every move | f2f nightbird & finn
[He should be off-duty, he’s clocked out ages ago, but his eyes glaze over the pink-purple letters of a neon sign, and Finn sees his own reflection in the dirty glass -- head covered in a thick hoodie because of the cold -- and the first thought that arises is that he’s tired of waiting. His tongue licks his dry lips, ignorant to the fact that they’ll be worse off in the morning. He walks by the bar window, hands further shoved into his pockets as he grasps the inside of them. How he wishes he could be holding onto the shirt collar of that Masked Man. His fists curl up, tighten. Finn wouldn’t let go, let that man hurt any more people.
A sort of dangerous sharpness settles into his bones then and now and Finn breathes it out, and away, away from his system. He doesn’t want to get mad. But God, he wants to get even.
Finn looks up to the dark city skyscrapers, takes in his surroundings, and squints at the familiarity. This street. He’s made it back to the general area of the crime scene a day ago. The police tape is intact, quartering off the premises. There aren’t many people here, understandable from the brutal murder. Only a few security decal are around at this time of night. Despite trying not to return here, Finn’s feet follow an invisible yet marked path, fueled by a subconscious of guilt and grit. Maybe Mr. My Alibi was right, Detectives don’t know how to turn it off, Finn included.
Finn sighs and slowly walks around, not going under the tape, since he’s going to follow the law. But he lets his eyes jump over that bright yellow, peer and wander into the darkness beyond. Maybe there would be something. Something that he’s missed.]
