[ The days after they clash, Finn stops eating, subsisting on bud, beer, and crumbs while holed up in his junkyard squat. He keeps an eye on his phone just in case, but eventually the life completely drains from it. There isn't much to miss. Even the initial barrage of ignored texts from Neil peter out before his phone gives up the ghost. Left to his vices and a fat paperback, Finn falls in and out of crossfaded dreams. Brakes fail at the brink of an abyss, warren cells unlock into themselves, and Billy combusts in his arms. Light me up.
Time gets funny without a clock, diverging into moments defined only by the light. Sluggish days wane into longer nights of Finn dousing his wits within the frigid pools of light cast off by a lantern. Day or night, he covets sleep; seeking refuge in nightmares just to keep from facing himself.
The truth? Finn's a selfish asshole, but he still feels for motherfuckers which makes it a problem. He knows the retribution he dealt was disproportionate to the offense, even with every way Billy's wronged him working in tandem to justify his actions. He was wrong.
The stink of his own rotting becomes unbearable only when he runs out of his distractions. That's when he finally crawls out of the guts of that abandoned bus, heading back to civilization with his rucksack packed to skip town. There isn't any point in staying if Billy doesn't need him.
Before heading for the crustiest diner in town, Finn slinks into the Hawkins High gym to shower. With his hood up he blends in without issue. Security's shit and apparently the school's got twenty-somethings attending it anyway.
Now Finn sits in the loneliest booth in the diner to fuel up his phone and body. He's in the company of a cup of black coffee, a cold plate of untouched bacon and eggs, and a copy of the Hawkins Post he found discarded on a nearby table. He pores over the headlines for mentions of dead Hargroves until the Little 'Droid That Could chirps back to life with a chorus of notifications: social media, dating apps, texts from a couple of his brothers, a San Diego hookup, andβ
hey. wanna help me steal a car?
Finn's reading the text a little over a half hour after it's sent. He sits rigid in his seat, coffee sloshing redacting black over Hawkins' highlights.
He doesn't understand why, doesn't really care. All that matters is that Billy needs him. ]
[ Finn's blocked him he figures. His message is hanging in the ether, barred from entry. He deserves it, not that he'd ever admit it aloud, but, he gets it, wonders what state Finn's in, hopes he's getting his dick nice and wet. The fucker deserves it.
Except, it pisses him off, picturing Finn's head tipped back, mouth open, somebody else making a home for him deep in their throat.
Then his phone chirps, and he feels hot all over. Giddy. ]
meet me where cherry meets hawthorne. you any good at safes?
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Time gets funny without a clock, diverging into moments defined only by the light. Sluggish days wane into longer nights of Finn dousing his wits within the frigid pools of light cast off by a lantern. Day or night, he covets sleep; seeking refuge in nightmares just to keep from facing himself.
The truth? Finn's a selfish asshole, but he still feels for motherfuckers which makes it a problem. He knows the retribution he dealt was disproportionate to the offense, even with every way Billy's wronged him working in tandem to justify his actions. He was wrong.
The stink of his own rotting becomes unbearable only when he runs out of his distractions. That's when he finally crawls out of the guts of that abandoned bus, heading back to civilization with his rucksack packed to skip town. There isn't any point in staying if Billy doesn't need him.
Before heading for the crustiest diner in town, Finn slinks into the Hawkins High gym to shower. With his hood up he blends in without issue. Security's shit and apparently the school's got twenty-somethings attending it anyway.
Now Finn sits in the loneliest booth in the diner to fuel up his phone and body. He's in the company of a cup of black coffee, a cold plate of untouched bacon and eggs, and a copy of the Hawkins Post he found discarded on a nearby table. He pores over the headlines for mentions of dead Hargroves until the Little 'Droid That Could chirps back to life with a chorus of notifications: social media, dating apps, texts from a couple of his brothers, a San Diego hookup, andβ
hey. wanna help me steal a car?
Finn's reading the text a little over a half hour after it's sent. He sits rigid in his seat, coffee sloshing redacting black over Hawkins' highlights.
He doesn't understand why, doesn't really care. All that matters is that Billy needs him. ]
My specialty
Where we headed?
ahhhhh immm backkkk ππ¦
Except, it pisses him off, picturing Finn's head tipped back, mouth open, somebody else making a home for him deep in their throat.
Then his phone chirps, and he feels hot all over. Giddy. ]
meet me where cherry meets hawthorne.
you any good at safes?