finny was your best friend.

you grew up together.

you knew things about each other that, had you met later on in life, you would’ve never told each other.

that was, if you even would’ve fallen in the same friend groups.

before middle school, you were best friends. attached at the hip. whatever finny did, you did. wherever finny went, you went.

and then you joined dance in middle school.

and made new friends.

friends who cared about popularity and boys and all the things funny thought you didn’t.

but you fit right in.

and finny decided that he’d find a way to be a part of your friend group again.

so, while he thought you were auditioning for the high school cheer team (you’d quit a few weeks before), he tried out for the soccer team.

and fell right into the popular group.

while you fell out of it.

he didn’t know that, of course, until the first day of high school, when he saw you at the bus stop.

while your friends from middle school stood on one side, you stood on the other, with your eyes locked on your phone.

like you never even knew them.

and so you and finny, again, were separated.

you made new friends, and so did he.

you got a boyfriend. and he got a girlfriend.

and all of a sudden you and your friends hated him and his friends.

and you were slamming your backpack on the lunch table finny’s girlfriend, sylvie, had told him to save for them. he didn’t realize it was the one you and your friends sat at every day.

your brow was raised, you were chewing on the side of your cheek. the way you got when you were angry. finny knew. because he knew you.

but he found himself just blinking at you, trying to avoid the screaming thoughts he had about how gorgeous you were.

he was granted the privilege of looking somewhere else when sylvie and her friends got to the table as well.

“what’s going on?” she said, her gaze locked on you. shooting daggers at you.