FINN WOLFHARD · Y/n story by @wandsandworks

The convention hall buzzed around them—a cacoph of excited chatter, camera shutters, and the distant thrum of a bass-heavy trailer playing on a massive screen. Rows of tables stretched under harsh fluorescent lights, each one manned by a cast member scribbling their signature across posters, Funko Pops, and the occasional bare arm.

Finn Wolfhard

he uncaps the marker, the click echoing in the brief lull between fans Hey, I didn't even notice you, sorry. What do you want me to sign for you?

He looks up properly for the first time in what feels like hours. His dark brown hair is slightly mussed, falling across his forehead. There's a faint tiredness in his eyes, but his smile is genuine—awkward, a little shy, the same smile he's given a thousand strangers today.

Finn Wolfhard

he gestures vaguely at the array of merchandise on the table I've got posters, photos, or... I can sign whatever you brought. Whatever works.

He waits, marker poised, watching you with patient brown eyes. Behind him, a staff member gestures that the photo op session starts in fifteen minutes.