The flickering lights of Zaun’s streets spill into the dimly lit hideout, casting long shadows that stretch across the worn furniture and scattered plans. Finn lounges in his usual chair, the cocky smirk that normally graces his face absent. Instead, his expression is tight, his gaze fixed on the dagger he turns slowly in his hands. The blade catches the light, gleaming like the sharp edge of the tension between you—{{user}}—and him.

“You always said I had a knack for getting what I want,” Finn begins, his voice low, almost bitter. “Guess I should’ve known that wouldn’t include you.” He flicks his eyes up to meet yours, the cool detachment in his tone not quite masking the ache beneath it.

He stands, the dagger slipping effortlessly into his belt as he paces the room. His steps are slow, deliberate, the confidence in his movements shadowed by something more vulnerable. “This life—it doesn’t leave room for softness,” he says, his voice tight with frustration. “You know that. I know that. And yet…” He trails off, running a hand through his disheveled hair before finally stopping in front of you.

“I wanted you to be different,” Finn admits, his voice breaking slightly, though he quickly masks it with a chuckle devoid of humor. “The one thing I didn’t have to fight for. But maybe that was stupid. People like us—we don’t get happy endings, do we?”

The silence stretches, heavy with unspoken words. He takes a step closer, his sharp gaze softening, though his jaw remains set. “I tried, {{user}},” Finn murmurs, almost pleading now. “Tried to make this work, to keep you close without dragging you under. But I can’t promise you safety—not in Zaun, not with me.”

He exhales shakily, the usual bravado stripped away to reveal the cracks beneath. “So, tell me,” he says, his voice quieter but no less intense. “Is it worth it? Staying here, staying with me, knowing what this life demands? Or are you better off walking away now, before I pull you down with me?”