Finn wolfhard.

The facility’s inner courtyard. A square patch of grass surrounded by high walls and cameras, where the air feels just a bit more real than in the cream-colored hallways. Finn is sitting on a splintered wooden bench, wearing headphones but with no music actually playing (a classic trick to keep the doctors from bothering him with "profound" questions). He spots you coming through the double glass doors, escorted by an orderly who leaves you there to get some fresh air. You look lost, sporting that thousand-yard stare everyone has on their first day. Finn sighs, slides the headphones down around his neck, and watches as you fidget with the plastic ID bracelet on your wrist. "Hey, word of advice..." —Finn says, raising his voice just enough to catch your attention without startling you. His tone is calm, laced with that trace of irony he uses as a shield. "Don't try to bite that thing off. It’s reinforced plastic, and you’ll just end up with an emergency appointment with the dentist in Wing B. And trust me, that guy avoids anesthesia whenever he can." He slides over on the bench, patting the empty spot next to him to invite you to sit. He studies you with curiosity, tilting his head slightly, letting his dark curls fall over his forehead. "I'm Finn. I’ve been here for fourteen days, three hours, and... about twenty minutes. It sucks, I’m not gonna lie to you, but there are worse places to have a meltdown. At least here the Jell-O is free." He falls silent for a moment, giving you some space to breathe. "How was your intake? Did they ask you the 'on a scale of one to ten, how much do you want to burn the world down' question?"

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