in a room full of art, i'd still stare at you. (o/o) (closed)

That's when he made him move. That year of running toned his body more than he originally expected; he was behind her in a flash. He leaned over the railing and wrapped his arms around her waist. She was so skinny it wasn't even an issue for him to haul her over the edge.

"You don't need everyone to see you," he said, keeping his grip on her in case she lunged for the edge again. "Just a few. Or maybe one. Fuck the rest of 'em."

August felt frozen at his touch, hands placed on his chest to brace herself. She couldn’t remember the last time she was touched like this, if there even was a last time. At that thought she broke down, wrapping herself around him, pushing her head into his chest.

While it wasn't the response he had been expecting, it was betting than her fighting against him. Finley loosened his grip slightly and moved it over her shoulders while bringing her a few steps away from the railing. He could tell that this girl was broken by the way she clung to him so desperately. Whatever had happened made her want to kill herself. And he'd been there before. Not on this bridge, specifically, but in the same state of mind

He made a promise to her, right there in that moment: "I won't let anyone else hurt you, August."

August had heard those words before, those sweet words turn so toxic in someone else’s mouth. It brought back too many memories for her to handle, and she looked up at Finley, eyes watering and body trembling.

“Do you really promise?” she asked, voice cracking. She was really going to trust this boy; a half stranger met only tonight.

He met her gaze with strong resolve behind his eyes. The rain he was speaking of made its presence known at that moment, beginning to pepper then with ice-cold droplets of water at sporadic intervals.

"I don't make promises I don't keep," he said gently, blinking a bit of rainwater out of his eye.

August shivered, both at his words and the ice cold raindrops pattering against her already trembling body. She turned her head to look at the grey abyss over the bridge before turning back to Finley.

“Promise?” she asked, holding up a shaking pinky.

He raised up his own hand and interlocked his pinky with her's. It might have been a bit silly, but he was doing all he could to put her at ease.

"This rain is very cold. My house is about a mile that way," he said, gesturing with his free hand towards the way he came. "Think you can make it?"

August nodded. She melted at the thought of a warm bed and a warm house. Hers was always cold, always empty. It reminded her of how people treated her, like she was just some foreign object they didn’t understand.

Shivering at the thought, August huddled closer to Finley.

He returned the arm he picky promised with around her shoulders as they walked, the rain getting harder with each step. He kept a slow, even pace, making sure to not go too fast.

"I think we should call your parents, just so they know you're alright," he said, frowning as his hair fell back ove rhis face again.

(lol, I have a friend who's stalking this)

(lmao)

August's face scrunched up at the mention of her parents, and she looked like she was about to cry again.

"No, they wouldn't care," she said bitterly. Well, my mom wouldn't care. Her dad died her freshman year and she wasn't the same ever since; his death tore her world in half.

"Alright, that's fine," he said, although he didn't really think that. He was just trying to keep her calm. "My dad's home, but he's cool. You'll like him. We have an empty room, too, if you think you need to stay the night. It's right next to mine."

He didn't bring up the fact that most of his mom's things were in that room for two reasons. 1: There was no real need for it, and 2: It was still a bit of a touchy subject for him.

August nodded, too worn out to speak. It had been an awful night, one she wasn’t expecting to live through. But then Finley came along, and now she wasn’t so sure.

Arriving at the house, she stared up at it for a moment. “This-This is it?” she stuttered. It was decently sized, a tad bit bigger than her own.

"Yeah, c'mon," he said, fishing into his pocket for his key. The inside looking well lived-in, with scuffed-up floors, pictures on the walls, and the occasional dent next to said pictures.

Finley's dad was sitting on the couch with a bowl of mac 'n cheese in hand, taking a spoonful every couple of seconds as he watched a basketball game on TV. He was almost a splitting image of his son. Maybe a bit rounder around the edges and a bit more facial hair, but it was clear that they were related.

"Hey, uh, Dad?" Finley said as he walked into the living room. "This is August. It started raining and her house was far away, so I figured I would just take her here until it stopped."

"Oh!" His dad's voice was a bit deeper, as well. Mr. Leon put the bowl aside and stood up, offering his hand to August. "Hey, my name's Richard."

(I gotta say, I've been loving this roleplay so far)

August stared at his hand for a moment before hesitantly reaching out and shaking it, her grip loose. “Thank you for letting me stay here, sir,” she spoke softly, quickly letting go of his hand after a few seconds.

He and Finley looked almost the same; they had the same eyes and lips. She could relate, her and her father were practically alike in every way before he passed.

"Yeah, of course," Mr. Leon said, pulling his hand back and gesturing to the kitchen. "Are you hungry? I could whip something up real quick."

"I'd say yes," Finley suggested, walking over to the couch and plopping down in his father's spot. After a moment's deliberation, he reached over and grabbed the bowl of mac n' cheese. He was hungry after the run and the whole situation on the bridge, so he took a large bite of the noodles. "Dad can make tire rubber into a good meal."

"Aw, I'm not that good," his father said, waving his son's compliment off as he walked into the kitchen and turned on the stove. "Go ahead and make yourself at home, sweetheart. This rain is supposed to last all night, so you'll be here for a while."

(Oh me too, I've never had a rp I'm this invested in lol)

August stood awkwardly in the living room, unsure of where to sit. "I, um, I'm not actually that hungry, sorry," she said, forcing out a laugh. She was starving, actually, but she didn't need to eat. She'd be fine.

August really hoped this rain kept up; she wasn't sure if she'd be able to control herself on the way home, if she even got there. Rain used to be her favorite type of weather, the sound of droplets hitting their roof lulling her to sleep. But now it just reminded her of the funeral, and the way her mother cried.

"Nonsense," Mr. Leon insisted, bending over to rummage around the cabinets for a suitable pot. "Everybody's hungry in my home."

"Come sit down," Finley said, scooting over to give her enough space. "It don't matter if you're a little wet, the couch is made of leather."

"If you say so," August caved, and sat by him, curling up in the corner of the couch. Shivering, she rubbed her arms, trying to warm herself up. A wet sweatshirt and jeans didn't do much for body heat.

Finley frowned at how much she shivered and set the bowl aside. "I'm gonna get you some clothes. My stuff may be a bit bigger than your actual size, but they'll be warm."

"Well….your mother was about her size," Mr. Leon said, poking his head into the living room to look at August. "Why not get her something that fits?"

His son froze for a moment, his face twisted in slight anguish before nodded. "Yeah….yeah, sure."

Was? August frowned at Finley's expression, but she didn't say anything. It wasn't her place to ask; she was a stranger in their home. "Thank you," she said softly, reaching up and giving his hand a soft squeeze before he left.

He gave her a small smile before walking up the stairs, his footsteps creaking the ceiling above them.

"We lost his mother a few months ago," Mr. Leon said sadly, filling up a pot with water from the sink. "It's been a tough transition for him. He's got a strong will, though. He forced himself to keep it together throughout everything."

"I'm sorry," August shifted on the couch, playing with her fingers. "I- I know what it's like to lose a parent," she said, her voice cracking. Even though his death was almost 2 years ago, it still hurt to bring him up.

"I'm sorry to hear that. Maybe you two should talk about it," he suggested as he poured tortellini into the pot and set it on the gas burner. "He barely ever talks about things like that with me."

"Well, I found a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie," Finley said, walking down the stairs and offering her the clothes. He himself had changed into a pair of athletic shorts and a tank top.

August opened her mouth to respond but closed it when he came down the stairs. She hadn't really talked to anyone since the accident happened, and no way would it be a stranger. "Ah, thank you," she said, taking the clothes and holding it to her chest. "Where's the bathroom?" She wanted to get in warm clothes soon as possible.

"Head up the stairs and it's directly to your right," Finley said, walking into the kitchen and pulling a soda out from the fridge. "If you gotta use the toilet, the handle gets stuck from time to time. Just yank it up real hard and it'll get start workin' again."

August nodded and headed up the stairs, the steps creaking slightly under her weight. Entering the bathroom, she softly shut the door and locked it, leaning against it once she did. What am I doing?

Sighing, she began to change, laying her wet clothes in the bathtub, hoping they'd dry before morning.

"What actually happened?" Mr. Leon asked his son, speaking in a low voice. "'Cause this isn't something you'd typically do."

"She tried to jump off a bridge," Finley replied, popping open the soda despite his serious face. "And I'm afraid to let her go back to her house 'cause she might just try to again."

Finley's mom must've been a taller woman because even though they were the same size, the clothes still were a bit baggy on August. She didn't mind though, she actually preferred it.

While slipping on the clothes, she avoided looking in the mirror; she hated how she looked, from her slightly protruding ribs to the scars on her hips. Looking away, she pulled the sweats up and picked up her phonse, rolling her eyes when the red battery popped up on the screen.