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Finn Wolfhard shoved the apartment door open, and the sound that greeted him wasn’t the usual silence, but the sharp rip of fabric tearing. He froze. The entry hall looked like a war zone. His linen shirts had been shredded into strips, his designer shoes had their laces cut and their soles torn off, scattered across the carpet like carcasses.
“What the fuck… Noah?” Finn shouted, his voice jumping an octave in shock.
He looked up toward the mezzanine. Noah was leaning over the railing, his face smeared with a vivid red, hair a mess, eyes wide and radiating a fury that bordered on delirium. In his hands, he held the dark wooden box where Finn kept his collection of imported perfumes.
“What happened? Look at this floor, Noah! Have you lost your mind?” Finn took a step forward, gesturing at the destruction.
“What happened?” Noah let out a sharp, hysterical laugh that echoed through the high ceiling. “What happened is that I watched SNL, Finn! I saw you sitting on that stage, laughing in my face, turning Will’s coming out into a stupid joke just to get applause from people who don’t even know who you really are!”
“Noah, for the love of God, put that box down!” Finn started up the stairs, hands outstretched like he was dealing with a cornered animal. “It’s SNL! It’s a script! They made fun of everyone—they mocked Millie, they even mocked the Duffer brothers’ writing! It’s not meant to be taken seriously, it’s just part of the show!”
“NOT MEANT TO BE TAKEN SERIOUSLY?” Noah screamed, his voice cracking from the strain. “You used my most vulnerable moment! You know what that scene meant to me, and you went up there and made me look like a slow idiot! You humiliated me, Finn! In front of everyone!”
“You’re being hysterical!” Finn tried to get closer, his voice now pleading. “I didn’t do it on purpose, it’s what they wrote for me! Please, put the box down. There’s over five thousand dollars’ worth of glass in there, Noah. Let’s talk like two adults—just give me the box…”
Noah glanced at the box and then at Finn’s face. The concern over the value of the perfumes seemed to be the final trigger. The disgust in Noah’s eyes hardened into a brutal decision.
“You care about how much this costs? Funny. I cared about our trust.”
“Noah, don’t—”
Before Finn could finish the shout, Noah lifted the box over his head and hurled it with all his strength toward the center of the room. The impact was violent. The sound of dozens of crystal bottles shattering at once was like a small detonation.
Seconds later, the smell rose. A dense, nauseating, suffocating cloud of mixed scents—sandalwood, tobacco, citrus, and alcohol—flooded the air, making it hard to even breathe. Finn stopped halfway up the stairs, pulling the collar of his shirt over his nose, eyes burning as he watched the expensive liquid seep between the wooden floorboards.
Noah was still upstairs, panting, staring at the wreckage with a bitter smile.
“Does it smell good to you, Finn?” Noah whispered, his voice now icy. “Because to me, it smells like you leaving. Now.”
Finn looked at the trail of destruction and at the unhinged Noah above him. Fear finally replaced arrogance. He had never seen Noah like this.
Noah stormed into the bedroom with the fast, erratic movements of someone about to explode. He wasn’t crying; his face had hardened into a mask of pure hatred. He went straight to the central rack and tore Finn’s vintage leather jacket from the hanger—the piece Finn treated like a sacred treasure.
Finn came in right behind him, tripping over his own breath, eyes red and face swollen. He collapsed to his knees before he even reached the middle of the room.
“Noah, please… no, not that one!” Finn sobbed, his hands clawing at the air as if trying to stop time. “I’m a piece of shit, I’m an idiot, I know! I admit it! I’ll tell everyone I’m garbage, but don’t touch that jacket, Noah! I’m begging you!”
Noah didn’t look at him. His silence was more violent than any scream. He opened the vanity drawer and pulled out the tailor’s scissors. The sound of the metal blades opening was like the click of a gun.
“The joke was about Will, right, Finn?” Noah said, his voice low enough to make Finn shake.
“I’ll humiliate myself, Noah! I’ll post right now that I’m trash, that the monologue was my idea and that I was a coward!” Finn crawled across the carpet to Noah’s feet, trying to grab the hem of his pants. “Forgive me, for God’s sake! I’ll do whatever you want! I’ll clean everything, I’ll disappear—just don’t cut it!”
Noah kicked Finn’s hand away and slid the blade into the leather collar. He looked Finn straight in the eyes as he closed the scissors. The sound of leather being shredded was slow and deliberate.
“NOOO!” Finn let out a high-pitched scream, burying his face in his hands, sobbing like a child as pieces of shredded leather fell over his head.
Noah dropped the rags onto Finn and walked to the nightstand. He picked up the watch box—the luxury collection Finn loved to show off—and carried it to the window.
“Noah, not the watches… the Rolex was a gift from my family! Noah, stop!” Finn tried to stand, but his legs gave out, and he stayed on his knees, dragging himself across the floor. “I’m a piece of shit, I know! Hit me, scream at me, just don’t throw them! Please, I’m humiliating myself, Noah! What else do you want me to do?!”
Noah threw the window wide open. The cold Manhattan wind rushed into the room, tangling Finn’s damp hair. Noah tipped the box with a gesture of pure contempt.
“I want you to feel what it’s like to watch something you value get thrown away for everyone to see,” Noah said, his voice icy. “Just like you did to me on SNL.”
One by one, the watches disappeared into the void. The sound of them hitting the concrete below was like the end of a stopwatch. Finn let out a muffled wail, smashing his forehead against the floor, completely broken.
The atmosphere in the apartment was unbearable.
The smell of the shattered perfumes downstairs rose like a toxic fog, mixing with the sound of Finn’s sobs as he remained on his knees on the bedroom carpet, surrounded by the shredded remains of his favorite jacket.
Noah didn’t give him time to recover. He crossed the room with a murderous focus and grabbed Finn’s guitar case—the instrument he used to compose, the object Finn treated with more care than his own image.
“Noah… no. Not the guitar. Please, Noah, for everything that’s sacred!” Finn dragged himself across the floor, trying to grab Noah’s legs, his voice breaking into a desperate whine. “I’m trash, I’m a piece of shit, you’re right about everything! But the guitar is my life, Noah! Forgive me, I’m begging on my knees, look at me!”
Noah didn’t look. He shook Finn off with a rough shove, sending him crashing back against the bed, and left the bedroom carrying the instrument. Finn followed right after, crawling and then stumbling over his own feet, his face twisted by tears and humiliation.
Noah stopped at the very top of the stairs, the same spot from which he had thrown the perfumes. He held the guitar by the neck, swinging it over the abyss of the living room.
Noah gripped the guitar by the neck, his knuckles white from the force. He stared into the abyss of the living room below with a contempt so heavy it seemed to thicken the air.
Finn collapsed at his feet, clinging to Noah’s legs with desperate strength, his face soaked in tears and snot, with no trace left of the star persona he had worn on the SNL stage.
“Noah, for the love of God, I’m begging on my knees!” Finn sobbed, his voice breaking as he squeezed Noah’s legs like his life depended on it. “I’m a piece of shit, I’m trash—kick me, do whatever you want to me, but not the guitar! I’m begging you, look at the state I’m in, Noah! I lost my head, I was an idiot, but don’t do this!”
Noah looked down at the man he loved, reduced to a pile of pathetic excuses and hysterical sobs on the floor. The sight of that humiliation, instead of softening him, only deepened his disgust.
“You want people to laugh, Finn?” Noah said, his voice icy, feeling the tremor of Finn’s hands against his shins. “Then laugh at this.”
With a violent jerk, Noah tore himself free from Finn’s grip, slamming Finn’s face against the mezzanine floor. Before Finn could scream again, Noah lifted the guitar above his head and hurled it with all his fury into the stairwell.
The impact was deafening. The instrument hit the wooden floor with a hollow crash, shattering instantly. The soundboard split, the neck flew sideways, and the strings snapped with a metallic, agonized scream, landing right in the middle of the pool of expensive perfume and shards of glass.
Finn let out a scream that didn’t sound human, a sharp wail that echoed through the empty apartment. He dragged himself to the edge of the railing, staring down at the remains of his most precious possession, completely destroyed below.
Noah wiped his hands on his pants, as if he had just touched something contaminated.
“The show’s over, Finn,” Noah said, walking past him without a shred of pity. “Grab that trash and get out of my house. Now.”
The apartment was saturated with the suffocating smell of alcohol and essences, but to Noah, what reeked the most was Finn’s presence.
Noah stumbled down the steps, ignoring Finn’s convulsive crying. With blind fury, he began gathering armfuls of torn clothes—the silk shirts ripped into strips, the shredded coats scattered across the living room floor. He didn’t organize anything; he simply clutched the pile of ruined fabric and flung the apartment’s front door wide open.
“Take your trash and get the hell out!” Noah shouted, hurling the clothes violently into the building’s carpeted hallway. Designer pieces and scraps of leather landed in a tangled heap on the cold floor. “Disappear from my life! I never want to see your face again, I never want to hear your voice, I never want to know that you exist!”
Finn, who had been curled up at the top of the stairs, descended on his knees, crawling, trying to reach Noah. His face was red and swollen, a pathetic image of humiliation.
“Noah, please… I love you! I’m an idiot, but I love you!” Finn sobbed, trying to grab Noah’s hands. “Don’t do this, please, let me fix it, I love you!”
“YOU DON’T LOVE ANYONE!” Noah screamed, losing the last shred of patience he had left.
In a sudden, violent motion, Noah lunged forward, grabbed Finn by the collar of his shirt—the same one he had worn to shine onstage just hours earlier—and yanked him with a strength no one knew he had. He dragged Finn, who offered no resistance, only cried and begged, out past the doorway.
Noah gave one final shove, throwing Finn onto the pile of torn clothes and broken watches in the hallway. Finn landed awkwardly, his hands touching the cold, ruined fabric of his belongings.
“Noah, please! I love you! Open the door!” Finn cried from the floor, reaching out as tears dripped onto the carpet.
Noah looked at him one last time.
“The rest of your things, I’m going to burn.”
Noah slammed the door shut with such force that the sound echoed down the entire floor. He locked it, turning the key twice.
finn slept in the hotel lobby
One week later, Noah made a point of sending the ashes of the things that had belonged to Finn—the ones he had burned—inside a box tied with a ribbon.