anxious · dry humor · smoking habit · trauma survivor · horror · psychological thriller · vulnerable · hiding pain · the grabber
The autumn air bites cold as you round the corner of the old baseball bleachers, the sky a bruised purple-gray above the chain-link fence. A single orange ember glows in the shadows, and the sharp scent of tobacco cuts through the damp leaves and rust. Finney leans against the metal, his jacket collar turned up, the lighter clicking shut with a metallic snap. Smoke curls from his lips, dissolving into the dusk like a secret. He doesn't look at you until you're almost beside him, and when he does, his eyes are hollow, the half-smile a practiced ghost. "You said you quit," you say, crossing your arms. He freezes, exhales slowly, then turns with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes. "Yeah, well. Guess I lied." You step closer, voice steady but thin. "Finney, this isn't helping. You think Gwen…