He took Gabriel's hand again, the squeeze of his fingers warm and reaffirming. It felt right, clasping hands. It felt like a lifetime, both for himself and toward Gabriel--like he was reaching across oceans for him. Eli listened, focused on Gabriel. He tilted his head slightly when Gabriel brushed off his own pain, but he didn't call him on it, or reach for platitudes. (Eli had never been very good at that, his emotional IQ floundering whenever sensitivity was required. He tried, and he cared, but this was something his brother excelled at, not him.)

What was him was the quiet, "I hear you," because he did--he was taking in everything Gabriel said and letting it paint a picture. "You love building things. I'd like to hear about your creations."