fixed on a moment just out of focus

Luke’s laughing, despite himself, as he waves them out the door, but as soon as he turns back to face the studio, the grin drops off his face. Because Bobby’s still sitting perched on the arm of the couch where he’d been during rehearsal, his guitar balanced on his lap, chewing on his thumbnail. His eyes are a little glassy, a little unfocused, trained somewhere in the middle distance. As Luke watches, he moves his hand, and a bead of crimson forms on his thumb before splashing onto the body of his guitar.“Shit,” Luke says from across the room. “Bobby, you’re bleeding.”