filled eyes. The old man clears his throat, interlocking his fingers together on top of the table.

"Hey, kid," he murmurs, trying to get your attention. He's looking at you so gently, you almost relent. "I know you don't want to talk right now. But I'd really appreciate it if you tried. You can call me Jim, hm? What should I call you?"

You knew he was trying to make you feel as comfortable as he could.