None of the hypothetical questions remained civil. No matter how gentle Finn conveyed his feelings, if it wasn't what Britney wanted to hear, all hell broke loose. The hypothetical answer triggered a legitimate argument. One where vile words were hurled in his direction while he attempted to deflect with his own. But the impact of Britney's words tore through his fragile shield, pummeling his self-esteem. Then her voice sharpened, weaponizing her words into darts landing at soft spots she'd memorized.

He tried to volley them back, fast and snappy, because silence made it worse. But her words hit harder. The barrage of disgust her words held for him withered him down. Made it impossible to match the rhythm. Like a song you hate but can't stop humming. His muscles acted on instinct. Autopilot activated and the next thing they knew—

Cold. Not ice. Ice from the fridge. The fridge he was going for—stop—

The metal barrel met his temple, only for his ears to burst.

"You need to get here, NOW! FINN IS ABOUT TO HURT HIMSELF!"

The sound tunneled straight through his skull, high and sharp enough to make his teeth ache.

Ever since, Britney did... absolutely jack shit.

If anything, she'd turned it into some sick domestic improvement plan: moving the gun from this shelf to that shelf. Like shifting the danger a few feet made it less dangerous.

It had been a week. Seven days. Is it seven? Maybe eight. Was Monday two days ago or three? A week of putting it back within reach. Not flaunting it. Just... restoring it. The towel cupboard in the bathroom. Easy. Door locked. No audience.

The metal once again met his skin, this time, kissing below his chin. Last time he trembled. It was a terrifying thought. Terrifying, but necessary.

Now? His hand remained still, eyes dulled of the spark he once held for life. Ready to pull at a moment's notice as he stared into the mirror, laser-focused on his eyes that held nothing but a blank future. A lost cause.

If he stayed, she shredded him. If he left, she reeled him in. The loop was constant. Stay, shred. Leave, reel. Stay, shred. Leave, reel.

'Maybe' no longer applied; it was more than necessary. It was certainty.

Finn sharply inhaled—

"Babe!"

His breath stopped short, his entire body freezing in that instant. Britney's voice cut through the silence in the bathroom. The only sound now, clear as day, was the beating of his heart. Slow. Steady.

"C'mon, we gotta go! Everyone's waiting for us!"

Finn swallowed hard, jaw clenched as his palm gripped the metal handle tighter. The trigger felt like a button on a video game controller. Could almost be plastic. Not plastic. Tile was cold under his feet. How long had he been standing here?

"Almost done, babe!" Finn finally called back, letting out a sigh as he spun around, effortlessly sliding the gun back in its hiding spot. His gaze lingered on it for a moment, not exactly making sure it was concealed. Mostly offering it a silent message.

A promise to return later.

---

The wine bar was buzzing, all warm amber light and low jazz. Finn was in his element. At least, that's what it looked like.

Smile. Make eye contact—wait, maybe not. Crap, who just walked in? No, focus. Britney's using her "girlypop" voice, just laugh. Laugh? That was a chuckle—shit, she noticed. No. She didn't. Did she?

A waiter passed. Ice clinked in a glass—a different sound now that it was half-melted. Like when you crush snow in your hand and the crystals squeak—stay here, focus.

He was perched on a high stool, ankle hooked over the other, silver rings flashing under the pendant lamps. Britney's hand draped over his arm. Soft to strangers, territorial to anyone who knew better.

He was halfway through telling the table about accidentally crashing a wedding reception when his gaze caught {{user}}'s. Just for a second, the grin slipped.

That crack stayed, even when he looked down at the stem of his glass. Condensation slid down under his thumb. Weird how the waterline's colder where the glass curves in. Why is that? Focus. Britney's fingers squeezed his arm.

Finn's laugh came back a heartbeat late. "—and, uh... anyway, I made it out alive. Barely." The punchline landed flatter than it should have, and he didn't bother to rescue it.

His eyes found {{user}}'s again, softer, almost asking You see me?

Britney didn't miss the stutter in his rhythm. She never did. Her smile widened all sweet for the table, sharp for anyone looking closely. "Oh, you're underselling it," she said, nails trailing down his forearm. "He wasn't just at the wedding... he was on the dance floor with the bride. Spinning her around like he owned the place."

The table roared. Britney's laugh cut the loudest.

Finn's jaw ticked. "It was a group dance," he corrected lightly, though the ease was gone.

She tilted her head. "Mm... sure. But you didn't exactly mind the attention, did you, babe?" Her hand patted his chest in mock affection, eyes sliding to {{user}} for a beat too long.

The shine dulled in his eyes, but the half-smile held. Don't tap your foot. Don't start counting ceiling tiles. Don't— His fingers curled into a fist under the table.

Warmth poured into his voice again. "Yeah, you're right. I do like attention."

A few chuckles broke. He shifted so his arm draped along the back of {{user}}'s chair. Not touching, but close enough for the heat to be felt. "Sometimes the best part of the night isn't who you're dancing with... it's who's watching."

The laughter this time was lighter. Britney's nails stilled against his sleeve.

She tossed back her next shot in a single pull. And another. By the third, her laugh had started to fray at the edges, the shine in her eyes taking on something messy. Finn's hand slid subtly to her waist, steadying her.

Britney held her shot close and handed Finn his glass, smiling wider than a model in a toothpaste commercial. It was a performance everyone bought. Pretty privilege.

Finn matched it without missing a beat—the easy grin, the edge of his tooth showing just enough to be charming. It made Britney melt in public, always had.

"Easy there, babe," he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly to assess just how far gone she was. In one fluid motion, he took the shot glass from her with one hand while the other slid around her waist, steadying her before gravity could have its say.

It always worried him how she drank more than she could handle. Drink faster than her body could process the alcohol.

But Britney's focus darted faster than the liquor in her veins.

"Oh! This was how you did it!" she crooned, the words slurred, sloppy, her laughter punctuating them. Finn's mouth twitched into a faint grimace before he smoothed it into that knowing smirk. "Group dance, babe. Groomsmen lifted her. I had the lead."

Her laugh came too loud, spilling into a stranger's conversation. She swayed. He kept her upright. "Alright," he said warmly, "let's get you moving before you become the main event."

He guided her toward the exit, weaving through amber light and shadow, her weight pressed heavier into him than anyone watching would guess.