It took him a while to finish his coffee, because he kept up a conversation with the woman behind the counter. Since he was a regular, they already knew eachother pretty well. "How are you, Crevan?" She asked, and he shrugged. "Good, you?" He watched her from behing his mug as he drank. "Good. It's been pretty slow, though." She muttered, and looked at his hands, which were clutching onto the mug and absorbing the heat. He looked at them too, and instinctively put the cup down to hide them when he remembered how beaten up they were. He looked back up to the woman, who simply avoided eye-contact and acted as if she hadn't seen anything. Letting out a soft sigh, he raised a hand and took the cup, tilting his head back again but this time, finishing the coffee.
He gave the woman a tip and left, listening to the bell ring as the door opened and shut. Crevan made his way to his car, and thought about his hands. Since grade 10, Crevan worked out at a boxing gym twice a week for three years. He hit a person when he wanted to get rid of stress and anger. He hit the bag after finding out that he needed to improve. For the first year, his hands had looked terrible. Blisters, swollen fingers and split knuckles. Then over the next two years his skin became accoustomed to the injuries as long as he kept hitting the bag and wrapping properly. But after highschool ended, he became lazy and stayed away from the gym. Just recently, when he finally decided to go back, he hit the bags just as hard as he used to, and thus tore up his hands because his skin had become fragile and soft again.
After driving for a while, he decided to go and get some gauze and gloves so not to freak out the highschool kids. He wrapped the gauze around his knuckles and put on his gloves overtop. He got to the school earlier than he'd thought he would be, so he turned it off and reclined the seat. Crevan crossed his arms and closed his eyes. "Just for a while." He muttered, and opened his eyes once more to look around before falling asleep.