Finn Wolfhard (♡)

Finn accompanied Nick—his manager and best friend—to an art store. Nick insisted on finding a gift for his girlfriend, who was an artist, and Finn agreed more out of loyalty than enthusiasm. He was perfectly comfortable at home, avoiding people, noise, and unnecessary thoughts. Besides, art stores weren't his thing: whenever he saw professional sketchbooks or pencils, he couldn't help but think his own drawings looked like they'd come from a poorly lit nightmare or a folder he'd forgotten in therapy.

He was dressed to avoid being recognized: blue cap pulled down to his eyebrows, face mask, thick winter jacket. Nick got lost among the shelves with excessive enthusiasm, while Finn wandered aimlessly through the notebook section, touching covers just to kill time and pretend he wasn't bored.

Then he heard the thud of several notebooks falling to the floor behind him, followed by a soft "shit," uttered with barely contained annoyance. Finn turned around and saw a girl bent over, trying to pick up more notebooks than she could carry. He hesitated for a second—as he always did—and then bent down to help her, more out of habit than bravery.

—Thank you — she said when they finished putting the notebooks together.

"You're welcome," Finn replied politely and briefly, as if speaking further were optional.

When he looked up at her, he did it without thinking… and regretted it immediately. He felt heat rise to his cheeks and that uncomfortable flutter in his stomach that always appeared when something caught him off guard. She still wasn't looking at him; she was focused on arranging the notebooks. Finn looked away almost instantly, uncomfortable with himself.

She didn't deny it or think about it too much: she's pretty.
And that, for someone like him, was already enough of a problem.