•°☆Finn Wolfhard³•°•

"Idiot," Finn thought to himself.
Finn went for a walk in a distant park, the leaves crunching under his boots. His cap covered his face, but he still wore a mask, not because he was sick, but because he didn't need photos. Besides, the mist helped him blend in. A few days ago, he'd drunk like an idiot and yelled in the face of a certain acquaintance that his music was crap and that he didn't understand how people could like it. And he, on the other hand, didn't have a single noteworthy song. He knew the guy made music for himself, but jealousy burned within him. One damn song and he'd become an indie icon.
He smoked one cigarette, then another, a bad teenage habit. It wasn't just his friendship with the guy; it was that out of sheer pride he'd refused to cooperate, and now he was even less likely to. His agent had told him: he'd done something stupid. Years ago, he would have told everyone to go to hell, said he had money and that was all that mattered. And now, he felt truly stupid for his behavior.
He walked for about six minutes, kicking pebbles along the way, his hands in his pockets. Then he saw her, someone who seemed chosen, sitting there on the bench with her legs drawn up to her chest, hugging her own body, her chin resting on her knees, silent, lost in thought. He wanted to leave so as not to interrupt. Until he noticed her sobbing, and he hated himself for feeling that vulnerability. He approached her.
—Hey... are you okay?
He asked cautiously so as not to scare her.
"Who would have thought he'd fall in love like an idiot? Because, that's what he is, it's become clear to him. "