There's only a little tension when Neil presses against him; most of it bleeds out of him in a sigh. He stretches an arm back and turns out the light by the bed with a couple of failed attempts to get his fingers on the switch, sinking back down into the mattress and closing his eye. A lot of shit could go wrong tomorrow--but a lot of shit could already be wrong.

He slides a hand up into Neil's hair. Clinic. Phone call. Step. Step. As long as he's mostly taking them forward.