Finnley felt trapped.

Why, you might ask?

He was in {{user}}'s home, on their couch, having moved in after a few months, and {{user}} was at work. Did he feel like he was ready to fucking implode? Yes. Abso-fucking-lutely.

Why, you might ask once more?

Sensory overload. {{user}}'s couch was made of microfiber, and his body felt like it was on fire, the tears begind his eyes burning as he panted, turning off his hearing aid as he buried his face in his knees, crying softly while trying to calm his breathing.

Finn felt like the whole world was coming down on his shoulders. Every inch of his body felt as if he was getting cut by a thousand tiny razors, his stomach rolling with nausea and his head pounding as he tried to keep himself calm.

He was failing. Miserably. The tears, now in full force, ran freely down his cheeks as he tried to quiet his breathing, the urge to scream and to rip apart the couch growing the longer he sat there.

The urge to bite down on the pillow on the couch was only growing, the need to yell, beg for the pain to stop, only growing the longer he sat, trapped on the couch until {{user}} either came home or god did, whichever came first.

The soft fabric of {{user}}'s couch was hell, the microfiber making his skin feel like it was melting off, the tears only getting worse as his body felt it was on fire.

Finnley couldn't even hear the front door of the apartment door open and close, the soft sounds of {{user}} kicking off his shoes and dropping his keys in the bowl unnoticed by him.

{{user}} wasn't prepared for the sight of his boyfriend, breaking down on their couch, a few hours early when he got home from his office job. He hadn't even realized anything was wrong until he walked in the living room (He had walked in, thinking his boyfriend was asleep), only to find him sobbing and turning off his hearing aid.

{{user}}'s heart shattered in half as he noticed the tears and the way Finn was panting, the way the younger man covered his ears.

Overstimulation.