Ethan tensed his fingers, knuckling the brittle and thin newspaper he held in his hands slightly, the edges coming to look blurred. A sleepless purple surrounded his brown eyes, and his body held a tiredly bad posture as he sat in the red armchair in the middle of the Inn's cafeteria. His eyes roamed the news of three days ago; old stuff that was a poor substitute to what he really prefered. Real news. Comfort. Though he'd gotten plenty of sleep since his all-nighter with Kat at the hospital, Ethan found himself constantly tired, and even slightly blue by the enivronment of the island. It was under some weird kind of a shut-down, for some reason, and it seemed to depress a lot of its inhabitants. Emily was constantly worried, Mr and Mrs Anderson seemed beyond as tired as he felt, and the rest of the guests were whispering wildly in every corner, some caught up in what happened to Derek; others caught up in their own problems. It wore him out, even though he'd never really had his time to react to all that had happened yet. He hadn't quite... caught up with himself. A part of him was still frozen in panic over Derek, though mostly it extended to the people around him -- mostly, it extended to Kat. To her reaction. To her mental state of mind. He hadn't talked to anyone. It was as if everyone distanced themselves, and calmed themselves down. It impressed him somewhat; at least from a medical perspective. Another part of him was restless. The tricky bit here was that he felt restless whatever he did. If he moved around, he felt restless and unnecessarily giddy. If he sat down, he felt restless and found his thirst for information to be unsatisfyingly strong. No matter what Ethan did with himself, he felt tired. So as he sat in the middle of the cafeteria, Ethan had to put down the newspaper; thin and fragile, its edges crumped by the pressure of his flustered and white fingers. Almost a little like his state-of-mind. He rested his forehead in the slightly calloused palm of his hand, tired beyond sleep.