we are all broken
”No,” he says softly, with a careful roll of his shoulders. ”I’m just a one. Not good or bad.” Which is probably for the best, given his thoughts sometimes. Perhaps one day the scale will tip one way or another, but for now it’s a safe in between. At the suggestion - that she sign his cast - Finn peels his eyes back open in wonder. He lifts his arm, both surprised and not to see that it’s covered in white plaster.
He tries to wiggle his fingers again (predictably) and he grumbles at another twinge of discomfort. ”If you want to,” he says, smirking. ”As long as you don’t draw anything crude on it. Lucky for me I prefer my right hand.” And he waits, eyes locking on hers, for the filthy comment he’s all but come to expect from her.
He tries to wiggle his fingers again (predictably) and he grumbles at another twinge of discomfort. ”If you want to,” he says, smirking. ”As long as you don’t draw anything crude on it. Lucky for me I prefer my right hand.” And he waits, eyes locking on hers, for the filthy comment he’s all but come to expect from her.
that’s how the light gets in
