Having been on the island for more than a year, Finn had more than enough time to settle into the life. But even with that time, he had just got to the point where he trusted himself around other people a few weeks before Clarke was brought on. He still felt the guilt. Still wore it like the knife wound Lincoln had given him. Deeper. Uglier, than the one Clarke had given him. But he was able to hide it a little better than he had at Camp Jaha.
"You say that, but there is another Finn here." He teased. Just not one like him. He didn't know much about the other guy, though. He hadn't reached out to too many people.
Finn didn't hesitate. "Yeah! You'd be prettier to look at than empty store fronts." It felt good to shamelessly flirt with her. He didn't want her to feel bad about what he'd made her do. And he held no hard feelings about it either. She'd saved him from a truly frightening death. One that he'd tried to face head on, but in the end he'd been afraid that he would piss himself before it was over. She'd given him a dignified out. He lifted a hand to rub over the scar. It reminded him of how close he had been when he got brought here.
Shaking the feeling off, he uncovered both plates. Both were heaped with different foods. Fried chicken, fried pork chops, meatloaf, potatoes, homemade mac n' cheese, peas, beans, stuffing, and a little pool of gravy. "I'm pretty sure Lacey and Isabel think I starve when I'm not there."