a finch with a broken wing

a finch should know better

It's been a week. A week and two days, and there's been no sign of Glueboy.

They start to lose hope.

They don't talk to the rest of the group. The few attempts made by Ciboulette and Mario to talk to them have been brushed off, and the one made by Veronica was met with a blank stare. She immediately backed off.

They've been a burnt out light all week, any shine and sense of personality buried under a blanket of remorse and guilt. There's been a mess of blood and vomit to clean up multiple times in the past nine days. It's been a shit-show.

 It's a Thursday, and history class isn't even half-way done. It's not the absolute worst, unlike nutrition, but Emothy's razor-sharp gaze burning holes into the back of their head is certainly not pleasant. She's mad. She's so mad. Maybe that's within reason, but Finch is allowed to disagree with their reasonings.

They apologized, directly to Ciboulette. It doesn't affect anyone else. It's between them and Ciboulette, that's it. Emothy has no right.

Maybe they're just angry.

They're completely zoning out to the sound of their teacher's voice, and while their main source of notes would not be pleased if they asked right now, they may have to. Or they'll ask Lia, but they'd rather not. She's rather clingy.

The speaker by the door of the classroom beeps twice, before a girl-ish voice speaks up. It sounds like a grown man pretending to be a girl. What the fuck.

"Hello, there! Mr. Cans, can you please send Finch Stanton down to the office at once? It's urgent, waha."

Mr. Cans (along with the rest of the class) turns to look at them. "Yes, I can do that. Finch, grab your things please. Email me for details on our lesson, alright?"

Finch swiftly grabs their things, slinging their backpack (they've retired their old bookbag for something easier on their shoulders) over their shoulders. Before they can even open the door, it's flung open. There's a tall, very tall, man standing behind it, eyes narrowed at Finch. What have they gotten themself into this time?

"You took too long." He says, grabbing them by the hook on their backpack. What the actual fuck. He drags them down the hall and to the office, and as much as they thrash, he doesn't let go. 

Who is this guy? Are they being kidnapped? Holy shit are they being kidnapped by a 6'4 man with bright blue hair?

When the two of them finally reach the office, Finch is shoved into a room, and then against a table. Seriously, what is it with people and shoving them these days?

Oh. They aren't alone in the room. There are two other people in the room.

Including Glueboy.

Their heart practically stops.

He... isn't dead?

He isn't dead.

There's another kid there. He's short and ginger and he's staring holes into Glueboy's head, who's head is lowered, focused on what seems to be math notes. He doesn't seem to want to look up. 

They're shooed by the blue-haired man to sit opposite to Glueboy, who still hasn't looked up. Will he ever?

The man walks to stand next to the other guy (now that they've gotten a look at him, he doesn't look like he goes to their school. Maybe he goes to private school?)and speaks. His voice is quite deep, deeper than they remembered.

What the fuck is happening.

"So. What happened." He taps his foot twice, before stopping completely. The other kid is silently staring.