It's getting a little easier to breathe again. It's getting to the point where he trusts the steadiness under his own fingers--the unscarred skin, the steady breathing, the gentle heartbeat.

"We should-- get you home."

They're supposed to go out for drinks, he knows. They're supposed to spend a little time with their two friends who had just been through their own version of this terrible hell.

He's not sure he'll be able to let go of clinging exactly like this until morning, is the thing.