we don't even ask for happiness; just a little less pain
Sit with me. It's more of a demand and less of a request, and some part of Finn is deeply and profoundly grateful for it. It's something certain in the mosaic of his mind, adrift and floating, like ice on a frozen sea. He pulls further at the scarf until it comes away from his neck, leaving it pooled next to the door. His coat is left in a similar state, but it leaves the air grasping for him instead. He feels arms wrapped around him, squeezing, feels a body pressed up against his back--
Finn sits. He perches, really, on the edge of the couch, bringing a shaking hand up to run across his unshaven cheek. The blanket he either doesn't pay attention to or doesn't remember, and he shakes his head to her. "I'm so sorry," he blurts. "I just - I came here, I didn't know where else to go. I need to - I can't be..."
Being alone doesn't work any more. Being around others doesn't work and never has. And now he's stuck, now he's lost and he doesn't know where to turn. "He found me."
Finn sits. He perches, really, on the edge of the couch, bringing a shaking hand up to run across his unshaven cheek. The blanket he either doesn't pay attention to or doesn't remember, and he shakes his head to her. "I'm so sorry," he blurts. "I just - I came here, I didn't know where else to go. I need to - I can't be..."
Being alone doesn't work any more. Being around others doesn't work and never has. And now he's stuck, now he's lost and he doesn't know where to turn. "He found me."
FINN
