Standing in the sunlight laughing, Hiding behind a rainbow's wall
The feather is placed on the edge of the sink, well within Finn's view. Though you want to snap it in half, you don't. It won't do either of you any good right now, and the last thing you need is a naked Finn taking his fever-rage out on you for damaging a feather.
"I know it does Finn." You sweetly say, your dark eyes meeting the stormclouds in his should he look up. "Not quite yet. But you're doing really well. Just a little more, and then bed. How does that sound?"
Moving to his shoulders next, you feel softly with your fingers beneath the cloth to see if there's any swelling or lumps. The glands beneath his jaw are swollen, and you can feel the uneasy pounding of his heart as blood spurts up through his veins. With another smile that's nearly as delicate as Finn's state of mind, you get a new washcloth for his face. Dipping it beneath the running water so that it's fresh, you begin to wipe away the ash from his eyelashes, the grime that has nested itself in the creases by his eyes and lips. It's like wiping away the years, the man below one who threatens to look youthful, but only when his eyes are closed.
You're not okay, Finn. You think soberly. Often you wish there were more attuned here for you to silently commune with, but just now, you're quite glad that Finn can't feel your thoughts.
"I know it does Finn." You sweetly say, your dark eyes meeting the stormclouds in his should he look up. "Not quite yet. But you're doing really well. Just a little more, and then bed. How does that sound?"
Moving to his shoulders next, you feel softly with your fingers beneath the cloth to see if there's any swelling or lumps. The glands beneath his jaw are swollen, and you can feel the uneasy pounding of his heart as blood spurts up through his veins. With another smile that's nearly as delicate as Finn's state of mind, you get a new washcloth for his face. Dipping it beneath the running water so that it's fresh, you begin to wipe away the ash from his eyelashes, the grime that has nested itself in the creases by his eyes and lips. It's like wiping away the years, the man below one who threatens to look youthful, but only when his eyes are closed.
You're not okay, Finn. You think soberly. Often you wish there were more attuned here for you to silently commune with, but just now, you're quite glad that Finn can't feel your thoughts.
October
