4They're in Dylan's room in the ICU, sitting by his bedside. The wee man's chest rises and falls with a slow robotic regularity. His face tracing paper pale, his lips bloodless, his eyes just dark slits in bruised purple hollows.
Beside Ross, Aldo's holding Dylan's hand, occasionally reaching out to stroke his hair. Aldo hasn't said a single word since the doctor let them in, and Ross just lets him be. Talking seems wrong right now. Obscene.
The walls are painted with a cheery parade of Disney characters, their smiling faces and the bright colours totally at odds with the grim atmosphere in the room. The brittle, stillness and the nearness of death, so close Ross can quite easily imagine hearing the rapping of skeletal fingers, or maybe a scythe blade, on the window. Dylan's alive. Just.
