John has been crying.
He watches him move off down the corridor, still slow, before closing the door and heading back to Alex. Alex is as stone-faced as ever, and merely says that his father said “the usual things”, but he doesn’t protest when Ryan sits on the edge of the bed and slots an arm firmly around his shoulders.
“Come on,” Ryan murmurs. “Lunch, or that nurse’ll be back.”
Alex leans into him a little more than necessary, but neither of them comment.
* * * *
Alex is released that afternoon.
With the bandages removed, all that remains of the entire ordeal is a thin scab, overlain with stitches, that is quite clearly going to scar. Ryan absently traces the smooth skin around it with his thumb the whole ride home in the back of Nan’s car, and he wonders absently if perhaps a scar wouldn’t look too bad.
But when they are home, his blood pressure is raised once more, and Alex will surely be the death of him.