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Seamus Finnigan (openbottle) wrote in finnigans_rpg,

Seamus bit his lip slightly as he looked down into his soup, a movement from his spoon sending the noodles spinning. Days in a row that feel 'okay' wasn't what he wanted for his friends. He wanted days that felt great, brilliant, amazing. That 'okay' was the best they could hope to maintain was frankly depressing. His shoulders hunched as he lifted the bowl closer to his mouth so he wouldn't spill. "Speak for yourself," he answered when he'd finished another few spoonfuls. His tone was flat, his usual good humour seeming miles away. "You'll always be handsome. But me?" He reached a hand up to his curls. "Once I start going grey, that'll be it for me."

He managed a small smile when Dean finally clicked to what he was going on about, but it didn't do much to banish the general malaise. "See?" he said. "I knew you'd know, really. The word doesn't matter. Not if you know what I mean."