THAT NIGHT as Michael Carter sleeps --his breathing slow and steady as his snores echoing through the house-- a shadow creeps along the hallway corridors. Stealthily it moves closer to the wood granules that mark the entrance of the bedroom until it is standing right outside the foot of the door. There are two knocks; they are rhythmic and hesitant.

The older Carter stirs in his sleep, letting out a stream of mindless babble as he turns over on the mattress. The knocks return, much more forceful than before.

As he groans awake, Michael is hit with a sudden realization. The clock at his bedside reads three thirty two, which can only mean there is one reason for why he is awake at this ungodly hour. There is one more knock, and a quiet, "Dad?" 

He rises to his feet and shrugs on a robe to keep the autumn chill from invading his warmth, still fresh from the comforters slung over the bed and dripping onto the floor. Walking to the door he opens it with a fleeting hope that it isn't what he thinks it is, only to be proven wrong.

Finn stands in front of him, eyebags sagged underneath. The purple stands out in the dim moonlight streaming from the windows, and Michael notes the redness of Finn's swollen eyes, hidden behind the frames of his son's glasses. He feels as if his heart is breaking, and isn't sure how much more breaking it can take.

"Code Red?" he asks.

"Proceed with caution," Finn replies in a shaky breath.

Michael extends his arms and Finn finds himself on autopilot, his body colliding with his father's as Michael embraces him into a fierce hug. "Fi, it's only a--"

"A dream, I know," Finn says but his voice is muffled by the thickness of Michael's robe. "That doesn't objectify it to being nothing important though."

"I know--"

"No," Finn pushes himself away, physically and mentally. Anger bubbles up inside him. Michael always says that. "You don't."

Michael tries not to get angry. He really tries. "You're not the only one who lost her, Finn."

"Yeah, but I'm the only one who watched it happen." 

Michael winces. Finn abandons the situation, opting to make his way to the living room where remnants of the previous day's Call of Duty adventures remain; the controllers were scattered about, wires strung into each other, and the box of pizza Michael had ordered lay on the floor, its contents being a single pizza slice hanging from it. 

Finn shrugs on his coat and pulls a beanie from the closet onto his head. He sniffs, wiping at his eyes and nose angrily, feeling the familiar, overwhelming grief wash over him once more. If his mother were here, she would've held him close and sung a Killers' song, her favorite band. 

But if his mother were here, he wouldn't be feeling this way in the first place.

"Finn," Michael says.

Finn turns around just in time to catch a pair of car keys that are thrown at him. His father looks defeated, his hair so similar to his son's in that same, unruly mess. "Just be safe, kid."

"Aren't I always?" Finn mutters, opening the door with a force that sends a picture frame falling to the floor. He slams it shut with the same energy, making the house shake and groan.

Michael hears the car start and stall, followed by a curse, and finally then the purr of an engine. As he makes his way to the window, he catches a glimpse of their Jeep's headlights careening down the street until the darkness swallows up the night once again.

He lets out a sigh and droops his shoulders, making his way to his bedroom. The image of his son's expression lingers, only to be followed by a bout of worry. It's almost as if Finn is getting worse. The nightmares persist and the night-long drives remain to distract him from the insomnia that haunts him since The Accident. Michael remembers the argument between the two; remembering it like a past memory although it occurred only minutes before.

The next time Finn wakes up after a nightware, it will happen again. Like it has been going on for the past five months.

And each time, another piece of Micahel Carter's heart will break.

---

Finn's eyes are on the road, staring straight ahead into the abyss. The car is drenched in the silence of the early morning. The moon hugs his vehicle with the gentleness of a feather, the light mixing with the streetlights on either side to remind Finn that he is not alone. The boy releases a sigh, his hands shaking on the steering wheel.

"Not bad, Finn," he murmurs sadly to himself. "This is only the third time this week. Last week, it was five. You're getting better." The thought stops short in his mind. No. He really isn't. His grip tightens. 

The radio in the car is broken, yet it illuminates every time the engine is on as if it wants to believe it isn't. When Finn realizes he can emphasize with a broken car radio, his urges get even more intense and he presses harder on the accelerator. 

Within a few minutes, the road veers away into a dirt path. Gravel pounds underneath the Jeep's exterior and the road becomes bumpier as Finn advances. By the time he parks the truck, he's in his usual parking spot and the headlights shut off and Finn is surrounded by darkness mind the neon sign overhead that reads Jerry's Supermarket. He hits his head on the surface of the steering wheel, feeling around his pockets for his wallet. 

He jumps out of the car and locks the door, shivering in the sudden cold and breathing out air that materializes into breathy wisps as soon as they collide with the autumn chill. As he makes his way up the stairs, Finn is thankful for the twenty-four hour grocery store's warmth. He lets out another weary sigh before making his way over to the counter, where a familiar figure sits at the only open cash register, a magazine in his hands and bored look to accompany it.

"Hey, Cash." Finn greets.

"My main man," Cash looks up, a toothy grin attacking his cheeks. He's lanky and tall, the freckles on his pale skin prominent in the ghastly light overhead. A lightbulb flickers somewhere in the store. Cash straightens to his full six-foot length, a few inches taller than Finn. He's dressed in the Jerry's uniform: ugly brown polo with the company logo and some slacks that are a little too short on him. What stands out the most is his bright purple Reeboks that illuminate in the dim setting. "Long time, no see."

"You saw me three days ago," Finn corrects, hopping up onto the counter to take a seat. Cash follows suit, hoisting his body up beside his friend. Four years older than Finn, Cash was a high school dropout, who spends his days working or making music with his punk-rock garage band, hoping to go big one day. Finn adds, "I hardly count that as a long time."

"Well, look at you. You've got some fight in you tonight, boy." Cash snorts.

Finn quiets. "It's just one of those nights."

"Yeah," Cash agrees, swinging his legs. "Otherwise you wouldn't be here."

"You got the stuff?"

Cash grins. "New shipment in just for you. Check aisle four. Behind the Nutter Butters."

"You're a saint, Cash, you know that right?"

"You're making me blush, boy," the man in question winks. "One day I'll get arrested for this."

"As long as it's not for that heroin you hide in aisle seven."

"Shut the hell up, Finn! Someone will hear!"

"It's always just me and you here at three in the morning, dude. Calm down."

Cash raises his eyebrow but doesn't reply, motioning to the empty store behind them. "Well, go feed your addiction then, kid."

"Will do." Finn hops off the conveyor belt, losing his footing for a second before he regains it. With a salute towards his supplier, he heads off towards aisle four. There's a sinking feeling in his stomach, like he always gets when he's near that one item that brings back a shit ton of memories he doesn't want, but needs.

He passes by aisle one.

Two.

Three.

And swings into aisle four, where he tries to inconspicuously seem as if he is simply scouring the market's goods. When his eyes fall onto the Nutter Butters, he takes a few boxes out and (wary of the security cameras), subtly takes the package hidden behind out with it and stuffs it in his pocket.

"Whatcha got there?"

There's a split second where Finn yelps, and the following that ensues is the clash of Nutter Butter packages falling to the floor. The ruckus echoes through the aisles. Finn winces.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Finn yells at Winona, who stands before him with a curious expression. "It's three in the morning-- I-- what the-- what--"

"Don't get your panties in a twist, Finn," Winona cracks a small smile. "I just needed sustinence." She motions to the box in her hands and Finn follows the movement.

"Dinosaur shaped chicken nuggets? Really?"

"The heart wants what the heart wants." Winona replies nonchalantly. "Now, what's your secret?"

Finn swallows drily, the object in his pocket feeling heavier than it actually is. "N-nothing."

"I believe that."

"You do?"

"No, you imbecile," she rolls her eyes, and without warning, leaps at him. Finn lets out another shriek, falling to the floor with Winona on top. She straddles his waist and tries to reach inside his pockets, but he already has it out in his hand, trying to get away from Winona as quickly as possible.

"Get-- off!" he wheezes.

"Just let me see!" she pouts and continues reaching for the mysterious object. Finn wonders if it's okay to bite girls if he's not allowed to hit them. While he's bust contemplating this, Winona manages to grab it out of his hands. With a triumphant, "Fuck yeah!", she skitters off Finn, who is red-faced and defeated.

"Please don't--"

"Oh, my God."

"Winona--"

"Is this?"

"Yeah, but--"

"I thought these were banned from the US?"

"Er--"

She holds up the object, staring at it with fascination. "How did you manage to get your hands on a Kinder Egg?"

Finn turns beet red. "I know a guy."

"Shady guy who tried to hit on me when I walked in?"

"That would be Cash," Finn says. 

"Why are you getting these illegally? You just love Italian chocolates?"

Finn feels himself turn defensive. "None of your business."

"Alright. Someone's touchy."

"I'm really not in the mood."

"Neither am I," Winona agrees. "I'm hungry and cold. Not a good combination."

It's only then that Finn fully takes her appearance in. The goosebumps are prominent on her bare arms, the only clothing on her body being a light t-shirt and some skinny jeans and combat boots, her hair scooped up into a messy bun. He looks at her in horror.

"Why the hell are you wearing that? It's like negative four degrees out there! Wear a sweater, idiot."

"I-- don't own any," Winona says slowly.

Without warning, Finn's hand is smacking the box of frozen chicken nuggets out of Winona's hand. It falls to the floor with an echoing thud that reverberates throughout the empty corridors of the market, making Winona's eyes widen in shock. Finn's eyebrows are drawn together as he points a finger in the girl's direction.

"What do you mean you don't own any sweaters?"

"Finn--"

"Come on, what kind of person moves to Vermont and doesn't even bother to pack jackets or coats or -- I don't know, something to keep them warm?"

"Finn--"

"If you didn't realize, it just happens to be the middle of October, Winona. October. You know, when the leaves start changing colors and pumpkins are rising faster than my self-esteem, and when the wind starts stinging your cheeks, and dude, it's going to start snowing soon."

"Finn--"

"I thought you were smart, okay? Like, you know, an intellectual human being unlike the majority of high school specimen in this forsaken town. I guess I assumed wrong."

"You've known me for two days. Is your assumption of my intelligence based on the fact that I happen to be of Asian descent?" Winona quirks an eyebrow as she finally finds a break in Finn's rant to include a remark.

And just like that, the vigor of Finn's anger vanishes as he comes to a realization that he has just gone off on one of the only people willing enough to become his friend. The accusation in Winona's tone is enough to remind him that --like always-- he tended to become a little bit, say, melodramatic.

It isn't completely his fault, though. Finn knows that he is prone to random bouts of emotion, as was the case with his mother. Like mother like son, Finn is so secluded in himself that it is a rare occasion when a moment like this will happen. After being drawn into himself for so long, Finn is terribly, terribly embarrassed by the notion of speaking aloud and of course, interacting with people. And when he does, he regrets it.

Every single time.

It is because of this reason that Finn stands in front of his new neighbor with an open mouth and pink cheeks, any passion in voice completely decimated.

Winona's accusing stare morphs into something akin to sympathy. She murmurs, "Jeez, kid. You know I was just joking, right?"

Finn didn't know she was joking.

He shakes his head and closes his mouth, shifting his line of sight to the tips of her Doc Martens instead of her probing stare.

"Finn," Winona begins, seeing that now she has all the time in the world to speak. She bends down and retrieves the box from the floor before straightening herself. Finn stares at the goosebumps on her arms. "Finn, look at me."

Finn looks at her.

"Sorry," he utters softly.

"Don't say sorry," she says stiffly. "It is completely and utterly okay to be passionate about something you love, okay? You like autumn, right?"

Finn nods.

"Then don't be ashamed of it." She tucks the box underneath her arm and leans against the glass. "The only reason why I don't have any autumn or winter clothing is because I just moved from a land where those seasons don't exist. Have you ever seen snow in California? It's not my fault Santa doesn't cum over Palo Alto."

Finn snorts softly. Winona cracks a grin.

"It's still unacceptable," Finn clears his throat to hide the amusement. "Tomorrow we're going to Belvidere Mall and we're stocking up your wardrobe. I mean... If that's cool with you."

"On one condition."

"Condition?"

"Yes, dear Finn," Winona takes a step forward. She is so much shorter than Finn that her eye levels with his chest. She cranes her head upwards. "Condition. Do you need the definition, origin, and part of speech too?" 

"No."

"Alright," She prods his chest. "Then you accept my terms?"

"Okay." Finn is scared.

"You're going to let me help you with Adelaide."

"Okay." Fearful.

"And you won't object to anything I say or do to get you to her."

"Okay." Frightened.

She grins and salutes him, walking away towards the check-out counter with her box of dinosaur-shaped chicken nuggets. "Oh, and Finn, darling?"

Finn turns to her.

She winks, "It's a date."

Finn is terrified.

---

Okay, guys. So here's the thing. I've decided that I can't continue using the prompts for the autumnwritingchallenge and the femininity challenge, because it's very difficult to incorporate them into the chapters. My chapters have gotten increasingly longer and the bad part is that they would stretch past 10 pages to get all the challenge prompts in. The chapters will be inspired by the challenge prompts, but will no longer be centralized around them. This is for the best so I hope you guys understand.

Loving all the support, guys. Comment, vote, and promote. <3

-Isabelle