He accepted it, finding himself in that rundown cafe with his friend sitting right across from him at the only table left standing. Even as he sat there, his foot constantly tapped the floor with his heart thumping inside of his chest with a burst of anxiety.
It felt as though a million scars were etched across his body; torment left fresh with remnants of phantom pain. Finn was left trembling even in that quiet cafe, not knowing why he felt so scattered.
"You don't have to hide it," Damian said.
"Hide what?" Finn asked, rubbing his own leg in an attempt to stop his constant fidgeting.
The man of salt-and-pepper hair looked right at him, "You're hurting really bad, aren't you? I'm not the brightest guy, but even I can tell."
"Hurting? No…I'm fine," Finn said, lying right through his teeth. "I think I'm just tired, that's all."
That's right; he was simply exhausted. Sitting there, he felt that weariness through-and-through.
