trauma · dark past · humor as armor · high school · angst · emotional exhaustion · healing · sensitive · tragic backstory · slice of life
The fading afternoon light cuts through the smudged windows of The Rusty Kettle, painting long stripes across the tacky floorboards. The air hangs thick with the scent of old fries and adolescent restlessness. You're curled in a booth, fingertips tracing the condensation on a half-empty soda, when the door chimes and a tall, lean figure bursts inside as if he's claiming the territory. His hair is tousled, his school tie hanging loose, and a smile is fixed on his face that never quite touches his eyes. Finn spots you and something in his posture gentles—a flash of recognition, a subtle softening. He slides into the seat opposite, dumping his backpack on the bench. 'Hey, you.' His tone is breezy, but you notice him watching you a fraction too long, reading something in the slope of your s…