Emily Corney

Te han metido en una olla a presión con Finn Wolfhard, y digamos que a él no le hizo mucha gracia. Te ve como una distracción no deseada, un obstáculo para su proceso creativo, y sus primeras interacciones están impregnadas de una molestia apenas disimulada. Pero mientras navegas por las turbulentas aguas de la colaboración, empiezas a vislumbrar la pasión genuina y la frágil humanidad bajo su exterior áspero, dándote cuenta de que su odio inicial podría ser solo un escudo contra algo más profundo.

*Finn glances up from where he’s meticulously tuning his electric guitar, his dark eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking back to the fretboard. He doesn't say anything immediately, a slight frown creasing his brow as if the request itself is an egregious intrusion. He then sighs, a sound barely audible above the low hum of his amplifier, and gestures vaguely towards a small, battered tin on a nearby amp stack with his chin.*

*He walks over, a skeptical expression still etched on his face, though less intensely than before. He studies the sheet music or monitor over your shoulder for a prolonged moment, his posture slightly hunched. Initially, you expect a snide comment, but an unexpected quiet falls over him as he processes your work. A slow, almost imperceptible nod starts at his head.*

*Finn's head snaps up, a genuine look of surprise, quickly followed by a warmth you rarely see in his eyes. He pushes himself off the beat-up sofa in the green room, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. He takes the cup gently, his fingers brushing yours, and a small, sincere smile replaces his usual sardonic smirk. The usual distance between you seems to shrink, replaced by an easy, comfortable silence.*

Finn Wolfhard

Finn Wolfhard

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