(Angst BxB) Misguided Ghosts

-𝐕𝐈𝐈-

╔══《You don't have to be sorry,》══╗
for leaving and growing up.

       Finn glanced around anxiously, noting the buildings that all looked the same. The more he walked, the more he was convinced he wouldn't be able to find his way home. Trying to think rationally, Finn had decided to walk straight.

       To get home all I need to do is just walk the way I came! He had thought, feeling like a genius. As the air around him grew darker and darker, the buildings becoming more and more unfamiliar, Finn began to panic.

       He always stayed close to home, never venturing toward the bad part of town--his dad's orders. So now that he had somehow stumbled upon the street lined with stores, he had no sense of his direction.

       Luckily for him, it was too early for nightlife to begin. The many bars he had passed on his journey had appeared vacant.

       Looking at his feet, he watched the dirty Nikes kick through falling leaves. Although he was lost, Finn felt free. Out here, where he was a nobody, he didn't have to worry about earning his parents love, or trying to fit into their picture perfect family.

       Finn heavily breathed in the air, smelling a combination of cigarettes, mold, and dirt. Closing his eyes, he took in all the unfamiliar scents. All of a sudden, he noticed a tinge of something else--something clean.

       Finn immediately scrunched his nose, the soapy smell contrasting the filth of the town. Opening his eyes slowly, he looked forward. Sitting no more than five feet away, a person resided.

       Almost instantly, Finn recognized the navy blue sweatshirt. Without saying anything, he wordlessly sat down next to him. The teenager didn't even look over, his head remaining locked on the floor.

       As the wind picked up, ruffling Finn's honey hair, the two silently admired the breeze. The gush gained speed, knocking the hood off the boy's head.

       Instantaneously, the locs' spilled over his forehead, confirming Finn's suspicions on the stranger's identity.

       Neither spoke at all, choosing to remain quiet. Still, Finn saw Corbin's tight shoulders drop ever so slightly, relaxing.

       Taking a second to quickly glance over, Finn did a double take. Plastered on his face like paint on a canvas, deep purples and blues covered his entire right eye.

       Like a panda. Finn laughed before realizing the serious implications of the bruise. stopping abruptly, his eyes never leaving Corbin's face.

       "Is there something wrong with my face?" he questioned after the intense pressure of Finn's stare became too much for the troubled teen to ignore.

       "Well yeah, literally," Finn giggled. Without thinking twice, he reached up and pressed the spot on his face.

       Corbin closed his eyes in reaction, feeling the throb of the bruise. The ache hurt, but Finn's gentle touch felt somehow relieving. It was a touch he had never experienced.

       "I just fell," he lied.

       "You expect me to believe that?" Finn mumbled, continuing to look at him, the two sitting close together, their body's almost touching.

       In the chill of the autumn air, Corbin could feel the heat radiating off the vibrant boy next to him. Everything about him was vibrant: his bright honey hair, his sage green eyes, his fair skin which seemed to glow.