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Summary
A long drag on the cigarette fills his lungs with smoke. He blows out a large puff that ends in a pathetic coughing fit. Gavin dislikes smoking, he once said, it’s a way of coping. The spots where his nails dig into skin each time his hand clenches, turn a little paler. The swollen and red eyes are clear evidence but a scan reveals traces of water and salt on Gavin's cheeks. He left his jacket inside, a poor choice given that winter lurks around the corner. His temperature is below average.
Gavin is a mess in its truest definition. And Nines has never seen him cry.