He hated this feeling. The air around his exposed wrists felt cold, but his face burnt as you stared at the scars circling every inch of his wrists, eternal proof of a past he can't escape. A constant reminder of everything he did.

“...Look, it's... it's nothing.”

He picked up his gloves again, turning the fingers the right way out and brushing dirt off of the leather. He wouldn’t do this right now. Everything had just started to go right again, he wouldn’t think about that right now.

“It's fine.”