You're sitting on your bed, drinking water from a small glass Darin gave you.
Your body has stopped shaking. Your heart no longer pounds in your chest. You feel drenched with sweat. A fog of exhaustion hangs in the back of your mind, your adrenaline having crashed.
Darin sits down on a chair in front of you. He had dragged it from your desk and placed it in the center of the room.
He asks gently, "Feeling better?"
"Being a sarcastic asshole," he remarks. "That's actually a good sign."
"Fuck you."
"Cursin'. That's an even better sign."
You chuckle and take another sip of water.
Darin hesitates, then says, "Ya know… Arthur Hornraven. If ye need to talk about it…"
You shake your head dismissively. "Ain't much to talk about. It was a bad memory. That's all."
He sighs. "Listen. I's been around. I's seen a lot. I's been through a lot."
"I'm fine."
"Listen… I…" He pauses. "I love ya, lad. I's do. You're like a son to me."
You immediately brush away the comment. "I'm a pretty shit child, then."
He sighs again. "I's bein' serious. I's here for ya, Marshal. If you need someone to talk to… about anything, I'm here for ya."
"I know."
He sighs for the third time. "Okay. Well… if you change yer mind… my room's jus' down the hall."
"All right. See you in the mornin'."
Darin leaves, shutting the door behind him.
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