we don't even ask for happiness; just a little less pain
Finn's smile does not belong, but it's there anyway, as if hearing her react in a way that's not fine is something he's been waiting for. Sanctuaries don't exist for Finn, and even the ones he's built for himself are nothing but hollow echoes of the things that normal people have. His hand is still there, bunched in the fabric of his shirt, but he feels like there are others swarming his body, working beneath his skin and dragging at his bones.
The shudder that runs through him coincides with Tobi's command, his head snapping up to look at her on autopilot, eyes fighting not to lower away from her face. Her joke (or not a joke) is something he tries to appreciate, but in the end it just makes his eyes sting. "Please," he says suddenly, the hand not wrapped in his shirt skittering out and fidgeting along the blanket. "It's driving me mad, Tobi. I don't know how to--"
I don't know how to stop feeling like this. I don't know how to tolerate what I need. I don't know how to ask you to take my hand.
The shudder that runs through him coincides with Tobi's command, his head snapping up to look at her on autopilot, eyes fighting not to lower away from her face. Her joke (or not a joke) is something he tries to appreciate, but in the end it just makes his eyes sting. "Please," he says suddenly, the hand not wrapped in his shirt skittering out and fidgeting along the blanket. "It's driving me mad, Tobi. I don't know how to--"
I don't know how to stop feeling like this. I don't know how to tolerate what I need. I don't know how to ask you to take my hand.
FINN
