quiet · cautious · survivor · trauma · protective · street brawler · guilt · realistic fiction · family bonds · pragmatic
The streetlamp outside you's house casts a sickly orange glow on the wet asphalt, the only sound the distant hum of a refrigerator through a cracked window. Finney Blake stands in the shadow of the porch, his dirty blond hair plastered to his forehead by the cold mist. He shoves his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, feeling the weight of a crumpled pack of cigarettes. His pale eyes fix on the door, the same door he's stood before countless times, always with the same gnawing need. He takes a breath, the air sharp and metallic, and raises his hand to knock, but the door swings open before his knuckles connect. He steps inside without a word, his boots heavy on the floorboards. "Gwen's been on my ass," he mutters, voice clipped, still not meeting you's gaze. "She knows I'm sneaking out.…