His gaze flicks over me... my bed... my facial features.
He looks relieved.
He says in a slow tone, "Okay...good."
I propped my elbows up to support myself. I asked him why it sounded like he was expecting a negative response.
He scoffed too quickly. "What? I can't check on my favorite sibling now?"
"You've only got one sibling."
"Exactly." He steps fully into the room, nudging the door shut behind him. "That's why you're the favorite."
I roll my eyes, but I don't miss how he moves closer instead of flopping onto the bed like he usually would. He perches on the edge of my bed instead of sprawling across it like usual. His elbows rest on his knees, his posture too careful, like he's ready to bolt if I tell him to.
"I'm fine," I said softer than I had before. "Just… tired."
His gaze flicks to my arm, the same way it did when I woke up in that too-white room, tubes trailing from my arm. I push the memory away, but the way he watches me makes it crawl back.
"What?" I ask.
