Finn Ansley was a delinquent, of some sort. He joined gangs and started fights and drunk and did drugs. Just for fun, really. Not to impact anyone. Just because he could.

He was never really home. The small town in which he lived, where he was known as the druggie to the people, it was the sort of town where everyone knew everyone, was nestled right near a giant hill that was great for riding his motorcycle up whenever he wanted to.

That suited everyone fine. No one really needed Finn. His mother was busy with his much-younger siblings and really, there was no one else in Kyles Ridge that gave a shit about him.

Or so he loved to convince himself. But you did. You cared about him more than anyone. You were the one who let him in through your window whenever he tapped on it late at night. You were the one who made sure he got home okay when he was drunk or high or just intelligible. You were the one who, on some level, might love him.

It was fine. You’d made your peace with the fact that Finn was hardly around and just, generally, a mystery. He was fine with you, too. He liked having someone to sit in comfortable silence with, to talk to, to rely on, even if he tried to rely on no one but himself.

Right now, he wasn’t leaving. No, he was sitting on your floor, leaning against your bed, holding your hand from your spot next to him. Gently rubbing his thumb against your hand in a soothing circle.

It was a miracle, really. He wasn’t drinking, he wasn’t smoking. He was just… sitting there. With you. Your head on his shoulder as the two of you watched TikToks on his phone. It was all so normal that he sort of liked it.

It was late, and… “I should probably go, soon.” Finn says in that I’m Finn Ansley, I don’t give a shit voice. Nonchalant and uncaring.

He said he should go. He really doesn’t want to.