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“It’s okay,” Leaf said, standing up.

Instead of a beer, he got a glass of water from the kitchen. Before returning to the balcony with it, he stopped outside the bedroom and listened.

It was quiet. Too quiet. An unsettling, all-consuming silence. He stepped into the room and paused at the foot of the bed. Tristan didn’t stir.

Is it happening again?

Leaf stood rooted to the spot, watching and counting the seconds.

One. Two. Three.

Breathe!

Four. Five.

How long has it been going on?

Forty-five?

Please not sixty-eight.

Where’s the limit?

Fifteen. Sixteen.

Leaf tilted his head slightly and reminded himself to breathe. Suddenly, Tristan jerked and gasped for air in panic. Relieved, Leaf placed the glass on the floor and climbed onto the bed beside Tristan.

“Hey … Hey … Easy. It’s all good,” Leaf whispered soothingly, pulling him close.

Tristan wrapped his arm around him and held on tight. Then he slid a leg between Leaf’s and nestled against him. His whole body was tense, and he still breathed heavily.

Leaf gently pushed Tristan’s black curls away from his face and placed his hand on his head. It felt so familiar. Tristan’s breathing calmed down again and became steady.

“He stopped breathing!” Leaf exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. “I thought he was suffocating!”

Milo took a drag of his cigarette and exhaled the smoke.

How could he remain so calm? This was his brother after all.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“No idea,” Milo replied, shrugging. “Looks like some kind of panic attack. Definitely not asthma; they already checked.”

“Dude, this isn’t normal!”

“He’s had it since he was eight. You know,” Milo said casually. “It’s like a mental thing. Nothing you can really do about it.”

Leaf exhaled and closed his eyes for a moment. Maybe it was good that Milo had remained so calm about it. Experience had probably shown him that it wasn’t life-threatening. Leaf had no choice but to follow his friend’s lead and maintain composure in moments like these, even as the fear that Tristan might never wake up sent him into a panic.

Only when he was sure that Tristan was deeply asleep again did he leave the bedroom, leaving the door slightly open, and returned outside.

“And?” José asked, his weight still resting on the wooden railing—a beer in one hand, his phone in the other. “What do you think about my suggestion?”

“No. We shouldn’t talk about it,” Leaf replied, standing in the doorway.

“You know I mean well.”

Leaf raised the glass to his mouth. “I know.” Then he drank.