Harlyn
Elly starts something up on my laptop, but I don't pay attention at all. She doesn't seem to mind, sitting quietly and randomly handing me chips full of salsa from the jar she has settled between her legs. It's halfway through the third (maybe, fourth) episode when my phone starts vibrating insistently against my thigh. I scramble for it and nearly stop breathing when I see Finley's name displayed across the screen.
"Finley?" I try to keep the flurry of panic out of my voice, but I'm sure I fail. "Are you ok?" I rub my forehead and before he can answer say, "That's a stupid question. Just...you don't call. Are you hurt?" Elly watches me carefully, a chip full of salsa halfway to her mouth.
"No," he sniffles. My heart breaks clean in half and is smashed into a thousand pieces when he adds, "I'm just sorry."
"Oh, love," I sigh.
"Do you wa-want to come over? And we can talk?"
I glance at Elly, who's hanging on my every word. "Now?" She nods frantically, even though I know she can't hear everything we're talking about.
"If, um, if you want." My stomach twists. And I'm about to tell him that it's about what we both want when he continues. "I want you here." His voice is small and soft, but it sends a thrill up my spine. It's the first time in weeks he's told me what he wants.
"Of course, love. I'll be there soon," I say. As if I'd say no.
"Ok." He takes a shaky breath. "Thanks."
"Anytime."
We hang up, and Elly pounces as soon as I drop my phone from my ear. "Is he ok?"
"Well, hopefully he will be. He wants to talk." I slide off the bed and throw on a sweater.
Elly grabs for the bottle of salsa to keep it steady. "At our flat?" I nod. "Alright." She's off the bed in seconds, gathering her coat from the chair and heading out my door with her chips and dip in hand. I follow, trotting down the stairs and shoving my feet into my trainers.
Polly and Fran are on the couch when we get to their flat, and they both smile sadly at me. But they don't say anything. I make a mental note to buy them all dinner. Or chocolate. Or both. Elly only follows me to the first landing, squeezing me around the waist and telling me to call if we need anything.
My stomach swoops as I start up the windy staircase to Finley's room. But Finley wants to talk. That's a good sign. We'll figure this out.
I knock on his door softly. "Finley?"
"You can come in," comes the muffled reply. I crack the door open and find him curled up under his duvet, completely hidden.
"Love?" I push the door closed. "You in there?" I pad closer to the bed to make sure that I can hear him answer.
"Yeah. But be warned. I'm a mess." He still sounds sniffly, but I don't think he's actively crying.
I crouch next to his bed. "When has you being a mess ever turned me away?" When I lift the corner of his blanket, I'm met with a tear stained face and big, red rimmed brown eyes staring back at me. My entire body droops. "Oh, my love."
His eyes squeeze closed. "You don't get to be all sweet and nice when I've been horrible to you."
"Would it make you feel better if I told you I was also horrible to you in my head?" I ask softly.
"No. Because at least you had the decency to keep it to yourself," he mumbles.
"I did just rant and rave to Elly for a while. Does that count?" He blinks one eye open, and I smile softly at him. "And then she put me in my place. In a way only Elly could."
"Did she?"
I reach out and brush a lock of hair behind his ear. He relaxes just a little. "She very lovingly and very forcefully reminded me that my amazing beautiful boyfriend has a not so amazing and beautiful companion called anxiety who likes to convince him that he's not worth anyone's time when he clearly is."
"Yeah, it's the worst." He swipes aimlessly at his cheeks. "Doesn't give me the right to yell at you."
He's right, of course. Max's words from the end of last term run through my mind. His anxiety does not give him an excuse to be a crappy person. It's not ok, but I forgive him. I have a feeling he won't believe me if I just say that. Instead, I stand and pull my sweater off. "Can I join you?"
Slowly, he uncurls and sits against the headboard with enough space for me next to him. But I rearrange us as soon as I crawl in next to him, settling him in my lap with his back against my knee. He stares at me through watery eyes, and I level him with a soft but serious look.
"You wanna tell me what's going on in that head of yours?"
"It might not make a whole lot of sense," he says, eyes dropping to his hands tucked between his legs.
"I'll risk it."
He sniffs again and presses the cuff of his sleeve to his nose. "I..." His breath hitches, and he squeezes his eyes closed.
"Hey," I murmur. He manages to look up at me. "Take your time. There's no wrong answer."
New tears slide down his cheeks. Elly was right. He doesn't want to say something wrong. I tighten my grip on his waist, and he tucks his face into my shoulder, trembling as he tries to get his breath under control. He finally chokes out a small "I know."
"Do you?"
He huffs a tiny laugh. "Yes. I do." He swallows, sits up, and wipes at his face again. "I hate crying."
My eyes dart around and find a roll of toilet paper on his side table, and I let go long enough to tear a couple of squares off. "So, you don't have to keep wiping your nose on your sleeve."
"Is it grossing you out?" he asks, the tiniest smile curling his mouth.
I smile back, tilting my head. "No. I just figured it would be more comfortable for you."
"Thank you." He mops at his cheeks and blows his nose. He looks so miserable, and I hate that I had anything to do with him feeling this way. I know it's not my fault. I know my frustration made sense, but I wish I could take back the yelling. Finley catches me staring. "I'm fine. I promise." I pull him even closer. "I just...feel like an idiot."
"Well, you're not," I say immediately.
He pulls in a deep breath, eyes fixed on my collarbone. "I know you love me. I know that. I know you don't - I know you -" He huffs, eyebrows pressing together. "Other than Max, I've never really had anyone who I felt like would love me no matter what. My parents had a lot of expectations. And while I know they love me, it always felt like...they'd love me a little less if I failed to meet those expectations, like their love was conditional. It definitely felt like that when I came out. Same with Bridget. And Holly, even though I still completely understand why she ghosted me after I was a terrible friend. Even Max...ever since he moved and made new friends, it just felt like he was only ever friends with me because he felt like he had to be."
"Oh, Finley." There's a gnawing, hollow feeling in the center of my chest. I understand the feeling, but to be terrified every moment of your life that someone is going to leave or be upset or...I can't even imagine what else his brain was dreaming up.
"And I know it's stupid," he continues frantically. "Max told me very clearly that it's stupid like an hour ago. But my anxiety just likes to tell me crazy things. And you..." He looks up at me, staring like I might disappear if he looks away. "You've sat with me in my mess more times in the last year than I can count. You climbed under a bathroom stall door for me." The aching in my chest cracks a little, and I let out a little laugh. "You held my hand through all of my parental issues. You forgave me after being an actual dumbass. You're sitting with me now and letting me cry on your shoulder and be a blubbering mess after being horrible to you - again. You're just too good to be true. And I'm so scared that I'm going to put one toe wrong, and you're going to see how broken and imperfect I am and leave. And you'd stop looking at me like this." He lifts his hand and brushes a thumb over my cheek.
I lean into his touch. "I'm never going to stop looking at you like this. And I know you're not perfect. Neither am I. I know that there's always too much going on in your brain. And I still love you. No. Matter. What."
"Yeah?" he chokes.
"Yeah." God, I hope he believes me.
He lays his head on my shoulder again, hand still cupping my cheek. We're quiet for a moment, just breathing and feeling. My hand drifts up and down Finley's side. We haven't cuddled like this in a while. We didn't not cuddle. But not like this, so close and relaxed. I missed it.
Finley lets out a long breath. "I'm sorry you're always the one having to take care of me."
"Love, that's not true," I say softly. "You take care of me all the time."
He tilts his head to look up at me, cheek still smushed against my shoulder. "I just don't want you to get tired of having to fix me."
"Finley." I grab the hand still pressed to my cheek. "There's nothing to be fixed."
"But -"
"No," I say firmly. "You're not perfect. No one is. Everyone can grow and change. And that's good. But I don't love you for how you might be someday. I love you for how you are now. And I'm going to continue to love you. You're not broken. You're just...you're just you. You just need help. We all do. I don't -" I huff out a frustrated laugh. "I don't know how to say this right."
"It's ok."
"It's not. I wish - I wish you could see you how I see you. How Max sees you. You make mistakes. But you always fix it. God, I wish I was a writer like you. Maybe then I could put into words how amazing you are. How much I love you." I take a deep breath and close my eyes. There's another silence, and I can feel Finley staring at me. "I missed you, these last few weeks. You were right there, but...it felt like you were a million miles away."
Finley lets out a groan and thumps his forehead against my chest. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so so sorry."
"Can we - can we talk about it? Like...obviously, I know that's why I'm here." I huff a pathetic laugh. "But can we? I want to know what was going through your head. Even if it doesn't make sense. I want to know better how to help you if this happens again."
There's a beat of silence, and Finley's chest swells and deflates with several long breaths. "Yes. I mean..." He raises his head again, looking bone tired. "That was the gist of it, basically. I don't...It started early, I guess. Early this term, I mean. Thinking like that. It's been kind of in the back of my mind with...Max being so far away and my weird sort-of-back-on-good-terms with Bridget thing going on. And that's what really...scared me, I think - kicked my anxiety into overdrive. That phone call with her."
"Yeah." I think for a moment. "I think that's when I really started noticing. That weekend in Windsor."
"I bet," he chuckles bitterly. "It bugged me, of course, that the only reason she ever really talked to me this summer was to rant and rave about our parents. There were a few conversations about you or her school plans. And I just thought...maybe we could do it, you know? Have a good relationship. Get past all of that. And I think we have now. To a point. That phone call on Thanksgiving was really good, and she's texted me a few times since then. But it-it messed with me. It was all of my worst nightmares come true. I-I said the wrong thing. I wasn't the perfect big brother. And she was angry with me. So, of course, the only way to guarantee that I never felt like that again, never disappointed someone again -"
"Was to avoid everyone?"
He blinks. "That is what happened, isn't it?" I nod. "I just...it was easier, I guess. To avoid saying or doing the wrong thing. Just avoid everyone altogether."
I pull him tight against me again. "Don't do that again."
"I won't. Or...I'll try not to." He shrugs. "I might need some help."
I press a kiss to his forehead. "I can do that."
"Tell me yours. Tell me...your side of things. I wanna know." He swallows.
"As long as you don't go blaming yourself, hm?"
He rolls his eyes. "You know me too well."
Not well enough apparently. But I push that to the side for the moment. And I take a deep breath. And I let it all out.
"When I dated in high school, I always felt like my relationships were...one sided. I was putting more in than-than they were." I clear my throat. "I didn't want that to happen this time. I didn't want to be too much, take over. That's not - that's not the kind of relationship I want with you. I don't want to be overbearing. I don't want to make all the decisions." Finley's entire body tenses, starting at his toes and making it all the way to his neck. "Stop. Breathe."
"But you're saying all of things I -"
"I know, love," I whisper, stroking a finger across his forehead. "I'm not saying this to make you feel bad. I just want you to know what I was thinking." He nods and takes a deep breath. "I wasn't sure what to think when you started pushing decisions off on me. The small things...I didn't mind at first. I didn't notice. But the moving in together thing...that's a big deal. It's like I could feel you holding back, dodging the question."
"I was."
"I know. But I really want to know, you know that, right?" I nudge him back a little so we're eye to eye again. "I really want to know what you think about me moving in here. If you say no, it doesn't happen. If you say yes, we'll figure everything out. This is both of us. Sure, it's ultimately my decision, but it affects you. And I won't do something you're not comfortable with."
His gaze rests somewhere across the room, eyebrows drawn. After a few silent moments, he nods his head and squares his shoulders. "Ok."
"Ok. So, what do you actually think? About me moving in?" I try not to hold my breath, try not to show how anxious I am about his answer. I haven't really let myself think past the theoretical, abstract idea of moving in, not wanting to get too attached to the idea without truly having Finley's opinion. I have gotten more comfortable with the idea of moving out of mum and dad's. And all told, either way is fine with me. But this is the conversation I've wanted to have with Finley for weeks.
"I think you should move in," Finley says softly. I puff out a breath, and he looks up at me with a tiny, shy smile on his face. "I think it would be good for you. Move out of your mom and dad's. Live with Elly. I mean, how many times has she talked about living with you?"
I chuckle. "A million. We used to talk about it when we were little. We were going to buy a house together, preferably made out of cheese."
"Cheese? Not very hygienic. Or practical."
"We were seven. Give us a break." I pinch his side, and he squirms. "And what about you? Living with you? Would you be alright with that?"
He goes serious again. "I would. It will be a big change, but I like having you close." A blush dusts the tops of his cheekbones. "I actually...after Thanksgiving, I thought about it more. Coming home and having you there already? Eating dinner with you? Cleaning up? Getting ready for bed? It felt so natural."
"It did?" He nods, and images fill my mind of coming home to Finley sitting on the couch, walking to campus together on Tuesday mornings when we both have class, making breakfast together and staring at a sleep rumpled Finley across the table. And Elly's there too. I could walk across the hall and see her every day, do movie night every night, cook together. Maybe she'll teach me some of her mum's recipes. A pleasant, warm pressure settles on my chest.
Finley's eyes haven't left my face, and a little smile curls one side of his mouth. "You can see it, too, can't you?" I nod shallowly. His eyebrows draw together. "We'll have to figure out boundaries, of course. It'll be - Like I said, it'll be a big change. But I think this is a good stepping stone, you know? We'll still have our own rooms to escape to, if we need. Our own space. But still -"
"Boundaries. Of course. Absolutely." I nod more definitively this time. "We've been learning that this term already. We'll figure it out. I don't want this to be a burden on you, love."
"You're not a burden," Finley says immediately, still frowning. "You're not. It's just going to be different. An adjustment. But I think it's worth it."
"I think so, too," I whisper, pressing my nose into his hair and kissing his temple. "Even with boundaries, we're not going to cover everything right away. And I'll try my best to ask, to pay attention. But you have to tell me when it's too much."
"Harlyn, you're not -"
I shake my head, nose rubbing against his head. "No, I know. I mean, I don't. I do. I..." I take a deep breath. "I'm going to need help remembering it's not me that's too much. But if it's ever too much for you to have me around...tell me? Please?"
Finley nods. "I will."
"What else?" I swallow. "What else have you held back the last few weeks?"
He takes a deep breath and lets it out. And then he starts listing things. Most are small like movie choices he didn't give his opinion on, how much he wanted me to stay the night after Thanksgiving even though he didn't outright say it. The biggest one, though, is everything that's been going on at my job.
He sits up and spins to face me, settling crisscross between my thighs. "I think you should talk to Marty about Brandon and Hannah." I suck in a sharp breath at the thought, and he smiles sadly. "I know you're not going to want to. But work is going to be miserable for you if you don't."
"They both graduate at the end of the year. I'll only have, like four -"
"Four months of avoiding and being anxious every time you interact with them," he says solemnly. "I know what that's like, sweetheart. If you can avoid it, you should."
I take a moment to think about it, imagine what I would even say. "What if...what if doing that makes it worse?"
Finley's face pinches. "It's going to get worse regardless, right? If Marty knows...maybe he can assign you to different shifts or at least different areas. Or talk to them. It's not ok, Harlyn. I think he'd agree."
"I'll..." I chew on my bottom lip, but I can't make this decision now. My brain's all over the place. "I'll think about it?"
"Of course," Finley says quickly. "And you don't have to. But that's just...your mom mentioned it that night I came over. I was scared to suggest it, I guess."
I lean forward and rest our foreheads together. "Never. Never be scared to tell me something. Please."
"I'll try. I promise."
We sit in silence again, eyes closed. It reminds me of Finley's first night in Canterbury, sitting like this on my bed and just...being together. Taking a page out of his book, I reach forward and trace my hands up and down his neck and arms. He breaks out in goosebumps, and after my third pass over his shoulders, he presses forward to kiss me. It's a little desperate, and it matches the way my nerves are still just a bit frazzled from everything that's happened tonight. I kiss back just as desperately, and there's something different about these kisses, something deeper, hungrier. I let myself think about the possibility of going farther than kissing, my hands gripping Finley's waist. It's not like I've never thought about it, of course. But this is different. I can feel Finley nudging closer, too, his hands slipping under my shirt to rest on bare skin.
But he pulls back just a minute later, panting a little. His cheeks are flushed, and he grins at me. "So...you're moving in?"
I let out a long breath. "I think so."
"Elly might pass out when you tell her."