#(rf) finn

‘Would you be interested in a cup of coffee some time?’ Finn had been thinking about it all day, had gone to bed more confused than he thought a social interaction would leave him, and even his dreams had interacted with the words – and the man who’d said them. He’d signed the package his neighbour had asked him to accept in his stead, and it sat on his coffee table where Finn had been staring it down from the couch in lieu of reading the book just sitting in his hands.

Coffee. The man’s easy charm and warmth had been so alarmingly disarming that Finn had entirely forgotten to actually hit on him like he usually did. A coping mechanism – or a bad habit, rather. They’d had something of an actual conversation instead, something that not many of Finn’s first meetings with people involved. The offer of coffee had caught him off guard so much that he still wondered if maybe he’d imagined it. Who even asked him for coffee? He’d said yes, despite not being that big a fan of coffee. It said enough about his genuine surprise on the matter.

He’d made a reputation quickly at the start of his career, however, and the first serious offer had come from Los Angeles’ NHM, one that he’d taken well before he even had the housing situation covered. But now that he was here, he could almost forget that this was, essentially, settling. He hadn’t told his parents – it would crush his pa, and his da would just get angry for no reason. He’d told his cousin, though, and he’d been quick to offer.

Finn had spent most of the two months he’d been in Los Angeles not at the complex, despite its many amenities. Granted, he loved the pool, and the gym was great, not to mention a tattoo studio that made it entirely perfect – but this was Los Angeles. It was like going to Rome and staying in your hotel the entire trip; Finn refused to. He’d needed no guides, no information, his full intention for his ventures into the city were always with one goal: get lost.

And he did get lost. Had gotten lost, actually, so lost that he’d found himself in the less glamorous side of the city, the side they didn’t show you in Hollywood movies or fancy TV series. And he loved it. But as it was with walking miles upon miles, at some point his feet had started to ache, and there were two choices: the boring one, which was calling an Uber to take him back to the Oasis, or the not boring one, which was finding a local to ask them about any place he could sit down and have a drink.