His smug expression fades quickly, a frown now taking its place.
"Millie, how did your father die?" Finn asks gently, his usually brooding eyes now full of pure, authentic concern and worry.
"Lung cancer," I answer flatly as the familiar, extremely painful boulder begins building in my throat; threatening to break.
I watch as Finn drops the cigarette from the fingertips, crushing it under his foot as he quickly grabs my hand to stop me from walking away.
Tears well in my eyes as he swallows nervously, a sob threatening to break from the boulder.
"I'm sorry, Millie."
I press my lips together, nodding as I hold back tears.
"It's okay, you didn't do anything." I assure as my hand tightens in his, my mind desperately begging for comfort.
He stares down at the burnt cigarette crushed by his foot.
"Do you want me to stop smoking in front of you?" He asks sincerely as his eyes trail back up to mine.
This boy.
I shake my head as a tear rolls down my cheek.
"It's okay, Finn- really." I protest knowing that if he stopped then there wouldn't be the familiar scent to greet me every time I'm with him, to engulf me in a cloud of memories that help me heal.
"Alright, let's get you home." Finn insists, beginning to strut forward before I grab the front of his coat to stop him, tears still streaming from my eyes.
"No, we can't. It'll kill my Mum to see I've been crying, let's just- go somewhere for at least a little bit." I explain as I slowly release him from my grasp, letting go of his strong, protecting hand that somehow warms my chest when I hold it.
His eyes look around as his hand runs through his curls; the act, in no way helping to stop my growing attraction to him.
"Um- I suppose we could sneak through your window if you really want to avoid your mom. I just don't think there's really any other place to go, Brit." Finn states with a purse of his lips.
Sighing as I wipe away tears, I nod in agreement. "Okay, let's just go before anyone asks what's wrong." I insist, pushing my hands through my soft, poofy brown hair.
He nods as we then quicken our pace on our way back to my house in the early morning.
-+-
The floor creeks under Finn's worn grey Vans as his foot plants on the carpeted floor of my bedroom.
A few moments pass of us waiting for my mother's voice, it doesn't come. With a relieved sigh Finn turns around to help me through the widow as I sit on the edge of the roof.
"C'mon, careful." He mutters as he grasps my hand firmly with a strong, protective grip as he pulls me inside carefully.
My feet finally on solid ground, I let out a breath I hadn't even known I was holding in. I sit down on the edge of my bed, Finn continuing to stand with his arms crossed over his chest.
"How are you feeling?" He asks gently though through an almost stern tone.
I sigh happily at his repetitive question, "I'm fine, you can stop asking."
"I know, but I wish someone would've asked me when I was hurting- I don't want you to be treated like I was." Finn explains solemnly as he wears a faint frown that disappears with a simple purse of his lips.
"And how were you treated?" I query with concerned eyes.
Sighing, he walks over to my bulletin of a bunch of Polaroid pictures of Noah, Maddie and me; along with photos from Noah and me as kids.
I watch tentatively as he takes a photo from under a blue pin, staring at the photo flatly.
"Like my past didn't affect me at all, like the fact I've lost both parents hasn't messed with my mind tremendously." He speaks, flipping the photo over to reveal the year it was taken.
"People just act like I'm fine, like nothing happened. Suppose I've gotten used to it by now, right?" Finn jokes as he turns to me wearing a slight smirk.
"Why do we always have to talk about sad stuff?" I complain accidentally, speaking a thought I had meant to hide.
Finn shrugs as he puts the picture back on the bulletin, sitting down beside me afterwards.
"It's the one thing we have in common, Brit. Have any other suggestions?" He asks as he leans on his knees with his hands folded together comfortably.
I pull my legs under me and rest my weight on one hand, "Well I'm supposed to be learning about you, right?" I ask curiously, receiving a nod back.
"That's what the deal revolves around, yeah." He admits lazily with a skeptic, raised eyebrow.
"Then tell me about you, not your family, just.. you." I instruct, leaning closer to him to show my interest.
"That's a request you don't get often, is it?" He remarks with an amused snicker.
I press my lips together, "Should be, sadly isn't. Now, tell me already!"
Finn laughs a short but adorable laugh at my begging, "Alright, calm down, Brit."
I feel my cheeks turn a soft read as he runs a hand through his undeniably attractive curls, thinking of what to say.
"Well, for starters I was born on December 23rd, 2001- making me sixteen years old, obviously. I used to skateboard when I was younger, I started smoking around thirteen after my grandpa died, and I haven't stopped since." He explains lazily, pulling out his Marlboro pack slightly before tossing it back into the inside of his coat.
"Did you start because of your grandpa?" I ask curiously, honestly interested in the mysterious life of this boy.
Finn shrugs, "Partly, yes. He used to smoke all the time and smoking me be less.. stressed- I guess? It just helps me live in the end." He confesses calmly, every word rolling off his tongue like a poem.
I hum as a response, staring at his folded hands; imagining what it'd be like to have his fingers interlocked with mine as we'd walk down the halls of school, my head resting upon his shoulder as he'd smoke the comforting cancer that I somehow love and hate with a passion.
"What about your dad, when did he start?" Finn interrupts, snapping me back into reality as his eyes meet with mine.
"Uh- I guess he always did. I think he started in college or something." I answer, for once speaking about him not creating an unbearable pain in my throat and tears to well in my eyes.
—
"You have gorgeous brown eyes, just like a doe's." He says as the two of us sit on the brown, soft couch; snuggled closely together as I watch my favorite movie: Bambi.
"A doe's?" I ask the kind man, my father, as my accent flourishes at my young age of four.
"Yes, like a mummy deer. They're quite rare to see closely, but when you see them- they're pretty cool." He explains, bopping my nose gently as I giggle to myself; himself producing the same belly laugh as Bambi slides across the ice on the TV.
—
"Millie, you there?" A voice interrupts, pulling me out of one of my most cherished memories and into reality.
Blinking, I turn to Finn as I regain my surroundings after accidentally spacing out.
"Sorry, I kinda got lost for a second." I explain as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear while he is understandably.
"Um.. Finn?" I query after a short moment of comfortable silence. His eyes meet mine, those dark but kind eyes full of lost despair.
How I wish I could hear what you're thinking.
"Is it weird that I.. I feel like I was meant to meet you? Like maybe you were meant to help me as much as I do to you. If I even am helping you, that is." I say, speaking a theory I've had keeping me up at night; having me wonder and wonder.
"It's not weird, per say. At least, I don't think so. I guess you can make of what our deal is whatever you'd like, Brit." He explains, failing to answer any of my desperate questions.
"What if I don't want it to just be a 'deal'?" I ask softly as my heart races through my chest, his eyes slowly meeting with mine as his lips purse.
"..I don't know, guess it isn't really your choice."
I let out a sigh, "You're difficult."
"I'm honest." He protests simply, repeating the same thing he's said various times.
I bite my lower lip as I rest my head on his shoulder, breathing in a deep breath.
"Maybe I don't want you to be honest." I admit with my eyes piercing out the window at the pouring rain that taps on the window like small bullets.