“I’m sorry,” Gabriel says, and brings the butt of the thermos down with the weight of all their years of friendship. Because he’s holding it wrong, his pinkie finger is between it and Cassidy’s eyebrow. The thermos glances off and dives into the ground, its open mouth standing it up in the crusty snow. Cassidy lowers his hands, blood sheeting down over his face. He looks up through it to Gabriel, and they’re both crying, neither can breathe right, neither wants to breathe ever again.
