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"I’m not wallowing.”
"I’d be a lot more convinced by that if you got up and showered, had some water, put on clean clothes.”
Kendall just keeps staring, gives a noncommittal shrug of his shoulders. Stewy stands and looks at him for long moments; eyes sweeping over the dark shadows under Kendall’s eyes, the fact that he looks like he hasn’t seen the sun in a goddamn month, the rough-bitten skin of his lips.
“Okay, suit yourself,” he says, and yanks the comforter off Kendall in one sweeping motion.