#tbp fandom

He didn’t know why he bothered coming. He’d overheard the mention of the party in the cafeteria and when he’d told Gwen about it she urged him to go. Maybe he wanted to feel normal, like everyone else his own age. But when he looked around everyone dancing with their friends, getting drunk and high, laughing at each other’s crazy dares, he couldn’t imagine Robin ever being in a place like this.

Maybe that was the real reason he wanted to leave. Constantly thinking of his best friend who was stuck in his mind, as forever fourteen. With clenched fists, Finney weaved through the crowd walking towards the kitchen, where the back door was open flowing with teens coming and going. 

“You always leave parties too early. Stay longer this time” An unfamiliar voice called out to him over the loud music.

Finney’s steps faltered as he turned around. You stood with your arms crossed, leaning back against the wall as if you owned it with a red cup similar to his own in your hand. He didn’t recognize you, clearly from the rival school across town. You called out your name, and he did the same.

Whether it was the alcohol lingering in his system or if it was the way your stare enticed him, Finney found himself swallowing his bitter remark and walking over to you. The song had begun to change, people fluttered around trying to get a re-fill before the next chorus played. He stiffly stood next to you as you easily took a large sip of your drink.

“Wanna share why you show up just to leave so quickly?” You asked with a grin. Finney turned away from you, looking out at the shifting crowd. 

“No.” He plainly said and expected you to begin annoyingly pester him, but you merely shrugged with that same smile on your face. “Okay then” 

The party felt less suffocating, the music less obnoxiously loud and the beer less bitter. He assumed it was because he finally found someone who didn’t aggravate him. The tension in his shoulders eased.

You talked about kids from your school in your sport’s team, he shared about his upcoming project he was looking forward to. He complained about Moose and a couple other annoyances from his school, you shared stories of you and your friends summer adventures. Eventually he found himself leaning back against the wall too, holding onto his empty plastic cup. 

He lightly rolled his eyes with a small smile at your story’s punchline. You were about to say something when two girls holding up a nearly passed-out third called out your name. You tilted your head at the sight with an exasperated sigh.

“I thought she wasn’t drinking tonight” You laughed seeing her head lull back. 

The taller girl to the left scrunched her face up as the other tried to keep their friend upright. “You believed her? She always drinks! But c’mon, we’ve got to take her home before she pukes on another sophomore.” 

You shook your head in dismay but tore yourself away from the wall. Smiling at him as you placed your empty cup in his. “Thanks for the chat, Finney. Hopefully I see you around” 

Your friends called your name again as they staggered towards the front door. Finney muttered a simple ‘Bye’ as he watched you disappear into the crowd. With a final look at the party, no longer seeing you. He dropped both cups onto the floor and disappeared out of the back door.

The cool breeze of the night sobered him up slightly as he began walking back home, thankfully the party was only a few blocks from his house. As he walked home, his thoughts drifted back to you and your surprisingly good company.

The second time he saw you, it’d been weeks later. He opened the cracked door of the Grab N’ Go wanting to buy a packet of cheap cigarettes and a soda before returning home to finish his English essay.

At first he blatantly ignored you, not noticing it was you as he walked straight past where you stood playing the pinball machine in the corner. The quiet of the store was filled by the faint noise from the pinball game, and the opening and shutting of the farthest fridge door. 

Despite years having passed as he turned around walking back towards the counter, he expected to see Vance Hopper in his usual denim vest swearing under his breath as he tried to beat his record. But instead he noticed it was you.

The soda can within his hand was cold, he gripped it tighter before walking over, watching as you played. Your eyes flickered to him for a brief second before focusing on the game with a smile on your face. Droplets of water from his soda dripped down his hand as he stood watching the small silver ball. 

Clearly you’d been here awhile, your score was rising higher and higher. Something akin to panic shot through his chest when he realized how little points you needed to beat the high score- Vance’s high score. He didn’t know why it bothered him but it did. No one had been able to beat the record he set but you were about to, clearly you‘d been practicing.

Before he knew what he was doing, his foot whacked against the machine’s metal leg making it wobble, causing the small round ball to slip through your grasp. Your nose scrunched and you huffed under your breath as you turned to face him but he was already walking away, towards the counter to buy his slightly-warm soda.

“I remember you from the party, Finney right?” You asked but he ignored you, muttering to the tired employee what cigarettes he wanted while placing his soda on the counter. 

Your eyes narrowed as you walked up behind him. He handed the cashier the correct amount of notes when you placed a blue covered lollipop from the stash on the counter and placed it onto his pack of smokes with a cheeky smile. His jaw tightened but he pulled out a couple extra quarters from his jean’s pocket. 

You swiftly grabbed both your lollipop and his cigarettes and walked straight out the shop’s door. Grabbing his soda he followed after you. He reached for the cigarette’s in your hand but you held them closer to your chest, and sat down on the sidewalk leaning against the wall of the store. Looking up at him with a smile, you placed the packet of smokes on the ground beside you.

“You messed with my game. You’re my entertainment now” You smiled with a shrug, unwrapping the blue coloured lollipop with ease. 

“I guess that’s fair” He sighed and sat down, not wanting to rush back home for another homework assignment. 

He grabbed the cigarettes off the ground, opening the packet and lighting one up with the lighter in his pocket. He offered you the packet, expecting you to take one but you grabbed the entire thing off him. Reaching into your jacket pocket you pulled out a ball-point pen. You wrote on the side of the white box and handed it back to him.

Your phone number was neatly written and his eyes traced the number before placing the packet into his pocket. “...Was your friend okay?” He asked and you looked at him in confusion. “What?”

“The one from the party, who was wasted” He recalled and you nodded with a snort. You sat up a bit straighter. 

“Yeah. We- We dropped her off at home. But her parents didn’t even know she’d left and we didn’t want to face them- They’re super strict. So we leaned her up against the front door and knocked super loud.” You interrupted yourself to laugh again “We ran so fast down her driveway. But we were tipsy so it probably felt faster than it actually was. She’s still grounded but she’s recovered from her killer hangover”

Finney found himself laughing at the image of you drunkenly running down a driveway in the middle of the night. “She’s still grounded? That was weeks ago”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “Super. Strict” You emphasized as if telling a horror story and he shook his head with a small smile.

As you chatted back and forth about school projects, the annoyance of siblings, friend-group drama that’d settled into nothing but light bickering, your lips had begun to stain with blue food-coloring. You hadn’t noticed, or just didn’t care but it made Finney smile, the whole situation felt light and childish.

Every now and then as the wind blew the smoke from his cigarette would brush into your face but you didn’t complain once but eventually he started to feel bad and stubbed it out.

You snorted again as he told his own embarrassing sports story to accompany the one you previously shared. “Performance issues?” You teased lightly as you returned to your seat on the ground beside him after throwing your paper-stick in the trash.

Finney shook his head, waving you off. “She was staring right at me as I threw. I got nervous” He weakly defended himself which only made you laugh harder. 

“I can’t imagine it” You admitted, looking at him like he was hiding a secret. He raised an eyebrow. “What? Me being nervous?”

“No. You playing baseball” You cackled and he rolled his eyes without any real anger behind it.

“I played for years” He attested and you paused trying to imagine it.

A couple teens from his school walked by, entering the Grab N’ Go but not before curiously eyeing them both. You didn’t notice, gossips were frequent in both of your schools, but Finney turned his head towards them, glaring at them with a look so full of anger they rushed into the store.

Except one boy didn’t. He stared at Finney with a look of unfiltered judgment. His harsh glare shattered at the realization that this was Griffin Stagg’s older brother. He’d made it well aware to Finney that he wished Griffin was the one to walk out of that basement instead of him. Finney watched as he entered the store, keeping up with the rest of his friends with a frown.

“Why’d you stop?” You asked with a slight tilt of your head, pulling his attention back towards you.

His shrug was automatic “Grew out of it, I guess” His tone was clipped and his lips twitched. 

He still vividly remembers the final game he ever played. Gwen had been in the stands cheering for him, surprisingly so had a few other kids. Seeing Gwen there, like she usually would be, grounded him. It helped him get half-way through the game.

But then his eyes had drifted and he saw Amy Yamada, Bruce’s sister, standing off to the side with a frown too deep for her face. He crashed and burned. Throwing the ball to the ground when his opponent talked-shit, the comment was anything horrible or even unusual in a friendly competition, but for Finney it had been enough to warrant a punch to the face. 

Finney hadn’t noticed he’d gone quiet until you spoke up again. “Well. You’re tall. Try basketball next”

He stared into your eyes for a moment, thankful you didn’t push. He lightly scoffed “Yeah. Maybe I will” 

Finney was bored. He didn’t know when it began but he had started to dread weekends. No school, no fights, no routine. He didn’t even have any homework because he’d finished it all once he got home during the week. He laid on the couch, mindlessly staring at the television.

Chainsaw Massacre played for what felt like the thousandth time. He’d watched it so much, he was sick of it. That never stopped him from watching it though. He turned over lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling with the movie droning on in the background.

Gwen had left earlier that morning, mentioning something about a sleepover with her friends. He honestly hadn’t been paying too much attention, his focus had been not getting nauseous over their father’s cooked breakfast- Scrabbled eggs, again. All he really remembered was shuffling the food on his plate around and gripping his fork far too tight.

Abruptly he stood walking towards the back door, he needed to clear his head. Out of his jacket pocket he grabbed his cigarettes and his half-empty lighter. Your phone number written in a dark blue stared back at him for a moment before he shoved it back into his pocket. He leaned against the wall, looking out at the backyard.

You’d given it to him days ago. Was it too soon to call? Too late? He rolled the thought around in his head until his cigarette burned right to the filter. 

He flicked the burnt out bud far into the garden and entered the quiet house. The movie was still playing in the living room, slightly muffled by the walls. He glanced at the phone, waiting for it to ring. It didn’t. Finney sighed, aggressively picking up the phone and dialed your number without a second thought. It rang for a moment before you picked up.

“Hello?” You breathily answered. “Hi, it’s Finney” He stated as you puffed down the phone.

“Finney! Hi. Sorry, my room’s in the attic. I barely heard the phone in time” You explain and he hummed.

“Your room’s in the attic?” He questioned with a smile. “Uh huh. Best room in the house. Even if I have to scale half the roof to sneak out.” You joked and he could practically hear your grin.

“Wow, that’s dedication” He lightly chuckled and you hummed agreeingly. 

“So… how’s your weekend going?” You asked and he groaned. “Boring” You laughed at his defeated tone. 

“Boring?” You repeated in surprise. “Extremely. Don’t even have any homework left” He grumbled, making you snort.

“Then go do something fun!” You scolded as if he was committing a sin for wasting his free time away.

“Yeah? Something fun, like what?” He challenged and he heard you shuffled around through the phone.

“Pinball at the Grab N’ Go?” You offered and he lightly rolled his eyes “Not really my thing.”

“Bike ride to the park? It’s sunny out” You tried again and he sighed “I did that yesterday. Sat at the park more bored than I was at home”

“You could meet me for a late lunch at the diner?” You said and he paused. Finney’s eyes flickered to the round clock in the kitchen. He hadn’t realized he’d missed lunch, his stomach grumbled in agreement to the idea.

“I guess that sounds fun” He tried and failed to keep his grumpy tone. You laughed. “Okay but I’m still in pajamas so I’ve got to get dressed. I’ll meet you there soon!”

“Wait, seriously?” He laughed. “Shush! I was busy studying” You defended yourself and hung up with a swift ‘See you soon’. 

Finney placed the phone back on the receiver. He returned to the living room, turning off the TV and removing the VHS tape and placing it carefully back onto his shelf in his room. He swapped his jacket for a cleaner one, picking his usual well-worn sneakers.

He grabbed his wallet, placing it in his back pocket as he left his room. Reaching for the spare keys from the kitchen bench, he quickly locked the front door behind him.

His hands were warm within his pocket as he walked down the familiar streets towards the diner. As he reached a corner, he paused waiting for a car to pass before crossing the quiet road. He turned his head towards the street, faltering when he saw an older woman walking a panting golden retriever.

He recognized the woman as Mrs. Showalter. The worst part about seeing her around town, were her sad grief-stricken eyes. When they met his, she didn’t blame him, she just swelled with pity that felt suffocating. Finney quickly walked on. He was thankful to see only a handful of cars parked outside the diner.

Finney walked up the couple concrete steps into the diner. His deep brown eyes scanned the room. Upon not seeing you, he found a vacant booth sitting facing the glass door he’d just walked through.

He’d re-read the menu twice before you entered the diner. Your summer clothes were colorful and you pushed your sunglasses off your eyes leaving them atop your head. Whatever irritation he had at your late-ness, or rather his early-ness, was quelled from his attitude as you widely smiled and greeted him with a chirpy ‘Hi’. 

“Hey. Thanks for this” He said, sitting up a bit from where he’d begun to slouch against the red coloured seats. 

Your hands immediately found the menu he’d dropped on the table, flipping it around and skimming over the options. “Course! You’re good company” You smiled and he silently snorted, he didn’t remember the last time recently, anyone had thought of him as anything ‘good’. 

“Plus, I skipped breakfast so I’m starving” You dramatically drawled, lifting the menu so it obstructed his view of your face. 

Finney let you read in silence for a moment, bouncing his foot up and down. “So, what’s kept you so busy that I’ve pulled you away from?”

You groaned, dropping the menu and dragging your hands over your face. “A history project. Which I am very close to giving up on. Exactly like my partner! Who is completely ignoring me and wants nothing to do with the project. She acts like I’m her nagging mother but it’s a quarter of our grade riding on this.”

He shakes his head with a smile. “Partner’s like that suck. But I’m sure you’ll do great” He sympathizes. 

“Thanks, but enough about school. My brain needs a break” You joke and he nods in agreement as the waitress walks over pulling out her small notebook.

You both order your food and drinks, muttering ‘thanks’ to the yellow-uniformed waitress. He asked you whether you’d decided on buying the bag you’d been saving for, while you asked how the movie he’d mentioned he was planning on seeing with Gwen the last time you’d seen him.

Conversation flowed as easily as it usually did with you. By the time both orders arrived, his stomach was grumbling. 

Finney ate and listened while you chatted away and occasionally leaned over the table to steal some of his curly fries. In retaliation he stole the cherry from the top of your milkshake. Soft music from the radio on the counter played underneath your laughter at another one of his stories. 

“I don’t believe you, at all” You said in between fits of laughter. Finney leaned in closer with a rare smile. “What? You think I’d make this up?”

“You expect me to believe you fired a home-made rocket at your middle school bully?” You skeptically questioned. 

“It wasn’t intentional! His big head was in the way” He waved his hands in defeat with a puff of laughter. 

You chuckled again, making your shoulders shake as you lightly shook your head. “You do realize that the fact that you didn’t mean to, makes it funnier right?” He shrugged with a fake sigh that only fueled your laughter more.

The following conversation was cut short as the waitress returned, swiftly talking away their empty dishes with a mention of the bill waiting at the counter. Finney nodded, rising from his seat, walking over to the counter.

Pulling out his wallet, from the corner of his eye he saw you peering over the top of the booth with the lamest stink-eye he’d ever seen. After pocketing the quarters of change the waitress gave him, you lightly poked his shoulder.

“We could have split the bill, Finney” You crossed your arms with a slouch but your soft eyes betrayed you. He half-shrugged with a smile. 

“You can pay next time, then” He said and you nodded sternly before breaking your angry facade with a laugh. 

Finney followed you out of the diner, seeing your light-blue bike leaning against the far side of the building. You picked it up and he followed you with his hands in his pockets as you both walked towards the small parking area out-front of the diner. 

“Has your boredom been properly appetized?” You teased lightly. “And my hunger” He nodded with a short smile.

“Then my job here is done” You joke and readjust your sun-glasses to hide your pretty eyes, as you get onto your bike.

“I’d offer you a ride home, but I think you’d break my basket” Finney’s eyes flicker to the small light-brown basket at the front of your bike. 

He snorted and lightly whacked the handlebars making you wobble. You huffed, correcting your route closer to him, leaning from your bike to lightly shove his shoulder. Finney easily side-stepped evading your supposed attack. You groaned and rolled your eyes, making a half-smile appear on his face.

“Okay, you win” You laugh before checking your wrist-watch with a slight pout. “Shit. I should probably get home, I still gotta finish that project.” 

“You were right, this was fun.” He admitted and you beamed up at him. “Thanks, again.” 

“You don’t have to thank me, Finney. I am right, this was fun” You joke with a proud shoulder shrug. 

He slowly followed after you as you peddle towards the road, you turn over your shoulder to face him. “Call me again sometime, okay!” Finney nodded without another thought. 

From then on it was official. You and Finney Blake were friends. He hadn’t tried to make new friends after Robin. In his mind, no one could replace the one friend he ever needed. He felt like he was betraying Robin by befriending you. But at the same time, Finney imagined you were someone Robin would’ve liked too, and that made it a little easier.

The gossip spread across town like a wildfire, which only resulted in him getting into more fights. But neither of you cared what the town whispers had to say. You two were practically inseparable... Until you weren't.

Finney couldn’t remember when exactly he started putting distance between you both. But over the following weeks he slowly stopped calling in late hours of the night when nightmares plagued him, he stopped meeting you at the diner after school altogether.

But most importantly, he stopped letting himself feel around you. After months had gone by he couldn't help but notice your absence that he’d created.

A book you’d left behind in his room that you hadn’t collected, a missing sweatshirt of his that he’d given you, your laugh after a quipping joke he'd tell to someone that wasn’t you, or even your complaining when his knuckles would bleed onto his clean shirt.

He found himself looking for you in an empty room, during movies alone at night, and worst of all your voice after a bad night.

Naturally in his unstable cycle of tearing himself apart, when Gwen mentioned a house party over on Richmond Street, Finney went. He'd already drank far too much for his body weight by the time everyone had finished arriving.

Half way through the worst song he'd ever heard before, he stumbled out to the back porch. He leaned against the white-wooden railing, overlooking the dark night sky. It was too cloudy to see any stars and he couldn't help but sigh at the sight.

The back door clicked and you walked out of the drunken crowd. A look he couldn't decipher within your eyes. He looked away, wondering if you'd silently return to your other friends to spare yourself the tense atmosphere.

But of course, you didn't. You stood beside him, red solo cup in hand, and looked at him like he was a puzzling piece within a museum to which you wanted to know the answers to.

“I miss you” You muttered and his brows furrowed, slowly turning his head towards you. 

“I’m right here” The statement felt obvious, they’re shoulders were touching, their breath would fog in front of their faces getting lost in the soft breeze winding together in the air. And occasionally the sides of their shoes bumped into each other when they moved. You took another sip from your plastic cup. 

“I still miss you” You whispered as if sharing a dangerous secret.

Despite the party's music they left behind was muffled from the distance the silence between them lingered painfully. He swallowed so hard it hurt.

“I miss you, too” He admitted so quietly he hoped it’d be lost in the night breeze.

“Then why?-” He cut you off by turning towards you. He didn’t want to tell you he didn't know why, but it was the truth.

His head was messy, confused and full of pain that he couldn’t handle. But by the way your eyes softened, you seemed to understand it wasn’t malicious. The last thing he ever wanted was to hurt you. But whether he wanted to be or not, he was burning like a star, dangerously close to fading away or becoming something bright.

Slowly, as if every single movement was calculated and precise. You stepped towards him, gently wrapping your arms around him. He easily found his place within your embrace. His weight sunk into your steady form.

The overwhelming fear that’d been settled in his chest once he realized how close to him you'd gotten had frightened him. And unlike the version of Finney he’d become after that basement, he didn't fight his fear; he’d fled from it. The longer he ignored you the more he felt pitiful, shameful and utterly pathetic. 

But most of all he just wanted his best friend- his real best friend. He wanted to see, talk and actually hang out with Robin again. He needed his help, his advice, his presence. He needed Robin to tell him why his feelings for you felt so different from everyone else. But he couldn't. He couldn't, because Robin wasn't ever coming back. And that hurt him more than he'd ever admit.

So he continued to push you away. But this time, it was as if you knew exactly what he was doing. And still like the sun, your gravitational pull was too strong to escape from. Instead of ignoring you, he simply unleashed his complicated feelings and all his unhealthy ways of coping.

Finney threw himself into school. Both classes and fighting. At this point it was all he felt steady enough to do. But eventually that slipped from him too. So next, it was weed. Numbing, dulling and pausing his wrecked thoughts, about you, about everything.

But even then, he couldn’t escape you. Especially not when he was as wasted as he was right now. Finney never enjoyed being drunk. He felt too far from the controls of his body, yet every little thing he did or said was heightened by the alcoholic effects. Every time he emptied another bottle, he felt the sinking pit in his stomach that he was becoming too much like his father.

He staggered out of the car. He was sure he’d cringe at his horrendous parking in the morning, but for now, you were the only thing on his mind. He knocked on your front door, thankfully in his drunken mind he managed to remember you were home alone this weekend. 

Eventually you opened the door in your mismatched pajamas. The smell of beer reeked from his clothes. You peered over his slouched shoulder and sighed at the state of him and his drunk parking.

Silently you wrapped his arm over your shoulder, helping him through your darkened house and up your carpeted stairs towards your room. A frown settled stubbornly on his face.

“You’re mad at me” He slurred as you guided him towards your room.

“You’re not taking care of yourself” Your words weren’t judgmental but confronting. “I don’t see how that’s your problem” He huffed and you met his eyes. 

“It’s not a problem. It’s a concern, and as someone who cares about you, a lot. I’m concerned.” You softly said and while the words rolled around in his head, a stupid smile broke out over his face.

You flopped him down on his bed. You helped him shrug off his jacket, gently placing it on the back of your desk chair. Lifting his feet, carefully taking off his shoes and placing his feet under your twisted blue blankets, trying to get him as comfortable as possible in his drunken state.

“You care about me?” His mouth finally catching up to his racing brain.

“Of course I do, Finney” You said honestly and it made his heart race. You sat on the edge of your bed beside him.

“Can… Can you stay?” He hesitantly whispered. You sadly smiled, like you’d seen something he didn’t. 

“Okay. Get some rest, Finney” You say as you lean towards him, pressing a gentle kiss to his flushed cheek. 

He watched as you turned off the overhead light, your small lamp on your desk left the room in a soft orange hue. Purposefully leaving the door wide open for him, you gently laid on the bed beside him. Finney sunk into your plush pillow with a boyish grin.

For once as he fell asleep, nightmares didn’t plague him, only the scent of your perfume lingered in his dreams.

By the morning, he’d crept out of your room without waking you, feeling like a traitor but leaving nonetheless. When you’d call him later on, he’d hang up the phone just to stop the haunting ringing. Half the time you called, he couldn’t tell whether it was really you or just a haunting fragment of his mind.

He hadn’t seen you since until he passed the record store. Gwen was inside, rushing around spending whatever allowance she had left to spend while he stood outside smoking and scowling.

You stood in the distance, smiling and walking down the street with a boy he’d never seen before. Finney abruptly threw his cigarette to the ground, stepping on it as he watched you. The colour drains from Finney’s face as the guy pulls you into a hug before waving goodbye. 

He quickly storms over to you. Surprise fell over your face when you saw him angrily standing in front of you, glaring at the guy’s distant figure. “Hey, what’re you doin-” He cut you off.

“Who was he?” He internally raged. “What?”

He repeated himself darkly and you answered with a small shrug. “Just a friend from history class.”

“A friend? Does he know that? It didn’t look like he does” Finney snarled as anger wrapped through his chest.

You lightly shook your head with a small frown. “Why does it matter, Finney?” 

“Because I hate the way he looked at you” He grunted as if it pained him to remember it. You just smiled at him and he couldn’t help but wonder if you truly understood what he was trying to say.

“Finney-” He interrupted you again. “I like when you say my name.” 

Your eyes widen. “You do?”

“Yeah. Not whatever name that dumbass has.” He glared over your shoulder in the guy’s direction who was now a small dot in the far distance. “Say it again” You comply. 

The tension from his shoulders ease but his anger still ate at him. His head whipped towards the record store when Gwen called his name. He turned his head towards you, but didn’t meet your eyes. “I don’t like him” He says before running back over to Gwen, carrying the bags for her as they walk home.

After weeks of this reckless and angry behavior, it all bubbles to the surface when you show up at his place. The knock on the front door seemed to echo through the quiet afternoon.

He grumbled from his place on the couch but opened the wooden door nonetheless. You stood there with an unusual frown upon your features but your eyes widened when you saw him. 

“Finney, hi” You blurt quietly as if you weren’t expecting him at his own house. Or maybe it was the anger with which he answered that you weren’t prepared for.

“Hi” He bluntly replied. A tense silence hung between you both. 

“Want to hang out?” You plainly ask. Finney callously shrugged. “I’m busy. Homework” 

“You don’t have to lie Finney, you can just tell me you don’t want to see me today” You softly say, without a speck of judgment, or angst.

Frustration boiled through him. Part of him wished he’d never met you. That he could go back to when he could silently destroy himself without an ounce of guilt. If he fought, drank or smoked his life away no one around him would blink an eye.

But since meeting you, you noticed, and therefore you cared. He hated that you never pushed him to talk; like Gwen would. He hated that you didn’t pretend his self-destruction was normal; like his father did. But most of all he hated that you saw him through every wall and barrier he tried to put up.

He didn’t feel the need to pretend or to talk when you were around, because you understood. Not what he went through, or what he was feeling. But you understood that you didn’t know but you still stayed. And for him, that was all he needed.

“I don’t want to see you” He scoffed and you raised an eyebrow, as if you were expecting this. Which only made his furious guilt worse. “I don’t ever want to see you”

“You say that like you hate me” You say as if it’s the stupidest thing in the world and not because you're self-important or self-obsessed but because you unfortunately know him that well.

“I do. I do hate you” He immediately responded with narrowed eyes.

“Keep pretending you hate me and I’ll keep proving you wrong” You state with a lingering tone of it being a promise. 

He stood taller, face puffed and eyes dark as he stared down at you with fury. Your frown deepened but you didn’t for a single second look away from his eyes. “God, I hate you. I hate how much I wish I loved you less” He spat at her angrily, fists balled at his sides. Immediately being regretted after the words leave his mouth.  

”Show me then. Show me how much you ‘hate’ me” You taunt with a fiery look within your eyes.

In an instant his lips were on yours. Hard, desperate and hungry. He allowed everything he refused to say out loud onto your lips. Your hands tugged at his shirt collar, pulling him closer as his hands gripped at your hips like a vice. When he pulled apart, you both were breathless. His eyes were full of ruin- whether meant for you or himself he didn’t know.

“I hate you” He said. “Do you?” You questioned with a taunting tone.

His lips crashed against yours like they were pulled together with the force of a black hole. It’s messy, sloppy and unconventional. But it wasn’t enough, he wanted to breathe the air from your lungs. Lips, teeth, tongues clashing together in a battle of control that he was hellbent on winning. 

A pretty broken noise left your pretty mouth. Finney groaned at the sound. He pulled away from your feverish mouth, gripping your hips tighter. He tugged you into his home, slamming the door shut with the back of his foot. As he nipped at and openly-kissed your neck he guided you towards his bedroom.

As he settled above you on his bed, your hands tugged at his curly brown hair. He whimpered with a rose blush as your lips hungerily met his.  He couldn’t get enough. He kissed you over and over again. His warm hand slips under your shirt, making you softly moan. Once again, he’s pulling away. This time leaning back as he looks down at you as his hands palm over your body. 

“I hate you” He repeats again, brokenly and far too obviously a lie.

You shift below him, leaning up on your elbows. Your lips press dirty, lingering kisses after each word “No, you, don’t” 

He groaned, pushing you back down. Lips attached in a kiss, full of debauchery and desire. “No. I don’t” His thought to himself as he lost himself within you.

Finney Blake was a greedy man. He'd never admit it and he certainly didn't like it. But that didn't mean it wasn't true. Because for all the reasons he pushed you away in the first place, he couldn't help but miss you. And now, Finney didn't want to let you go, ever.

You somehow simultaneously help him forget everything bad, while reminding him of it in a crushing weight. You were an escape, and a tether to a time he'd rather forget. It felt impossible, you didn't even know him when he was trapped within that basement. Perhaps you saw his name and photo within the paper, or maybe you tossed the paper away without a second thought.

Either way, you had nothing to do with that place, that time, or the person he used to be. But whenever he was around you, he realized how different he'd become, he realised how much he's changed.

Finney didn't know if he liked that change, he didn't know whether he wanted you to either. But like the paradox you were, you also helped him forget. Spending weekends with you, helping one another with projects, making fun of other kids at school. It made him feel normal. It made him forget briefly why he was angry, hurting and desperately confused in the first place.

He didn't know what you saw in him. He had no clue as to why you still wanted to befriend him. But he was selfish, because he'd tried to push you away but he couldn't survive it, and apparently neither could you, so he'd let you in.

He'd show you his mind, and his feelings even if they'd shattered you from their intensity and brutality. All he could hope was at the end of it all, you'd love him as he loved you. Which he was beginning to realize was a whole lot.

The first thing Finney noticed when he awoke was the scent of your perfume. The next was the warmth surrounding him. He cracked his eyes open, his thin curtains did little to keep out the morning sun.

You were curled into his side, sleeping peacefully against him. His soft brown blankets covered you both, his hand found your back gently tracing patterns on your bare back.

He stared down at you, wanting to commit the domestic sight to memory. Your nose twitched as you slowly woke up. Your glossy eyes met his. For a moment, his heart faltered. He thought you looked gorgeous. Sleep clung to the corners of your eyes, unkept bed-hair, the lingering shine of after-glow. 

“Huh, you know when you’re not scowling at me your eyes are really pretty” You groggily muttered making him breathily scoff.

Your soft smile fell as your sleepy state vanished. “D-Do you want me to leave?” You quietly asked and the question had the weight of having more meanings than one.

“No.” He swallowed, hesitantly finding your hand beneath the covers. “No I really don’t” 

He sighed, closing his eyes as he gathered his courage and thoughts. Your thumb brushed over his hand, comfortingly and gently.

“Look, I’m sorry for being a dick” He whispered, making you shift to face him properly. “I fucked up. And hurt you because of it. I keep saying I’m fine. But I’m not. Not even close. And I don’t think I can be okay around you either.” He confessed as you stared into his pretty brown eyes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve messed everything up between us” 

You softly said his name and he turned towards you with tear filled eyes. “I-” He scoffed at his shaky voice. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry and now-” Quickly leaning forward, you pressed a delicate kiss to his rosy lips while her hand gently cupped his cheek. 

“If you think I’m leaving the first time you show me you’re not perfect. You don’t know me as well as you think, Finney Blake.” You whisper, leaning against him and his arms wrapped around you.

For a while you both stayed there like that, wrapped in each other's embrace pressing soft kisses to whatever bare skin both of you could find. It was soft, full of love and undeniably warm.

Until Gwen knocked on his door lazily calling that breakfast was ready. You scrambled to pull the blankets to your chin, while he had a death grip on the sheets bundled around his hips. Thankfully as he yelled back that’d he’d be down soon, Gwen left down the hall without opening his door.

With scattered brains full of frantic panic, you both got dressed. Finney’s shirt hung off your shoulders, he barely managed to pull his attention away from the sight to put on his pants. Finney led you towards the kitchen, the sound of your delicate footsteps behind him had both his father and Gwen looking up from the table. His father’s eyes widened while Gwen’s face scrunched, either in disgust or calculation he couldn’t tell.

“Didn’t know you had a friend over” His father said, eyes flickering between you both. You awkwardly smiled at him as Finney handed you what was supposed to be his plate of scrambled eggs, and opened the cabinet to pour himself a bowl of cereal. 

“Girlfriend” Finney corrected as he poured the milk.

His father nodded. “Right” He silently mouthed the word ‘girlfriend’ like it was foreign to him.

He guided you towards the table, seeing you out of your depth was somewhat humorous to him. Finney sat on the only chair left, gently pulling onto his lap. Gwen’s eye twitched and this time he deciphered it as disgust.

The tension within the kitchen was palpable. His father ate his scrambled eggs, pretending to be reading the paper as Finney stuffed his face with cereal. With a small smile you ate the scrambled eggs, occasionally glancing at him.

Gwen sat slurping her milk, her narrowed eyes flicking between them both and Finney was sure he’d hear an earful from her once their father couldn’t hear. But for now, he didn’t care. He felt lighter. Not fixed, not better. But broken, and for now, with you that was okay.

Weeks would pass, his family recovered from the new intrusion to their home. If you weren’t spending the nights at his place. He was spending it at yours. A single trip to the mall and a very long talk on the drive, you and Gwen got along better than he’d ever expected.

His father never outright said anything to either of you, but Finney saw the way he adjusted their lives around adding you; always making extra for dinner just in case you decided to stay over, getting a spare key made that ‘accidently’ slipped onto your key-ring, and the pregnancy library book for young couples that appeared on his desk. Finney definitely returned that. 

You easily appeared into his life, as easily as you did in his heart. And he was forever grateful. Sitting on top of your slanted roof, staring up at the clear night sky. The flickering stars in full light above you both. Your head was leaned against his shoulder using him as your pillow, which had made him smile.

"You ever think maybe we were meant to meet... like, cosmically?" He whispered into the silence of the night. 

You snorted, shaking your head. “After all the work I put in? Nuh uh. I learned the stars' names for you. The cosmos get no credit for us” 

“You did?” He questioned making you turn your head up towards him, making you look slightly up-side down. The memories of all the times he’d rambled about space to you and how you always listened attentively cycled through his mind. “You did” He repeated more firmly. 

“Then, I guess I have to thank you” He shifted leaning over you with a mischievous grin as he kissed her, softly like he was trying to memorize her whilst having all the time in the world.

When you broke apart, you laughed loudly and freely. “Not here, we’ll fall off the roof” 

“And flash your neighbors" He nodded, carefully following you back towards your open window.

“Again” You giggled and you crouched, getting back into your room. “Yeah, again” He laughed, it sounded real because it was. It was a sound that before you had grown unfamiliar to him, but now was frequent.

As Finney followed you into your attic room. He closed the window behind him, looking one last time at the starry sky. He vividly remembers being inside that basement, for many reasons.

But one memory that he recalls now, was when he would look up through that small window. Through the over-bearing tree from the front garden, he’d catch glances of the night sky. A single bright star could be seen through the leaves if he crouched just right.

One particularly bad night, he wished something good would happen to him. His mother died, his father drank and beat them, he was relentlessly bullied and then he’d gotten kidnapped. He only ever wanted something good.

The next night, the star had dissipated, right in front of his eyes. He could still feel the despair he’d felt as the night turned dark without the one star he could see.

But now, he turned away from the night sky, seeing you smiling at him. Finney wondered if the star had fallen rather than disappeared.

When Finney arrived at Camp Alpine Lake, he didn't expect much. He thought they'd stay for the storm, give Dad a phone call, and get the hell home as quick as possible.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Instead of returning to his comfy bed at home, or listening to 70s rock in the car ride back to Denver, he had to swallow down nausea as Ernesto Arellano made a shitty attempt to fuck his little sister.

"I think..." Finn's stomach sank. "You're beautiful." He heard Gwen's sheets rustle as the pair moved closer to one another before the quiet smacking of lips filled the room.

"Jesus Christ," Finn murmured, standing, snagging his bag of bud on the way out.

The nip of the cold was way kinder than Ernesto's husky tone. The snow beneath his feet would provide a cradle much warmer than the mere thought of his little sister moaning, writhing beneath-

God. Fucking ew.

-

Finn stood outside, completely stagnant other than the movement of his hand to his mouth as he puffed on his joint, for around fifteen minutes. He felt a decent high settle in and sighed, dropping the weed into the snow. He didn't bother to stomp it out.

His hands shoved deep into his pockets, the tips of his fingers pinking in the cold. Snow crunched under his boot as he walked, clear prints being left in their wake. His breath was visible, only slightly less opaque than the marijuana he was exhaling earlier.

He pushed into the dorms, not caring to check the sign on the front.

To his surprise, (Y/N) was awake.

(Y/N). His best friend. She had only volunteered to come on this trip to save him from third-wheeling. Or, at least, that's what she claimed. He knew it was a bluff.

She came because she didn't want him to be alone. Because she's the only constant in his life, and she knows it.

Part of him loathes her for caring so much. The other part wants to pull her into a tight embrace and squeeze so hard she melts into his flesh.

"This is the girls' dorms," She says, her tone teasing, a reflection of the faux "know-it-all" front she puts on to piss him off.

"I know," Finney says. Then, returning her attitude, "I didn't even check the sign and I still know."

"How?"

"Because I didn't lock eyes with Ernesto having relations with my baby sister." You could practically hear the eye roll in Finn's voice. His out of pocketness elicited a gasp, which turned into a laugh, from (Y/N).

"Wait, what? They're fucking?" She inquired through giggles.

"Better not be." Finn replied. "But yeah, probably."

She barks out a laugh again before flopping down onto her bed. "Fuck.. how much were you in there for?"

"Shitty flirting. They started kissing and I left." Finney took the bottom bunk beside hers, undressing as he went. He laid on his side, letting his coat start a pile beside the bed, along with his jeans, leaving him in a The Clash hoodie and boxers.

"Ew," (Y/N) mused. "Cover up, whore."

Finney chuckled, turning to lay on his back. "Says you."

She gasped, feigning hurt. "I'll have you know, I'm a virgin."

Finney couldn't stop the laughter that came bellowing out of his chest. "Fuckin' virgin. You're so lame."

Despite the mock-offense she tried to play off, she laughed with him. She always does.

"So I can't be a slut, and I can't be a virgin. I think you just hate me." She declares.

Finn's laughter dies out, and the two are left in a somber silence. Even in their laugh-attack, in their lightest of moments, there are some things Finney can't bring himself to joke about.

"I don't hate you." He sounded tender, gentle. A tone (Y/N) doesn't hear often, especially not from Finney Blake.

"I know."

"Good."

A pregnant pause. Silence filled the room, the kind of comfortable lack of noise that allowed the A.C. to sing praises while the two got lost in their own thoughts, basking in the presence of the other in a sort of perfect synchrony.

"I'm cold." (Y/N) announced. She tugged her blankets firmly over her goosebump-riddled body.

"Okay?" Finney said indifferently. As she began to pout, "I'm fucking with you. Scoot over." And she did.

Finney's body curled around hers as she offered him her blanket, sharing his warmth with hers in a way they'd done many times before. The soft, steady beat of his heartbeat lulled her into a state of comfortability. She nuzzled her face into the crook of his neck, and he grinned.

Finney's right hand found home on her hip, just below the cusp of her waist. His fingers sprawled, his ring and pinky reaching underneath her shirt to caress her bare flesh. His left tangled into her hair, his thumb rocking back and forth to caress her scalp. She hummed at the action. As if through muscle memory, Finn planted a firm, sweet kiss to the crown of her head, and she giggled lazily.

"You're sweet tonight." She whispered, voice thick with sleep yet lively with affection. Finney's heart swelled.

"Anything for you, baby." The words slid from his lips as if they were destined to, as if the way he spoke to her was appropriate to maintain a mere friendship. Despite the inconvenient whirring of his heart, and hers, she melted further into him. Finney's smile widened.

It dropped as soon as she hooked her leg over his hip, tugging his crotch into hers with a surprising intensity.

"(Y/N)?" He whispered, seemingly in protest. Though his body made no attempt to back off.

"Jus' wanna be close."

"Well, you're.. you're close. Really close."

"Too close?"

No answer.

So, she tugged him closer.

Finney couldn't hold back the breathy groan that left his throat. He almost let out another as (Y/N) giggled into his neck. "You're hard."

"Yeah, and whose fault is that?" Finney grumbled. She rocked her heat against his tent, and he sighed. "Fuck..."

He met her rhythm, the sound of a muffled whine reaching his ear from his collarbone. He took a fistful of her hair and turned her face to look at his, humping his needy hard-on against her mound. It was only now that he became painfully aware of the clothes she had on.

His lips found hers as his hands sank to her rear, giving both cheeks a firm squeeze. She squealed quietly into his mouth, causing the corners of his lips to quirk upwards. She slid her tongue across his mouth and he caught it with his bottom lip.

He kneaded her ass, sliding his hands into her pants and groaning as he grabbed a handful of bare flesh. She was in a thong, and he had never felt so turned on in his life.

"Jesus, baby.." He huffed against her mouth, rolling atop of her as she was pushed onto her back.

His hands tugged at the waistband of her sweats. "Need these off..." He mumbled, more to himself than to her. She bit her lip and tried to ignore the tingling of her clit as he tossed the fabric of her pants aside. Finn was quick to press a hot, slobbery kiss to her tummy, then lower, leaving a fat purple hickey on her abdomen before peeling back her thong. She sucked in a harsh breath as he kissed her, licking her moisture off of his lips with a gruff moan.

He looked up at her with soft, lustful eyes. "Can I?" Finney didn't even get to finish his sentence before she nodded frivolously, opening her legs further to him.

He practically lunged into her, fingertips digging into her thighs as he licked a long, savory stripe between her folds. A sweet moan from her pierced the air, and Finn thrust his cock into the mattress, groaning into her clit. He swirled his tongue around it, screwing his eyes shut. One of his arms unraveled itself from her lap, instead curling under his chest as two fingers aligned themselves at her leaking entrance. She mewled as they pushed into her hole, his tongue still insistent on her clit. He suckled on it, his fingers curling deliciously, hitting a spongey sweet spot within her. She arched into his touch, and he thrust into the mattress once more.

"I-I'm gonna... fuck, Finn!" Tears beaded in the corners of her eyes, and Finney felt pride swell within him. He pulled his mouth away from her, "Cum." A simple demand, sounding more like reassurance with the way he spoke it to her. She nodded, and he pulled his fingers out of her, moving them to please her nub. He plunged his tongue as deep inside of her as it could go as she flew over the edge.

She gushed into his mouth, and his eyes rolled into the back of his skull. He worked her through her first orgasm, using her slick as a means of lubricant as he devoured the last of her cum.

She panted as he positioned himself, tugging down his boxers and tossing them over his shoulder. He leaned over her and kissed her deeply. Her arms flew around his shoulders, and he wasted no time in lining his leaking tip with her entrance. She whimpered.

"Ready?" He asked gently, cradling her face in his hands. She nodded.

He worked his hands down her supple flesh, finally meeting her hips. He held her steady before thrusting in, the groan from his lips harmonizing with the gasp that left hers. He kissed her again, sloppy and desperate, halting his movements as he slid all the way inside of her.

Finney and (Y/N) paused their coupling to hold one another. Her arms curled around his neck, and his around her waist. He pressed hot kisses to her neck, and felt her walls clench every once and a while.

When her grip loosened, he took initiative to move.

His first few thrusts were deep, fully pulling his cock out before pushing all the way back in. She winced with every one.

But as he got quicker, and as she adjusted, her face contorted into one of bliss.

Finney was rough, fucking her intensely, the sound of skin slapping echoing throughout the small dormitory. Her moans accompanied it, creating a symphony of eroticism: music to Finn's ears.

His thrusts got quicker, harder, as he neared his orgasm. He began to moan, head tilted back, small whimpers leaving his lips as he sat up. He held onto her hips tightly.

As (Y/N) came again, a sweet cry of Finney's name came with it.

Her finish sent Finney's over the edge. As he pulled out to spill on her stomach, he gazed upon her.

Instead of his best friend, he saw someone completely different. Someone tender, loving; someone beautiful, unlike anything he'd ever seen before.

Her tired eyes met his, and he bent down to give her a kiss.

You had the right of way, or at least you thought you did.

Finney Blake felt otherwise.

Picking himself off the cracked road, he approached your car window, eyes blazing, dust sticking to his palms, backpack hanging off one shoulder like it had barely survived the impact.

You rolled the window down halfway, heart pounding.

Finney planted his hands on the edge of your window, leaning down like he was trying to stare straight through you.

“You didn’t see the stop sign?” he snapped, breathless, cheeks flushed from more than just the fall.

You swallowed hard. “It’s barely a sign anymore. And you walked out like you had a death wish.”

A small cut on his cheek was starting to bead with blood, catching on the dust. He looked maddeningly alive, annoyed, even embarrassed, stubborn as hell either way.

“This road isn’t a racetrack,” he muttered, wiping his palms on his jeans. “You could’ve actually hit me.” Then, quieter, “Harder.”

You crossed your arms over the steering wheel, trying to appear unfazed even though adrenaline still blurred your thoughts. “You’re the one who darted out like a stray cat. Next time look both ways before you—”

“Before I what?” he challenged, leaning in closer. The window was only halfway down but it suddenly felt like he was in your space, stealing the air.

Your heart hammered against your ribs. It wasn't from nerves, or any form of soft feeling, it was from pure, simmering anger. You hated the way you could hear the music blaring from his headphones, hated how close he leaned like he had any right to crowd you. Most of all you hated how you could feel the heat of his breath on your cheek, clinging to your skin like something you wanted to wipe off immediately.

His backpack finally slid off his shoulder, hitting the road with a soft thud. He didn’t even look back at it.

“You drive like you own the place,” he said.

“And you freeze like a deer in headlights.”

His mouth twitched. Not a smile but the ghost of one, the shadow of something he was trying very hard to smother. The thin line between anger and fascination shrinking by the second.

He straightened, finally peeling himself away from your window like he had to force the distance. You didn’t miss the way his eyes lingered a second too long, like he wasn’t done being pissed at you, or maybe like he wanted you to say something else he could bite back at.

“You should watch where you’re going,” he said, brushing dust off his jeans. “Next time you might not get so lucky.”

You let out a short, humorless laugh. “I’m lucky? You’re the one who walked into a moving car. Congratulations, you’re a cautionary tale in the making.”

He blinked, jaw tightening, and for a moment he looked like he might actually argue, really argue with his hands moving, voice raised, the whole thing. But then something flickered behind his eyes. Restraint? Annoyance? Recognition that you weren’t going to roll over and apologize?

He bent down to grab his backpack again, but the strap snagged on a piece of gravel, forcing him to tug it free. It was petty, but the sight made your irritation twist into something hotter, sharper.

“Just—” he started, exhaling hard through his nose. “Look, I don’t need you ruining my morning more than you already have.”

“Trust me,” you said, “if I wanted to ruin your morning, you’d know.”

His eyes snapped to yours again, fast and irritated, and maybe a little impressed. You refused to flinch.

A car passed behind you, its wind sweeping dust between you both. He took a half-step back, giving you space at last, though the air between you still crackled like you were mid-argument.

“I’m gonna be late,” he muttered. “Which is great. Fantastic. Thanks for that.”

“Go, then,” you said, waving a hand dismissively. “Before you walk into another vehicle.”

He hesitated. Just for a heartbeat. Like there was something else he wanted to fire back with, another jab, another spark but he couldn’t settle on which one would sting most.

Finally, he shook his head, scoffing under his breath. “This isn’t over.”

“Didn’t think it was.”

He turned to pick up his backpack, wincing slightly as he slung it over his shoulder and then walked away without another word, leaving you gripping the steering wheel far harder than you’d ever admit.

-

The halls always felt they were one bad day away from collapsing, buzzing lights, peeling paint, lockers that jammed no matter how gentle you were. The kind of place no one bothered to fix because this town didn’t fix anything.

You shut your locker with a dull clack, hoping the morning accident would disappear with it.

“Hey.”

You didn’t even need to turn around to know it was him.

 ‘What, are you stalking me now? That’s low, even for you.’”

Finney Blake stood a few feet away, his shoulders tense beneath his jacket. The gauze on his cheek had started to curl up at one corner. He looked like someone who hadn’t slept in a week, which given what this town had already put him through wouldn’t surprise you.

“You really just drove off.” His voice was low, even, but edged.

You exhaled, jaw tight. “You were walking away. What was I supposed to do, sit there and watch you glare at me?”

He laughed once, sharp. “You almost hit me.”

“And you stepped into the street without looking.”

“I did look.”

“Not well enough.”

A few students nearby pretended they weren’t listening. That was the thing about small towns: everyone wanted the drama but nobody wanted to be seen wanting it.

Finney’s eyes flicked over your face, the irritation in his face growing, eyes assessing yours.

“You don’t even care,” he said, low, tight, like he was trying not to explode.

“I care enough to know you’re just as reckless as I am,” you snapped, eyes narrowing.

He stepped closer. Not threatening, just intense. That quiet, coiled energy people whispered about when they talked about the Grabber and what Finney survived. The kind that made you hyperaware of every breath between you.

“You think I’m just looking for something to blame?” Finney said.

“I think,” you answered, “you’re pissed about something else and I’m the easiest target.”

The muscle in his jaw jumped. “You were behind the wheel, barreling through a street like a maniac, and somehow it’s my fault you have bad reflexes?”

“Bad reflexes?!” you shot back. “You were walking straight into traffic like you owned the damn road! What, am I supposed to swerve for you every time you decide to play daredevil?”

“Play daredevil?!” He laughed, harsh and bitter. “Do you even understand what could have happened? One second, I’m standing there and the next—boom! Your car is history, and so am I! And you’re standing there like it’s no big deal!”

“Oh, don’t give me that look like I’m the bad guy here,” you snapped, rolling your eyes. “You walked out into traffic, Blake. Get over yourself.”

Finney’s jaw twitched. “You think this is funny? 

“Funny?” you echoed, stepping slightly closer, teeth gritted. “I think it’s pathetic how you can’t handle someone calling you out on your own stupidity.”

He leaned back, one shoulder against the lockers, gaze sharp. “Pathetic? That’s rich coming from the driver who nearly ran me over.”

“Yeah, well, lucky for you I didn’t.”

“Lucky?” He hissed, nostrils flaring. “Lucky? You call almost killing me lucky? That’s the kind of selfish, reckless—”

“Oh, spare me the lecture!” you interrupted, voice sharp. “You’re one to talk! You strut around like you’re untouchable, like the world owes you something because you took down a serial killer! Newsflash, that doesn’t make you invincible!”

He froze for a moment, jaw twitching, eyes dark, and then leaned forward, voice low and dangerous. “You almost hit me! And now you’re standing here acting like you’re the victim? You’re insane.”

“Better insane than dead!” you yelled. “Because that’s exactly where you would’ve ended up if I wasn’t paying attention!”

The hall fell silent for a few tense seconds. Everyone had stopped moving, pretending not to watch, but clearly they were. Both of you were breathing hard, voices hoarse, faces flushed with anger.

Finally, the principal's sharp, commanding voice cut through the tension.

“My office, both of you. Now.”

Finney’s jaw clenched. He shot you a glare full of fury, challenge, and something unreadable, before stalking off toward the office.

You followed behind, shoulders tense, chest pounding, fists still tight. The adrenaline in your veins didn’t leave. The morning wasn’t over. And neither was this.

-

You’d tried to forget about Finney Blake.

Really, you had.

Two weeks ago, you’d both sat in the principal’s office like a pair of feral cats forced into the same cage. The principal read you the riot act, lecturing about “civility” and “school unity” while Finney rolled his eyes so hard you thought he might sprain something.

Then came detention.

One long, miserable hour in a stiff plastic chair, the two of you separated by one pathetic, wobbly desk that definitely didn’t count as safe distance. The room had been too quiet except for the scratch of pencils and Finney’s occasional irritated breath, the kind he let out like he needed you to hear it.

You remembered how he refused to look at you, and how you refused to look first.

By the end of it, the anger was hot, loud, and stupid. Like trying to argue with a storm.

But the second you walked out of that dingy study hall?

It fizzled.

Just like that.

Not solved. Not forgiven.

Just not worth the weight anymore.

Still, forgetting him was impossible, because somehow, no matter where you went after that Finney Blake was everywhere.

Not on purpose, you knew that but it didn’t matter. Your eyes still caught him in the crowd as if they were wired to.

Passing him in the hallway between classes.

Seeing him in the parking lot after school, his backpack slung over one shoulder as he was always crossing at the exact wrong moment.

Walking into study hall, he was leaning back in his chair, tapping a pencil against his desk like he owned the oxygen.

And worst of all?

Every time your brain decided to wander, it wandered straight to him. Not fondly, not fondly whatsoever, but intensely, in the way irritation turns into an obsession because it won’t leave you alone.

You got over the actual anger fast. But the heat of it didn’t go away.

Not when Finney still shot you looks like you were the biggest headache in his life.

Not when he muttered something every time you crossed paths, too low for teachers to hear but just loud enough for you:

“Watch it.”

“Still the worst driver in town.”

“Try using your eyes next time.”

And you? You didn’t crumble.

 Didn’t blush.

 Didn’t soften.

You met every one of his comments with fire.

“Move faster, then.”

“Try minding your business next time.”

“At least I know how to walk like a normal person.”

It was getting worse, too. The sharp, buzzing energy between you both, like every hallway, was too small to contain it.

-

It finally snapped in the most stupid place possible.

Your house, on the front lawn. 

The late afternoon sun filled the sky with a warm haze, as the cold air bit at your finger tips the second you stepped out of the car. You were hauling your backpack from the car when you heard footsteps pounding up the street. Fast. Intentional.

You turned.

Finney Blake was storming straight toward you.

You stared. “Are you serious right now?”

He didn’t stop until he was right in front of you, chest rising and falling like he’d run here in pure anger.

“You’ve gotta quit looking at me.” That was how he opened. No greeting. No explanation. Just pure accusation. “It’s like you’re everywhere I turn.”

You blinked, caught between laughter and outrage. “Me? You’re the one who keeps glaring like I committed a felony.”

“You did—”

“It was TWO WEEKS AGO!” you snapped, slamming your car door so hard Finney actually flinched. “And you’re still acting like I tried to murder you.”

He pointed at you. “Because you don’t take anything seriously!”

“Oh, I take plenty seriously,” you shot back, stepping closer. “Starting with how annoying you are.”

Finney scoffed. “Yeah? Then stop staring at me like you’re waiting for round two.”

Your hands fisted at your sides.

“I stare,” you said sharply, “because you walk around like the whole town should move out of your way.”

That hit. You saw it, the brief raw flicker of something behind his eyes before he masked it.

He shook his head. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“And you don’t know anything about me,” you countered, voice rising. “Except for a stupid accident you keep milking for attention.”

His eyes snapped to yours, furious. “You think I want attention from you?”

You barked a laugh, sharp and loud. “No, Blake. I think you just want something to yell at.”

He stepped closer, dangerously close, voice dropping low. “You yell right back.”

“Because you START IT.”

“You don’t walk away.”

“Neither do you!”

You were inches apart, chests rising, shadows long across the grass.

Finney’s jaw clenched, tendons tight. “You make me—”

“What?” you challenged. “Finish it.”

His voice was a crack of lightning.

“…you make me furious.”

Your chin lifted.

You didn’t say a single word.

The silence hit Finney harder than anything you could have said.

His steps slowed. He turned back toward you fully this time, breath catching just barely, as if he hadn’t expected you to stand there like that, unbothered, unshaken, refusing to give him even a syllable.

Your posture daring him to blink first, chin high, eyes steady.

You didn’t back up.

Neither did he.

The air hummed, charged, electric. The kind of tension that didn’t feel like anger anymore but something hotter, heavier, something neither of you would dare name.

Not yet.

For a moment he just stared, jaw tight, something sharp and electric cutting across his expression. He stepped forward again, not enough to close the space, just enough to show he wasn’t done.

“You’re really not gonna say anything?” he asked, voice low. It wasn’t mocking. It was controlled, like your silence had unnerved him more than your words ever did.

You didn’t move, not even daring to drop your gaze, denying him the satisfaction he so desperately craved.

Finney exhaled once through his nose, his eyes dragged over your face, slow, searching, frustrated.

“Fine,” he murmured. “Don’t talk.”

He stepped closer by half a foot, close enough that the cold air between you warmed just slightly.  

His voice dropped. “You don’t have to say anything for me to know exactly what you’re thinking.”

Your chin stayed high.

His eyes quickly flickered down at your mouth, then back to your eyes, you would’ve missed it if you weren’t watching him as closely as he was watching you.

Finney swallowed, throat tense.

“You drive me insane,” he muttered.

Another breath between you.

Sharp. Hot. Cold.

Everything at once.

But you still said nothing. Worse, your expression said you didn’t give a single damn.

Your expression stayed flat, unimpressed, almost bored. A tiny raise of your brow, the faintest shift of your mouth.

It hit him like a slap.

Finney blinked once, slowly and disbelieving because somehow your silence wasn’t the worst part.

It was the look.

That effortless, infuriating look that said his anger, his proximity, his sharp words meant absolutely nothing to you.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t soften. Didn’t even look annoyed. Just done.

Finney’s breath stuttered, the tension changed shape, twisting tight and hot in his chest. Frustration poured through him as if a fuse were burning down inside him.

He stepped closer, not even meaning to, his voice low and unsteady with irritation.

“Don’t—” he muttered, eyes locked on yours. “Don’t look at me like that.”

You tilted your head one degree, still silent. Still that maddening, untouched expression.

Finney exhaled sharply, running his tongue across his teeth like he was seconds from swearing. “You’re unbelievable,” he said, voice tight. “You know that?”

Your expression didn’t budge.

That tiny, composed, utterly unbothered face pushed him right to the edge.

He shook his head hard, backing up before he did something stupid, before he stepped too close, before he said something he couldn’t take back.

“Keep doing that,” he warned under his breath. “See what happens.”

He turned away.

But the way his hands curled hard at his sides, yeah you’d gotten under his skin.

Deep.

-

The classroom was empty except for you, the fading hum of the old overhead lights, and the stack of scientific encyclopedias you were supposed to alphabetize for volunteer hours.

The science hall was mostly quiet, the kind that always felt too big, too echoey. It always was during lunch.

You were halfway through the stack when footsteps pounded down the hall. Fast and unsteady, familiar.

You didn’t even look up at first. Not until the door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the windows.

Finney Blake shoved his shoulder against the door, breath tearing in and out like he’d sprinted the whole length of the school. His hair was a mess, knuckles scraped, one cheek flushed too red, borderline bruised. 

You stared. He froze when he saw you.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, voice rough like gravel.

“Volunteer hours,” you said flatly. “What’s your excuse?”

Finney huffed through his nose, scanning the hallway once before letting the door click shut behind him. He didn’t answer. Didn’t have to. His state said enough.

You crossed your arms. “You look like you ran through a blender.”

He shot you a look. “Thanks. Really helpful.”

“I didn’t say it to help.”

Finney dragged a hand through his hair, pacing a tight line in front of the blackboard. His fists kept clenching like he couldn’t stop replaying whatever happened.

You watched him silently, waiting. But he just paced.

Paced and breathed hard and looked like he wanted to punch the wall if he wasn’t already halfway there. 

“Who’d you hit?”

Finney barked a humorless laugh. “Does it matter?”

“Yeah, Blake. It does.” You leveled your gaze at him. “Because you only look like this when someone gets under your skin.”

He stopped pacing. His eyes locked on yours, sharp and exhausted. “That’s funny,” he muttered. “Thought you were the only one who could do that.”

Your jaw tightened. “Don’t start.”

“Why not?” He stepped closer, pulled by something he didn’t want to admit. “You’re already looking at me like you know exactly what happened.”

“I’m looking at you,” you said, “because you’re bleeding on the floor I have to clean.”

“We’re in a classroom.”

“Volunteering, remember?.”

Finney exhaled sharply, turning away but only for a second. His shoulders were rigid, anger coiled tight beneath his skin.

You spoke again, quieter this time. “Did you start it?”

His head snapped back toward you. “Do I ever start anything?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“…okay,” he sighed, correcting himself. “Fine. Sometimes.”

He leaned against a desk, finally still, though his hands were still shaking with leftover adrenaline.

The silence pressed thick between you. Not comfortable, not gentle, just heavy.

He stared at the floor, jaw clenching once, twice, before he said it. “He said something he shouldn’t’ve.”

You didn’t look away. “About you?”

“No,” Finney said. The word landed sharp as broken glass. “About someone else.”

He didn’t elaborate. You didn’t push.

But you understood the shape of the anger in his voice.

Finney swallowed, throat tight. “And before you say anything, I know. I know I shouldn’t’ve hit him.”

You shrugged. “Did it help?”

His eyes lifted to yours, surprise filling them.

“It didn’t fix anything,” he muttered. “But it shut him up.”

You nodded once. “Then I’m not saying anything.”

Finney blinked. You could see it, the confusion, irritation, and reluctant relief twisting together.

“That’s new,” he muttered.

“What is?”

“You not lecturing me.”

You shot him a sharp look, contrasted by the small smile you shot him. “Don’t get used to it.”

He let out a breath that wasn’t a laugh but close to one. The tension slowly trickled back into the room, like a thick fog that made it hard to breathe.

“You really gonna just stand there and pretend everything’s normal?” he asked.

“It’s never normal with you.”

His jaw tightened, but he stepped closer anyway, just a few feet, enough that the air between you thickened.

“Why are you even here?” he asked.

You bristled. “Why do you care?”

Finney hesitated, “I don’t,” he said too quickly. “I just—”

He stopped, rubbing the nape of neck before giving up on his sentence.

You watched him silently, your expression unreadable.

Finney exhaled hard, dropping into the desk chair nearest him. The fight, the sprint, the argument, it all collapsed into the space between you.

Finally, he muttered, “If anyone asks, I wasn’t here.”

“You’re literally bleeding on the floor,” you said.

“Yeah,” he snapped tiredly, “but you’re good at acting like nothing affects you, right?”

You rolled your eyes, gathering another stack of notebooks.

“Sit still. You’re getting blood on the desks.”

Finney stared at you for a long moment, frustrated, baffled, heated in that way he never said out loud.

“…You drive me insane,” he said under his breath.

You didn’t look up. “Right back at you.”

-

You were already in the principal’s office when Finney was dragged in by the sleeve.

He looked worse than last week. His hair wild, collar stretched, knuckles red and split like he’d been swinging without thinking. Again.

You, on the other hand, were perfectly intact, unless you counted the stubborn set of your jaw.

Finney froze when he saw you sitting there in the plastic chair outside the office.

“You again?” he muttered.

You crossed your arms. “Trust me, I’m not thrilled about it either.”

He blinked, taking in your presence like it didn’t make sense.

 “What’d you do?”

You lifted your chin defiantly. “Nothing.”

Finney lifted an eyebrow. You cracked instantly.

“Okay, maybe I said something.”

“To who?”

You winced. “Mr. Armstrong.”

Finney stared at you. “You called the science teacher a—?”

“I didn’t call him anything!” you snapped. Then, lower, “I just implied his lesson plans had the structural integrity of soggy cardboard.”

Finney’s eyes widened. “Oh my god.”

“It was accurate.”

“It was a terrible idea.”

“Well, getting in another fight wasn’t exactly genius either.”

He scowled. “He deserved it.”

You sighed. “They always do. Doesn’t make it smart.”

“You shouldn’t talk.”

“And yet, here we are. Both of us. Sitting outside the office like we’re in a cheap ‘after-school special.’”

Finney tried not to smile. He failed.

The principal’s door swung open. Both of you straightened.

“Since you two seem to enjoy disrupting the school day—”

“We don’t,” you and Finney said at the same time.

“—you’ll work off your detention by helping in the library for the next two weeks. Together.”

Finney groaned. You groaned louder.

“Seriously?” you blurted. “Can’t you separate us? He’s a menace.”

Finney shot you an offended look. “I’m a menace? You told Armstrong his degree must’ve come free with the cereal box!”

You scoffed. “And you threw a kid into a trash can.”

“He swung first!”

“So did Armstrong!”

Finney stared at you. “Wait, what?”

The principal pinched the bridge of her nose. “Enough. Both of you. Library. Now.”

And that was that.

-

The library smelled like dust, carpet cleaner, and despair. Perfect.

Finney slumped into a chair beside you as the librarian explained your job: organizing the supply closet.

When she finally left, Finney muttered, “You seriously mouthed off to Armstrong?”

You shrugged. “He said my project lacked ‘focus.’ It didn’t.”

“That’s why you insulted him?”

“I insulted his curriculum.”

Finney stared at you, incredulous, then laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable.”

“You’re bleeding on the linoleum,” you shot back.

He glanced at his knuckles with a wince. “It’s fine.”

“It never is with you.”

He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

The supply closet was tiny, a single bulb, shelves crammed with forgotten textbooks, and barely enough room for the two of you to stand shoulder to shoulder.

Which was exactly your problem.

“Move,” you said, bumping his elbow.

“You move.”

“You’re blocking the shelf.”

“You’re blocking the oxygen.”

You huffed. “I’m starting to think the principal hates us.”

“Us?” Finney echoed. “Since when are we an ‘us’?”

You glared at him. “Since we got punished like a pair of wayward toddlers.”

Finney let out an annoyed noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh.

Then he grabbed a stack of dusty binders off the top shelf too fast, he let out a small groan at the sting in his knuckles and nearly dropped them.

You caught his wrist without thinking.

Finney went still. Completely.

“Careful,” you said quietly. “You’re gonna tear them open again.”

His eyes flicked to yours, confused, guarded, softened just a little.

“Why do you care?” he asked, voice low.

You swallowed. “Because if you bleed on the books, the librarian might actually kill you.”

He gave you a crooked, disbelieving smile. But he didn’t pull his wrist away.

For a moment, the closet felt too warm, too small, too charged.

You dropped his hand first. “Come on. We’ve got a punishment to finish.”

Finney blew out a slow breath, nodded, and grabbed another binder, slower this time.

But his shoulder brushed yours, intentional or not, and he didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

-

Library duty ended with the librarian sighing dramatically and waving both of you away like smoke she couldn’t get rid of fast enough.

You stepped out into the hallway, stretching your arms over your head. “If I see another dust covered binder, I’m committing a crime.”

Finney snorted. “You were the one who almost knocked over an entire shelf.”

“That shelf attacked me.”

“It was a shelf.”

“You weren’t there,” you said defensively. “It had bad energy.”

Finney shook his head, fighting a smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“You keep saying that,” you replied, “like it’s an insult.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, nudging your arm with his elbow as you walked. “It’s not. Mostly.”

You bumped him back. “You’re bleeding again.”

“What? Where?” He held his hands out, checking his knuckles.

“Not your hands,” you said. “Your ego.”

Finney rolled his eyes so hard his head almost turned with them. “Hilarious.”

You reached the stairwell door and pushed it open. Finney followed, the door clicking shut behind him. The space was quiet, warm from the late afternoon sun coming through the little window. You leaned against the railing, looking down at the empty steps.

“So,” you said casually, “on a scale of one to ten, how much do you regret getting punished with me?”

Finney didn’t even pretend to think. “Three.”

“Three?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged. “You complain a lot, but you make the boring parts less… boring.”

You blinked. “…Was that a compliment?”

“No,” he said immediately. Too fast. Then, quieter: “Maybe.”

You froze mid-step, staring at him. “Oh my god,” you said, hand to your chest. “Finney Blake just said something nice.”

“I’ll take it back,” he warned instantly.

“Nope. Too late. It’s out there. It’s public record.”

He rolled his eyes but you saw it, that small, traitorous smile he was trying to hide. You walked side by side down the hallway, your arms brushing now and then. He didn’t move away. You didn’t either. When you reached the back stairwell door, Finney hesitated. Just for a second.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Thanks… y’know. For not making today suck.”

You felt your face warm, and because feelings were terrifying, you blurted the first defense you had, “Don’t get used to it.”

Finney blinked.

Then slowly he smiled.  Not cocky, not smug, just warm.

“You don’t mean that,” he said softly.

You rolled your eyes, turning away before he could see your cheeks go pink. “Whatever. Just don’t.”

He laughed under his breath, following you toward the exit.

But as you pushed the door open, you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing back at him, just a little, just long enough for him to catch the soft look you didn’t hide fast enough.

He stared at you for a second, cheeks a little pink. “Stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re about to say something stupid.”

“Oh,” you said, “I’m definitely about to say something stupid.”

Finney groaned. “Please don’t—”

“Finney Blake,” you declared, “you have officially survived two hours of shared punishment without punching anyone. I’m proud of you.”

He covered his face with his hands. “Oh my god.”

“You’re welcome.”

He dragged his hands down his face, trying—and failing—to hide a smile. “You drive me crazy.”

“That’s the goal.”

He leaned in, closing the distance between you and kissed you, as if it were as easy as breathing.

No dramatic pause. No heavy moments.

Just a quick, warm, slightly awkward kiss that tasted like laughter he didn’t get to finish. You blinked at him, surprised but not really.

“Was that your reward for behaving?” you asked, eyes widening in mock realization.

“What? No!” Finney blurted, ears turning red. “I just— You— I thought—”

You swallowed, fought the smile trying to break through. 

“Mm. Like I said. Don’t get used to it.”

Even though you’d said, don’t get used to it, you were already, absolutely, definitely letting him.

-

You were hyper aware that this contradicted every thought you’ve had over the last month, but when you feel Finney nipping and kissing your neck with his hand over your racing pulse, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Small gasps escape past your lips as your fingers grip tighter at his hair, pulling him close as he ruts into you. Finney buried face deeper into your neck as he continued his merciless pace of his cock not so gently grazing your cervix.

“F-Finney…” you cry out as his hands roam your body, one of them landed on your sensitive nub, circling it teasingly. 

“You drive me insane,” he murmured against your skin.

“Shut up,” you gasped.

He smirked against your skin, thrusting deep into you with one hard thrust.

Your hips bucked off the seat with a sharp cry.

“Yeah,” he breathed, watching your face. “That’s what I thought.”

His thumb circled your clit with ruthless precision, not gentle, not patient, just messy, desperate pressure that made your vision blur.

“Finney — fuck — harder—”

Pulling out, he lined himself up, dragging the head of his cock through your wetness, slow at first, then with a teasing pressure that made your breath stutter.

“Finney—”

He thrust into you in one brutal, perfect snap of his hips.

Your back arched so sharply your shoulders left the seat.

“Holy shit,” he groaned, burying himself to the hilt. “So fucking tight—fuck—”

He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, the car rocking with every thrust. You were a mess beneath him, hands straining upward, thighs trembling around his hips.

He let out a low, dark laugh, leaning over you until his chest pressed to yours, pinning you against the backseat.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured against your jaw, “you’re not in any position to tell me what to do.”

His hand slid up your throat, not squeezing, just holding, claiming, tilting your chin so you had to meet his eyes. His thumb brushed your pulse, feeling it race under his touch.

“You feel that?” he whispered. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” you managed, though your voice cracked on the last syllable.

He smirked, wicked and unbearably tender at the same time.

“You’re anything but fine.”

His forehead dropped to yours, breath hot, lips brushing your mouth without kissing you yet, punishing you with restraint.

“You’re wild under me,” he growled softly. “And you hate that you like it.”

Your fingers curled into his shoulders, dragging him closer, your nails digging in hard enough to pull a sharp breath from him.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice tightening. “Take what you want.”

You surged up to kiss him, messy, hungry, the kind of kiss that tasted like losing control. He met you with all the same frantic need, swallowing every sound you made.

His grip on your wrists tightened above your head, his hips thrusting into you relentlessly, the movement deep and dizzying even if nothing explicit was spoken. The whole car rocked in a slow, brutal rhythm.

Your gasp broke against his mouth.

Finney’s lips ghosted along your cheek, your ear, his voice low and rough:

“That mouth of yours,” he said, “I swear—one look and I lose every sane thought I’ve ever had.”

Your breath hitched hard. His free hand slid down your side, gripping your hip, anchoring you.

“Say something smart now,” he taunted, voice thick with need. “Go on. Try.”

You couldn’t. All you managed was a desperate, breathless sound that wasn’t even a word.

He smiled like he’d won something important.

“Yeah,” he whispered, kiss landing hot and possessive on your throat. “That’s what I thought.”

His lips trailed lower, slower, as your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him down.

“And you’re mine right now,” he murmured against your skin, “even if you never admit it.”

Your back arched helplessly.

“Finney—”

He caught your jaw again, bringing your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed. “Just feel it.”

Your nails clawed helplessly at the leather. “I can’t— fuck—Finney, I’m gonna—””

“That’s it,” he groaned, pace relentless. “So fucking tight for me.”

You dragged his mouth to yours, biting his lip.

Your orgasm hit hard — blinding, body shaking, the kind that tore a cry from your throat as you clenched around him.

Finney cursed hard, losing rhythm, grabbing your hips with both hands now as he thrust through your climax, chasing his own. Spilling against your stomach with a choked moan, Finney dropped his forehead to yours, his body trembling above you.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Just panting, sweaty, legs tangled together in your back seat. Finney was still wearing his annoyingly satisfied grin when he finally spoke again.

“So…” he drawled, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. “Are we gonna talk about—”

“We are not talking about anything,” you cut in sharply.

He blinked once. Twice. Then his smile pulled wider, slow and wicked, nodding as if he solved an ancient riddle.

 “Right,” he said softly. “Of course we’re not.”

He let a beat pass.  Another.

“So do you still hate me or what?”

Your answer was instant. Automatic. Sharp as a blade. “Yes.”

“Ouch.”

Your eyes narrowed at his smile.  “If you’re so hurt, why are you smiling?”

“Because,” he said, voice dipping just a little, “you don’t hate me half as much as you want to.”

Your pulse stuttered. You had no comeback ready. And he absolutely noticed.

Finney raised both brows, victorious.

“Still hate me?” he asked again, softer this time. “Really?”

“Yes,” you insisted, but it came out thin. Weak. Almost… breathy.

His smirk turned knowing.

“Mmm. If you say so.”

You looked away, jaw tight, heat crawling up your neck.

“I do.”

“Okay.”

“Finney—”

“Still okay.”

You glared at him. He beamed.