Two. Three.
He looked at the bed. Mark’s eyes were open, but they looked past the ceiling, past the clouds, past the sky. He looked scared. tiny 10
Leo sat by the bed, his hand in his pocket, clutching the piece of green glass until the edges left imprints in his skin. He watched his brother sleep. He watched the machines blink. He listened to the hiss of the oxygen. but they looked past the ceiling
Mark’s hand moved. It took a tremendous effort, like lifting an anchor, but his fingers brushed Leo’s knee. A tiny squeeze. past the clouds