SADBOY - FINN WOLFHARD ✔

NINE!

CALPURNIA - GREYHOUND

"I WISH I COULD GO HOME, FORGET THIS EVER HAPPENED                                                                                         I FEEL DEPRESSED, OUT OF WHACK AND IN MY OWN WORLD."

Finn felt in the wrong, despite none of it being his fault, he struggled to sleep throughout the night, opting to have a late night drive, roaming streets as the stars twinkled, he looped the same path multiple times in order to tire himself, he watched as the moon shone brightly through cracks of trees, how faded lights of the city illuminated in the distance, after driving for about three hours his eyes start to drift away, losing his attention of the steering wheel, his eyes start to close as he lets out a large yawn, falling back on the headrest and his hands start to loosen, he closes his eyes, forgetting about the still moving car.

He got jolted by the loud beep of another car, he strikes up, grabbing the wheel and shifting back into his own lane, he hears muffled annoyed curses of the other driver. He quickly retracts to head home, tiredly walking into his home, wrapping himself tightly in thick blankets to fight against the cold breeze that lurks from the broken window. He huddled into himself, knees pressed to his bruised stomach, arms encases his body, head tucked down, he tries to find peace in the blankets, but they don't give great warmth with all the cold air slipping through.

His thin body shivered, teeth chattering, so small and confined trying to keep his body heat, is this how the people in the arctic feel? He got up from the blankets, throwing a large jumper over his long sleeved shirt for extra warmth, slipping back into his bed, it still doesn't compare, he's still freezing.

Waking up the next day, he felt low. The coldness had subsided, the winter still continued on, temperatures still low but it wasn't as bad as the night. His shower basically burns off his skin, turning his white complexion pink from the hot stream of water, he soaks his entire body, such a comforting feeling of the hot texture across his numb cold skin. He didn't want to leave, the downside was the bruises forming on his stomach, burning from the intense heat, hissing in pain, he faces the other way, letting water trickle down the back of his neck, sliding down his spine that stuck out from his tight skin.

He tried to avoid the pain of the swelling of his bruises, he lets his body rests underneath the shower head, before turning it off and letting his naked skin hit the cold air, he catches his reflection in the mirror, littered with hurtful marks on his abdomen, his ribs stick out, he's always been awfully skinny, tracing the purple parts of flesh, he flinches at the tender skin, eyeing himself up, he was ugly, what a useless guy he was.

He was supposed to be tough, people were wrong, the things between his thighs made him no stronger, he wasn't super masculine. No wonder people bought into the lies of him being a faggot, he looked the part, a lanky long guy, who used to sometimes decorate his nails with a dark black or a ruby red. Maybe that's why his mother loathed the boy so much, he was born scrawny and quiet, no wonder he was given away. What a man he was, crying in pain at punches from a girl way smaller than him, he was weak.

Decorating his body with layers of clothing, he needs to make it up to his girl, he felt at blame, why did he rush into a friendship with someone he hardly knows? He knew not to call her, that she would only ignore his calls, so he googles nearby fancy restaurants, it would ruin his wallet, but anything to make the brunette forgive him. He picked one of the most lavish expensive ones, she wasn't blind to the boys struggling wealth, she was aware he wasn't as loaded as her, so hopefully, she would see the lengths he would go to impress her.

The reservations are set for seven p.m, and now he had the difficult task of finding fancy clothes, he didn't want to look like a rat in a restaurant so perfect. He had a nice tux, but it didn't feel good to wear, he had worn it at the funeral of Jack's grandfather, and the tux wasn't even his in the first place, some old suit that Jack had laying around that he had got tailored for his skinny frame. It didn't feel okay, wearing an outfit he mourned into such a high-class place.