Stick around (RINNEY)

23

"So, Finney." Anna speaks from the opposite side of the dining table, cutting into the food that Robin had prepared. "How are your grades in school?" She asks, attempting to be nice to this boy she has not a single clue about.

"Uhh," Finney glances up from his plate, his eyes diverting between her and the comfort of Robins. "Not too bad. I guess." He answers in a mumble as he pokes the food around with his fork.

"You guess?" Robin looks to him and chuckles. "You're literally top of like all your classes." He states finding it weird how Finney never boasts about how smart he is. He knows if he the scores Finney got, he would brag about it to everyone.

"Hmm," Anna hums. "Well, that's good. You can serve as a good influence to Robin. You seem much more sensible and smart than some of Robin's other...friends." She comments, trying to subtly take a jab at Vance's lack of knowledge. Robin scoffs loudly, making Anna glare at him.

"Vance isn't that dumb." Finney quickly comes to Vance's defence. "He's smart in his own way." Anna looks back to Finney, forcing a smile though it is evident that she is irritated.

"Robin. This food is delicious." His uncle compliments in an attempt to change the subject, not wanting an argument to begin.

"Well, I initially made it for three people." He says bitterly, leaning deeper into his chair. "So there's no leftovers."

His uncle sighs, mentally giving up. He reaches for his glass of whisky taking a swig of it.

Robin could see Finn staring at the glass, looking slightly afraid. Under the table, he reaches his hand over to Finney's. He rubs the back of Finney's hand with his thumb reassuringly, silently telling him he has nothing to worry about.

The table is deadly quiet, the only sound being the scraping of cutlery against the porcelain plates.

Finney has never had many Sunday family dinners before, if you could even call it that. But this was definitely the most awkward one he's experienced. He felt the need to say something to ease up the tension, but he doesn't. He just shoves some food in his mouth, biting down so he doesn't have to speak.

"Finney, could you pass me the salt?" Robins uncle asks, pointing to the salt shaker placed next to Finney's plate.

"Oh, yeah." Finney, let's go off Robin's hand and grabs the shaker, reaching over the table to hand to him. He grabs it, but as Finney retreats back into his seat, his arm knocks against the glass of whisky, causing it to fall to the floor with a loud smash. Finney forces his eyes shut as he curses under his breath. "I'm so sorry, let me -" Finney begins to apologise as he pushes himself up and rushes towards the counter to grab some roll. He goes back to the table, bending down to pick up the glass. "I'll clean up. God, I'm so -" Before he could say anything else, Robins uncle interrupts him by grabbing his wrist. Finney's head snaps up towards him, his eyes filled with horror as he prepares for all of the mental and verbal abuse, but it never comes.

"Finney stop. It's fine." He says instead, pulling the boy to his feet. He pats his back, but Finney remains terrified, jumping away from his touch. He then notices the other two staring at him, and his face flushes. "Why don't you go up to the room? It's getting late, and I think we're all done anyway."

"Uh-ok." He nods timidly, forcing his eyes down to feet and focusing on getting himself out of there.

"What's wrong with him?" His ears perk up at Anna's comment, making him stop as he's halfway up the stairs. He turns around and goes down a few steps but doesn't speak. He just watches.

"Butt out of it." Robin warns, biting back a swarm of insults. He stands up from his seat, heading towards the stairs to check on Finney, the two meeting each others eyes.