BRANCE + RINNEY

dust, lots of dust.

(yes, i'm using lowercase on purpose.)

everything smelt like dust. the chips of paint that had somehow sunken into the pastel walls. the cardboard boxes that piled up in the corner of the room. the windows that were opened just enough to turn the air humid.

finney hated moving.

he had just turned seventeen and hoped, prayed even, that this time he wouldn't have to leave so early. he should've noticed though, he should've. his father had took great comfort on the worn cushions of the couch, his work pants staining the fabric with engine oil. he had a familiar bitter smell to him, alcohol.

really, he should've expected this.

gwen had just made friends, said she was finally part of a group. finney had even learned different braiding techniques. he'd never let her become a neglected kid. that was his thing, his burden.

the cicadas outside hummed lowly. almost like they were getting sucked into the earth, deep enough to feel the burn of its core against their delicate bodies. finney tucked his tongue against his teeth and shook his head. he envied them, truly.

distracted as he was, finney could still make out the faint sound of clashing dishes and slurred, drunken mumbles. the vanilla smell of his room became tainted as a man, slouched over with hooded, tired eyes, came stumbling through its threshold.

"jesus, it's been three hours. pack faster." his tone was rough, a monotonous warning. finney only nodded, his fingers twitching against his skin as he brushed hair from his eyes. "yeah, alright."

he could hear gwen singing from the bathroom, the mixed smell of alcohol and machinery drifting away with the hum of her melody. finney ran a finger through his hair, yanking at a dry curl until it came undone, falling slowly into the palm of his hand.

yeah, he hated moving.

(this book might end tonight if i make the last couple chapters. i love you guys. <8.)