#ageofworry

Alive in the age of worry

Smile in the age of worry

Go wild in the age of worry And say, "Worry, why should I care?" Know your fight is not with them Yours is with your time here Dream your dreams but don't pretend

Make friends with what you are

Give your heart then change your mind You're allowed to do it 'Cause God knows it's been done to you And somehow you got through it Alive in the age of worry Rage in the age of worry Sing out in the age of worry And say, "Worry, why should I care?" Rage in the age of worry Act your age in the age of worry

"Give your heart then change your mind. You're allowed to do it. Cause God knows it's been done to you, and somehow you got through it." 

People really misinterpret John Mayer. His persona, or the person he is may not be agreeable 100% of the time, but since when were you, or was yours? He makes beautifully simplistic songs, and there's beauty in simplicity. 

Thomas runs a hand through his hair, feeling the need to kick something in the face just to take the edge off. Instead what he sees and hears is Cian waking up, still a bit drowsy, but the pain is obvious on his face. Thomas had been prepared for this moment, though he had hoped that help would come before he woke. He walks over to the man briskly, raising his fist, and promptly smashes it into his face. It'll probably leave a bruise, as if he doesn't have enough things to deal with right now, but Thomas only has his strength at his disposal, not any medication.

Thomas hasn't left Cian's side since Tessa left to find someone to help the burns on his back. He's taken to sitting in a chair in the corner, taping his foot impatiently and cracking his knuckles every half an hour, trying to disperse the stress that's accumulating all over his body. Thomas had walked over to the man while he was still unconscious, carefully lifting away the remaining tatters of the man's shirt to see the extent of the damage. He had gulped when he'd seen the way his skin was a mixture of bubbles and raw skin, singed black edges and shiny pink flesh. He had closed his eyes after that, trying very hard not to throw up. 

Still, he had to stay. He had to make sure someone could heal him, make sure he wouldn't feel the pain long enough to go crazy. There are no such thing as skin grafts anymore, and even if he could leave his side, he wouldn't go asking Omar for any pain medication. All he could do was wait for Tessa to return with help. Assuming the rest of the group wasn't on their death beds, he would say that Cian is the one with the most urgent need for care. He doesn't want to imagine what kind of bacteria are settling into the vulnerable skin of his back, and while it looked pretty fucking bad right now, his mind wouldn't be able to process what the expanse of his back might look like if it was infected.