Harlyn
"What do you want to watch?"
"I don't care. You pick." I give Finley a look from the desk. My desk. He looks up at my silence and blushes deeply when he realizes his mistake. "Sorry. Habit. I really don't care, though."
"Ok." I scroll through Disney Plus. "What about Falcon and the Winter Soldier?"
"Again?"
I raise an eyebrow at him. "See? You do care."
He scoffs. "Knowing what I don't want to watch doesn't mean that I know what I do want to watch." I raise my other eyebrow, and he lets out a giggle. "This is different. Come on."
"I know. I'm giving you a hard time," I admit. "Just -"
"Hey," he interrupts softly, a tiny smile on his face. "I know. I know it's not just the little things. I know it's because I did it all the time. I'll pick tomorrow. We can watch Falcon and the Winter Soldier."
My stomach sinks a little, but I don't correct him. He won't pick tomorrow, because tomorrow, he'll be on a plane back to Illinois. I know that he's coming back. I know he'll only be gone for two weeks. But the thought of walking him to the bus station tomorrow makes my chest squeeze.
It's been almost two weeks since our fight, and things have been quiet. Well, things have been quiet in our relationship, mostly because everything else has been loud. Two of my final papers were due within twelve hours of each other, and the third was due the day after. I've never quite mastered the skill of writing three papers at once. And on top of that, I had a few meetings with the group of professors guiding my capstone project. It's coming along, but I will definitely be using the two weeks we have off for Christmas to catch up a bit. Work is busy, too, as Marty is trying to get as much done as earthly possible before we take a week off for Christmas. Finley's in the same boat with revisions and final papers and exams and work. Most of the time we've spent together has been at the kitchen table or spread out in the living room studying.
And, of course, I decided to move during the most stressful part of the semester. A week in and I'm still not fully unpacked, and every night, I've ended up in Finley's bed, unable to sleep in my own. I thought I could do it last night, but exhausted and frustrated and guilty, I nudged him awake at one am and asked if I could slide in. He let me, curled around me like a koala, and wouldn't hear any apologies this morning. But not only does he leave tomorrow, I have to get used to sleeping in this room eventually. Which is why Finley is in here tonight. Brilliant man that he is, he suggested sleeping in my bed, hopefully helping to make it feel more like mine instead of some cold, unknown place I'm staying in for no reason.
I look around the room - my room - and try not to twitch. It's not as impersonal and cold as that hostel in Paris, but I'll be glad when I can finally stick my pictures above my desk and hang a couple posters on the walls. Finley sprawled on my bed scrolling through his phone is the only thing that makes it feel homey. Maybe he's on to something.
When I crawl into the bed with him, he puts his phone off to the side and gathers me onto his chest. He hasn't been nearly as stingy with physical touch, taking the lead more and more. There have been a few times I could tell he was holding back, trying to let me make decisions - like picking the movie - but they've been small things. Some I let go. Some I push. But something I'm completely positive about is that he's happy I'm here. And that's enough for now.
"How are you doing, sweetheart?" he whispers half an hour into the first episode.
"'M good," I murmur. I'm more tired than I realized, and the combination of Finley's warmth, the steady beat of his heartbeat, and his fingers gently combing apart my curls is lulling me to sleep.
"Yeah?" He sucks in a deep breath. "Being here? Moving in?"
I take a moment to blink myself into more coherence and think about it. "Still weird, I guess. I keep grabbing my phone to tell Mum I'm staying at yours for the night. Doesn't...doesn't quite feel like home yet." I hum and frown. That's not quite right. "Well, not right now. Not you. You always feel like home."
Finley huffs a laugh. "I think I've said this a million times, but that is quite possibly the sappiest thing you have ever said to me."
"Oh yeah?" I ask, moving my head to rest my chin on his sternum. "I'm just trying to outdo myself every time, so..."
"You're succeeding." His fingers find my curls again.
"I'm going to miss you. When you leave tomorrow."
He nods with a sad smile. I kiss it off his face, sliding up to hover over him on my elbows. Our conversation from the first night I was here flutters through my mind as it has a million times since. He's thought about...it. Sex. With me. That shouldn't surprise me. We've been dating for nine months. He loves me. I love him. But something about hearing him say it - not text it frantically during a spiral - that took my breath away. I'm not sure I'm even ready to take that step yet. But with Finley's arms around my shoulders, and his breaths ghosting my ear as I kiss down his neck, I can see it. I can feel it. I can imagine it. And God, I've never wanted to share that with someone more than I want to share that with Finley.
"Harlyn..." Finley breathes. I pull back to look at him. There are nerves dancing in his eyes, and I plant a perfectly chaste kiss on his lips before settling back on his chest, slightly off to the side. For breathing room. For now.
***
I've been to the Canterbury bus station a million times in my life. But walking Finley there brings back painful memories. We find the bus to London easily. It's not boarding yet, so I tug Finley close and press my nose to his hat, focusing on the cold biting my cheeks instead of the lump in my throat.
"You alright, sweetheart?" he asks, arms immediately sliding around my waist. I want him closer. There are too many layers between us. It's not like we haven't cuddled enough. I kept him in bed this morning until he begged, laughing, to get up and pee.
"I'm just...gonna miss you," I say. "And I'm...I'm scared."
"Why's that?"
I close my eyes. I shouldn't have brought this up now. But he's not going to let it go. "It's kind of - I don't know. We're just getting back on track. I don't want to -"
"Harlyn." He steps back to look up at me. "This isn't that. We're not ending. We're not...no. Love, look at me." His fingers are cold against my cheek. "I know it's been a rough few weeks. But we're fine, ok?"
The tears come then, all at once. "The last time we did this, I didn't know when you'd be back. If you'd be back. If we'd make it."
"This time you do. Two weeks. I'll be back on December 30th. I have to finish exams. And go back to work." He swipes at the tears on my cheeks. "And also, I have this date on New Year's Eve. Can't miss that."
I nod somewhat frantically. "Yeah."
Finley does a double take at the bus. "They're boarding. I should -" A single tear drops from his eyelashes. He's crying, too, and I feel terrible that I've caused it. His eyes flick back to me, big and brown and shining. "But I'll call, ok? We'll call. Every day. All the time."
"Yeah. Yeah, of course."
He pushes onto his toes to kiss me in a way that's not strictly appropriate for a public setting, but I'm so far past caring. Eventually, he has to let go and load his suitcase in the undercarriage of the bus. He waves before he climbs the stairs. And this time, he sits against one of the windows on the side of the bus facing me. And he stares at me through the window, one of his little half-smiles quirking one side of his mouth. He glances down at his lap, and a moment later, my phone vibrates in my pocket.
Finley: I love you.
Me: I love you more.
Finley: Oh, so it's a contest now?
Me: Nah.
Me: I've already won.