#finnoconnor

B: Well, it's no arm.

B: But, I broke a siren's nose.

when + where the clubhouse, after midnight

@finnoconnor​

Andy’s spent more time in the clubhouse in the last few weeks than he has in the last few months — He’d cut back on drinking while he and Rowan tried for another kid and did the fertility treatments, thus he spent less time in the clubhouse. But for the last two weeks, each and every time he’s gone to see his Ma, she hasn’t recognized him — And while he can keep his head held high and stiffen his upper lip, each time she yells at him to leave her room, it becomes harder and harder to keep his composure. Tonight is one of those nights — They had a late club meeting, one that goes three hours too long and everyone’s far too tense by the end of it. Given the fact that it’s well past one in the morning, he’s already texted Rowan that he’s just going to crash in a dorm room. It starts with a beer or two with the guys, and before he knew it -- He was a little more tipsy than he’d anticipated.

He’d visited his Ma that morning, short and not so sweet -- She didn’t recognize him, yelling for a nurse to come get the strange man out of her room. Andy thought he’d been fine after, distracting himself with work and club business. But by the time he’s four beers in, the day catches up with him. All he wants is another drink and to put this day behind him -- He’s not planning on getting plastered, but since he’s crashing at the clubhouse with the guys, he doesn’t see the point in doing it sober. Standing behind the bar, he pops open another bottle, giving Finn a knowing look. “You drinkin’ tonight, or are ya gonna be a pussy?” Andy teases the other man with a laugh, not bothering to wait for a reply before he’s popping open another bottle and pushing it towards the other man.

Seeing Wes at the shop the other day had left an impression on Blake whether Wes intended to or not, but she couldn’t get him out of her head.  Part of her wanted to drown those feelings with a bottle of vodka, but the more sensible part of her knew to reach out for help which was what brought her to Rowan’s front door step.  It wasn’t very often that Blake needed to reach out like this, but she knew it was important to do so in times of need.  Eagerly, Blake knocked on the front door and waited for Rowan to answer, hearing Scout bark behind the door.  Taking it upon herself, she pulled her key out from her pocket and opened the door, scratching the top of Scout’s head as she entered.  “Hello?”  She called out to the obviously empty house and sighed in defeat as she went into the kitchen, helping herself to a tray of cupcakes in the fridge.

In truth, Maya was starting to really like Finn. While she’s not quite brave enough to openly call him a friend, she at least considers him to be a worthy acquaintance. She silently hopes he feels the same, especially since he was now the only person who knew the true nature of her current situation with Matthew. 

The man doesn’t pry either. He doesn’t attempt to peel back her scalp and dig through her brain in the way that she assumes most would upon knowing what she’s going through. So, she appreciates him. More than he’ll ever know.

But now it seems as though the tables have turned. Finn has shut off. Or perhaps he’s flipped a mental switch and was now on autopilot. Maya can tell. They didn’t talk much on their walks together, but this time the silence is deafening. Especially now that Finn didn’t have a place to call home. A sigh escapes her, brown eyes averting from where they rested on her running shoes and looking towards Finn, “Hey, what do you say we scope out some places? Maybe crash some open houses? They always have little snacks at the front, so if you don’t like the place, at least we get a snack.”

To be frank, Oliver was worried about Finn. Now that he’s fully aware of his past and the content of his family, the worry only seems to intensify. Someone like Finn, it was more than just a punch-drunk need or sudden aggression. It was years of repressed trauma and unscathed, senseless violence as a coping mechanism. Even though that was something Oliver has never experienced, coming from a more than loving family, he knows what that can do to the human brain. To someone’s mental health. Finn, even with the risk of sounding cliche, seemed to be in a fragile state. Fresh from the hospital, something obviously on his mind. Hence why this appointment was so important and Oliver was only five minutes late. He just hopes Finn wouldn’t mind, even with such a small window of time.

“Sorry, Finn,” Oliver says upon arrival, fumbling with his keys as he steps into his office where the other man was already sitting. “Riley thought it would be funny to throw a rock at the window this morning because she saw it in a movie,” He chuckles, setting down his things, “But she didn’t quite register that people throw pebbles at windows, not giant rocks.” Oliver moves to sit then, eyes scanning over Finn’s expression and posture. “You feelin’ better today? Physically, I mean.” Maybe Oliver was seeing things, but something seems a little off today. Perhaps his worry wasn’t exactly misplaced. His face falls a tad, “What’s goin’ on?”

There’s very little space inside of Ford’s concrete heart for friends. Though he cared so deeply for people, which might have been his greatest downfall in securing himself as a lone wolf. Even now, he feels something for Finn, someone so undeniably like him that it’s hard to flee when the spark of friendship ignites a sudden flame. They had similarities that simply couldn’t go unnoticed, even if they were ones who don’t exactly crack easily. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to muster that Finn, just like Ford, comes from a long line of dysfunction and chaos. Ford could go on for hours and hours about the unscathed cruelty that resides in his biological family. In certain ways, it’s even rubbed off on him, Ford having his own brand of harshness all thanks to the way he was raised and brought up.

But, still, just as he had specific harshness settled inside his blood, he was also kind. Thoughtful, even. There was never a moment where he wasn’t thinking of others, even if that did come as a surprise to most people he knew him. This was a particularly surprising trait mainly because Ford has a tendency to up and leave. He was a little like a free spirit just without the free part. You wouldn’t think it was possible to be both free and confined until you met Ford Collins. He might as well have been a walking contradiction, prone to abandoning things for the sake of protecting himself all while wrapped inside his own fatal self-sabotage. 

To put this simply, it’s why he’s got a space in his concrete heart for Finn. He sees himself in the eyes of the other man, he sees all that’s gone unspoken. He approaches him carefully, nodding nonchalantly in his direction. “You workin’ late or what?” The blond questions, a subtle smile gracing his bruised and scratched expression. Ford had a rather difficult fight the evening before, his face having slid against the concrete floor of the ring, resulting in various scratches decorating the skin of his face. Ford dips into his pocket, plucking out a bag of weed, waving it in the air in front of Finn before speaking again, “Thought we’d light up.”