sleep doesn't help if it's your soul that's tired
"Most don't get to see you," Finn points out, and it might be charming for all this other man's face shows expression. For the Spyglass though, it's just a statement of fact. A statement made from very far away, within the lockboxes of his mind. Nodding to Tobi, he surrenders his arm easily enough and stares at the eye chart across the way - it's one he has examined many a time in his life at the Tower. "I know," he mumbles, rubbing at his chest - and feeling, suddenly, the charm still flat against his skin.
"Oh." It's a soft remark; a thorn jabbing into his palm and reminding him that all that has happened quiet, we don't think about it has happened to him. To him. To Finn. Wrapping his fingers about the charm, he loops it over his head and, as if drawing away a sheet from over his head, the man who sits on the bed is suddenly wearing clothes a shade too large. Silver and pink scars peek through the silk where it slips off his shoulder and across his back, and his curls are in need of cutting.
And he looks very, very tired. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was still wearing it."
"Oh." It's a soft remark; a thorn jabbing into his palm and reminding him that all that has happened quiet, we don't think about it has happened to him. To him. To Finn. Wrapping his fingers about the charm, he loops it over his head and, as if drawing away a sheet from over his head, the man who sits on the bed is suddenly wearing clothes a shade too large. Silver and pink scars peek through the silk where it slips off his shoulder and across his back, and his curls are in need of cutting.
And he looks very, very tired. "I'm sorry. I didn't realise I was still wearing it."
FINN
