There's that almost-soundless oh again, as his breath snags against the painful lump in his throat. Finally realizing his cheeks are damp, Radar scrubs at them with his pajama sleeve, unable to take his eyes off the stone. The way the day lilies look like half a dozen little sunrises all around John's name --

"It's perfect," he manages to get out.

One of the rabbits sidles closer to lean against Radar's knee.