FINN
He’s lost in the horror behind his eyes, lost and burning, burning with it all. He’s rooted to the spot, seized by the enormity of what he sees, unable to go forward and unable to go back. The hand holding his glasses is gentle by training, by the knowledge that what he holds is infinitely important, but the other has clenched hard enough to make his palm bleed. Finn is cold and feverish all at once, and he nearly convulses at the sudden touch to his shoulder.
Whatever void he’s just tumbled into, it shrinks the usual relationship he shares with Cian to nothing. In this moment he is grateful, so ridiculously grateful for the steady presence at his side, that the coaxing actually teases his hand into movement. Letting out a breath that is more of a gasp (he’s been holding it, he realises), a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. With shaking fingers, he slips the glasses back on, and there are already tears on his cheeks as he makes himself look again.
And he tells Cian what he sees; he tells him in factual, slow, uncertain terms all that lays before them in the wake of Tanau’s rescue. All the discrepancies, all those who were present - or as much about them as possible, if he does not recognise them by sight. He gives every shred of information he can, as if telling it to someone might make it disappear. It doesn’t, of course.
Whatever void he’s just tumbled into, it shrinks the usual relationship he shares with Cian to nothing. In this moment he is grateful, so ridiculously grateful for the steady presence at his side, that the coaxing actually teases his hand into movement. Letting out a breath that is more of a gasp (he’s been holding it, he realises), a bead of sweat trickles down his temple. With shaking fingers, he slips the glasses back on, and there are already tears on his cheeks as he makes himself look again.
And he tells Cian what he sees; he tells him in factual, slow, uncertain terms all that lays before them in the wake of Tanau’s rescue. All the discrepancies, all those who were present - or as much about them as possible, if he does not recognise them by sight. He gives every shred of information he can, as if telling it to someone might make it disappear. It doesn’t, of course.
listen to silence. it has so much to say
Code taken from Sky who is utter perfection
