Edward gave him a little nod. He looked at the doctor’s pen moving. He looked at the bedsheet. He looked at his own right hand. Just amazed at the detail and clarity he could find there when he focused. It was a miracle.
He didn’t dare look to the left arm, though, even when Henry was talking about it, and he had a bit of a sick feeling in his stomach. He was going to have to look at his own body, his own scars. He wouldn’t be able to avoid it forever.
“Ah. Sorry. It’s... a lot to take in,” he admitted, explaining his quiet manner.