we are all broken
”It’s not.” Finn misses the potential or innuendo this time, caught as he is in the thing he enjoys the most, and his good hand comes up to brush across the (thankfully dry) markings. ”But it can be. Depends on how you want to play.” Finn has simplified and complicated this particular tune to infinity and back, but for now he merely gazes at it fondly, where it’s written across his arm.
Raising his eyebrows at her, the start of a grin tugs at his lips. ”Are you sure you are up to the task of being my left hand, Doctor Hart?” he wants to know. ”This is more complex than surgery, you know. This is making music.” A serious business, if Finn’s tone is anything to go by - even if he does look half asleep.
”Good. He can take it up with me. I’ve always quite wanted to wipe the smile off his face.”
Raising his eyebrows at her, the start of a grin tugs at his lips. ”Are you sure you are up to the task of being my left hand, Doctor Hart?” he wants to know. ”This is more complex than surgery, you know. This is making music.” A serious business, if Finn’s tone is anything to go by - even if he does look half asleep.
”Good. He can take it up with me. I’ve always quite wanted to wipe the smile off his face.”
that’s how the light gets in
