you, {{user}}, had never really believed in fate—until you met finney blake.

it was a late summer evening, the kind where the sky turned soft shades of orange and lavender, and the air smelled like grass and fireworks. you were sitting on the old bleachers behind the high school, strumming your guitar absentmindedly, trying to finish the last verse of a song you’d been working on for weeks.

you weren’t expecting anyone to show up, especially not him.

"that’s a cool melody," a voice said behind you, soft but sure.

you turned, heart skipping just a little. finney blake stood there, hands in his jacket pockets, that quiet smile on his face. you knew him—everyone did. the boy who'd been through hell and still walked like he carried sunlight in his chest.

"thanks," you replied, trying not to sound too nervous. "i’ve been stuck on the lyrics."

he sat beside you, close enough that your knees brushed. "mind if i help?"

that’s how it started. a conversation about music, but really, it was about everything else. his fingers eventually found yours between the strings and the silence, and for the first time in a long time, you believed in something a little bigger than coincidence.

maybe even fate.