He blinked, and for just a split second he looked like Finn had punched him in the gut, and then he recovered his composure and easy smirk. "It's more fun that way; besides, look how your relationship turned out. You're one to talk." A bit of a low blow, maybe, but hadn't Finn's been one too?
(Gtg soon, goodnight!)
(goodnight!)
For a split second, Finn regretted it. He wanted to apologize, he didn’t want Waylen to look as upset as he did. But then, as if it had never occurred in the first place, the moment was gone. He blinked a few times, easily feigning a smile. “At least I had someone who loved me, even if it didn’t last forever. God only knows the last time someone loved you.” It was too much. He was going too far, and he knew it. But he couldn’t go back.
Waylen's smile turned slightly brittle. "Yeah, well at least the last person who did love me didn't cheat on me after five years." he shot back. "At least I've never been cheated on by someone I thought I was going to marry, but then, I suppose it takes a special kind of stupid to fall in love with a cheater."
“At least I’m not you, so goddamn emotionally unavailable that the only way you can feel anything is by getting empty validation from strangers that just use you and move on. I can take a breakup, at least I know I’m able to be loved at all.” Finn laughed humorlessly, looking up at the roof. “But then again, I’ve only know you since you were fifteen. What do I know, right?”
He scoffed under his breath. "You don't know much, that's for damn sure." he spat. "Not about me, anyway. Need I remind you that I broke up with you? And that we hardly interacted after that? You don't know anything about me, Finn."
“Right, because those countless times that I was your go-to, and you just sat with me and cried and I held you through it all- because that all meant nothing, right? Why would it have.” He looked down at Waylen coldly, if not a bit shaken.
Waylen's gaze narrowed. He'd had issues, as a teen, from a lot of things. His step-father, the memories of that horrible week with his own father as the suppressed emotions and memories had bubbled up…so yeah, he'd turned to Finn plenty of times, needing someone to hold him but he was over that now. He was. He had to be. "It doesn't. Not anymore." he hadn't told Finn what had happened, exactly, with his father. Just that his father had committed suicide when he was very young.
“Of course it doesn’t. Because nothing you ever do or say is sincere, is it?” He gestured wildly as he spoke, stuffing his hands back in his pockets once he caught himself. He laughed, a last attempt to keep his own emotions in check. “‘Course not.”
"Nothing you said in high school was sincere, Finn." he shot back, crossing his arms tighter against his chest. "You were a fake and a pansy and you pandered to anyone who gave you a jot of attention, and you have the audacity to say I'm not sincere?"
“I meant everything I said, asshole. Not my fault if you don’t believe it now. Trust me, if I could go back and never say any of the things I did, I would in heartbeat, okay? Because apparently all anyone ever hears is a load of shit.” He wiped a hand over his face, exasperated and worn out. “What, you think I could fake all that? You genuinely think I didn’t care?”
Waylen shrugged faintly. "Who am I to say whether or not you did? It doesn't really matter anymore, now does it? Unless you were planning on being a shoulder to cry on again, because hey, newsflash, I don't need you anymore. I don't need anyone." he hadn't cried in a year and he knew that that probably wasn't healthy but fuck that if he was going to admit that to Finn.
“Oh my god, do you even hear yourself? That isn’t healthy, dipshit! How is there that much wrong with you?” Finn laughed coldly. While it was happening, he never thought he’d miss his high school experience, He couldn’t wait to get out. But now, looking back on it… “What the fuck happened to you?”
Waylen glared at him again. "Not like you care, shithead, so don't even ask." He shot back. He'd tried to kill himself after high school ended, maybe that was what had changed him so much. Obviously he had survived but damn if it hadn't fucked him up. Then again he was just fucked up, really. Between his past and his parents and his other issues…he hadn't been okay in…well, probably ever.
“You’re such a goddamn asshole, oh my god,” he spat. “Maybe I would care if you weren’t such a stuck up douche all the time. It’s like you want everyone to hate your fucking guts.”
"Better than having them sucking up to me all the time." he glared at Finn, eyes narrowed and angry. "Better than dealing with shitty people pretending to give a shit just because they want something from me."
“Yeah, keep thinking like that and die alone without anyone who fucking loves you. What do I care.” Finn scoffed. “Have fun with that, dick.” With that, he turned on his heel and made to leave, stomping down the stairs.
Waylen watched him go, shaking his head a little and heading back into his room. He wasn't hungry, and he didn't really feel like going anywhere. He closed the door, sitting down on the bed and curling into himself.
Making his way down the sidewalk, Finn stuffed his hands in his pockets and walked as quickly as he could. …Why had he said any of that? He hadn’t meant most of it. He wanted to apologize as soon as he saw that look on Waylen’s face, but of course the man couldn’t show any emotion towards him other than anger. Maybe that was it? He didn’t know anymore. He arrived at the small joint in record time, only realizing when he came to a stop that he was nearly out of breath. How fast had he been going?
He wondered, distantly, what was wrong with him. What had gone wrong inside that made him like this. The suicide attempt? The week he had spent as a child, terrified and afraid, because of his own father? He shook his head. He had wilted into himself, but couldn't cry. He closed his eyes, though no tears were surfacing. He was just…empty. Really fucking empty. He always was and if he sought comfort for that in the arms of strangers, so what? So what? It wasn't any of Finn's business.
He caught his breath and ordered food, eating quickly. He was lost in thought the entire time, watching cars pass on the road outside. He knew he was in the wrong. He didn’t want to be on such terrible terms with Waylen, but it was just so hard to try and fix things when the man was so set in his ways. He finished his food, continuing to sit around aimlessly for a few minutes before beginning the trudge back up the road to the motel. Stepping into his room, he sighed heavily. He had to be the bigger person here, god knows Waylen wasn’t going to be. Reluctantly and still somewhat upset about it, he pulled out a pen and his receipt from breakfast.
(bro it's physically impossible for Waylen to be the biggest person lmao)
Waylen was just laying on his bed, eyes closed but not asleep. All he could hear was Finn's words echoing around in his head, even though he tried not to think about it. "God only knows the last time someone loved you". He took a deep breath, shaking his head a little bit. Yeah. God only knew.
(lmfao-)
After a few minutes of staring blankly at the empty side of the paper, Finn finally settled on something plain and simple. He wrote out the words as neatly as he could, knowing his usual handwriting was far from good. He didn’t give himself time to think about it, knowing he’d second-guess himself like crazy if he did. Grabbing his laundry as well, he headed out the door. He tucked the small piece of paper, reading ‘I’m sorry’, into the mail slot before heading down the stairs to throw his clothes in the wash.
Waylen shifted when he heard the mail slot open and close, but he didn't get up. He didn't feel like it right now. Eventually, he did get up, he padded over and read the note. He shrugged faintly, setting it aside and sitting down again. The apology didn't really help. Finn had still meant what he said.
Finn just sat and waited for his clothes to finish, scrolling through his phone aimlessly when he got bored watching them spin in circles. He sat there for maybe an hour and a half, cutting both the washing and drying of his clothes short. He didn’t want to be sitting there all day, but he didn’t exactly trust the people around so much that he’d just leave his clothes and head back up. Eventually, though, he headed back up to his room with his hamper of clean clothes.
Waylen had eventually begun to play his guitar, not singing along, just slowly plucking the strings in a soft, melancholic manner. It scared him sometimes, how little he seemed to actually feel. But it didnt matter, did it?