Escape From LA

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Warning: The chapter contains mentions of sexual and trigger content. Read at your own risk. If you're not comfortable, skip the part.

The sky has turned grey. Dense clouds are covering the atmosphere like a brush of white would do on an ash painted canvas. The skyscrapers around him are miserably reduced to a monochromatic shade that weirdly matches with Finn's gloomy mood.

This is odd considering that the sun always shines upon the City of Angels.

The driver of the taxi is leading him to his apartment after picking him up from the Airport of Los Angeles — an immediate decision he took the night before.

Really, he packed his stuff so fast: a bag with the essentials, passport, cash and he was ready to step on the first flight that could take him home.

In reality, Finn was not supposed to go back so soon. Not when filming was still going on, and when he was meant to be in Atlanta and enjoying his only free day before the usual weekly working schedule.

Just a few hours back, he was having that nice dinner with his friends at Caleb and Sadie's place, and now, he is back to the Pacific coast, looking for all the answers he desperately needs.

Finn is thinking, pondering about everything as he tries to solve that damn puzzle that has been stuck in his head for more than six months.

He rests his head to the window of the taxi, eyes getting lost on the highway outside the running car. Music accompanies him, pacifying his pain. Mile after mile, his mind brings back to life whatever has happened the day before...

Starting from Grace and Maggie's meeting of the day before.

Ding.

The oven rings, the time runs out.

With the help of two cooks' gloves, Grace carefully takes out the pan of piping hot brownies and rests it carefully on the table soon after.

Finn is sitting on the stool, admiring the scene and sniffing the delicious smell. His mouth is already watering—he is so weak for desserts.

"Wow, dude, they look so good!"

Maggie closes the oven with a bump of hips. "Of course they look good. We practiced when we made pot brownies. That shit was A+ bomb."

"—Wait, there's no weed in these ones, right?" He carefully takes one in his hand and sniffs it, silently contemplating it.

Maggie slaps the back of his curls with a frown stick on her face. "Of course not, you idiot."

"Thanks fuck. The last thing I need to see is Millie being high." He scoffs, blowing some cold air on one piece of brownie and bringing it to his lips.

Grace and Maggie share a subtle look—the "Oh my God, kill me" one. Here we go with the umpteenth mention of Millie in one day.

Not that they complained, it was great seeing their best friend quoting non stop the name of his ex in the last couple of weeks, but...

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