Harlyn
I wake up to Finley's last text from the airport and nearly cry from joy. Mum does a double take at me when I wander into the kitchen for breakfast.
"You're floating, darling," she informs me. As if I couldn't feel it.
"I know," I sigh, fully aware that I sound like a Jane Austen character. "He's on the plane, Mum. We're down to hours, not days."
She presses her lips into a suppressed smile. "I'm so happy for you."
"Thanks."
Of course, the day drags terribly. Finley talks to me briefly on his layover, mostly gushing about how excited he is to see me and how thankful he is that it was an overnight flight so he could pretend he was asleep and not have to talk to his parents for six hours.
Finley: Pretend is the key word there. I didn't sleep at all. As usual.
Finley: I'm exhausted.
Me: We can meet up tomorrow if you need to just go to sleep tonight.
Finley: No way.
Finley: I am seeing you tonight.
That just makes the day go slower. Work is busy, thankfully. But that means I have to stay way later than I expected. And I miss Finley's texts when he lands in England. There are three texts waiting for me from hours apart when I clock out.
Finley: Here. Finally. Just landed.
Finley: Got to Canterbury. Checked into our hotel. We're in the same city again sweetheart.
Finley: I'm going to assume you're still at work. Text me when you get off.
I think I might cry. He's finally here. I text him back as soon as I'm outside McDonald's.
Me: Oh my god. Finally. Work ran long. I'll be home in twenty.
Finley: I'll see you then.
Me: Let me shower before you come over?
Finley: Not a chance.
I can't help but giggle, the pure elation bubbling up my throat and into the night. Someone looks at me funny, and I start walking again. I have to resist the urge to run all the way home. I smell enough, I don't need to add sweat to the mix.
As soon as I push the door open, Mum calls out, "Harlyn? That you?"
"Yeah." I say, sliding my shoes off and pulling my hat off my head.
"We're in here."
We. My stomach does a great flop, and I pad slowly to the living room doorway. And sure enough, there is Finley, sitting all cozy with Mum on the couch. And he's grinning. All the wind knocks out of me, and I can't seem to make my body move, no matter how badly I want to run my hands through his hair and kiss him senseless. Just the sight of him has left me completely frozen. God, he's beautiful.
By some miracle, Finley isn't immobilized by the fact that we're closer than we've been in almost five months. He shifts the pillow off his lap and makes his way across the room. And finally - finally - he raises his hands to my face. And I am in heaven.
"Hi, sweetheart," he whispers. That kicks my body into action, and I pull him in roughly, pressing my face into his neck. He giggles. "I assume this means you're happy to see me."
"Obviously," I mumble, breathing in the smell of Finley, reveling in his arms around my neck and all of him pressed against all of me. It's like...I don't even know what it's like. But it's good. So good.
Mum, grinning, stands from the couch. "I think I'm going to head up to bed, let you two have some time alone."
"No. Wait," Finley grunts, pulling back. I cling to him. "One second, Harlyn."
I let him go with a whine, and he turns to give Mum a hug. They start talking about lunch tomorrow, and I can't help myself. I shuffle forward and slide my arms around his waist from behind, resting my chin on his shoulder. Mum smiles wider.
"Ok. I'll really leave now," she says. She kisses me on the top of the head, gives us one more gleeful look, and slips past us.
Finley spins in my arms so we're nose to nose. "Hi."
"You said that already."
"But you haven't."
Instead of saying anything, I duck my head to kiss him. He makes one of his little surprised "mmph" noises that make my entire body melt. And then his lips are sliding against mine, catching my lip between his teeth, hands taking my face again. And I missed this. Finley. All of him. Every second of breathless, wordless ease. When I really can't breathe, I pull back, still stubbornly keeping my arms around him.
"So much better than I remember," he breathes, eyes still closed, his hair falling in his face. I brush the piece behind his ear, and thrill just a little that it's long enough to stay tucked there. He practically melts. "So is that."
"Yeah?" I ask. "Well, you're so much cuter than I remember."
"You saw me on video call two days ago."
"Yeah, but it's not the same as this. Come on." I take his hand and pull him after me up the stairs and into my room.
"Well, this looks exactly the same," Finley says, turning in a slow circle.
I scoff. "Excuse you. I got new sheets."
Finley eyes my bed. "They're the exact same, Harlyn," he says.
"But they're new," I say. Finley gives me a look, but I pull him onto the bed before he can inspect them too closely. We sit criss cross facing each other, knees pressed together, and hands clasped over our ankles. "So, how long did you have to wait for me?"
He blushes a deep red. "Two hours?"
My jaw drops. "What? I just texted you that I was off work half an hour ago!"
"I know. I know." He rubs his thumb over the back of my hand. "I just...I was impatient. I was going to take a nap, but I was too excited to sleep. And I needed to get out of our hotel room. And I figured that even if you weren't home, I could talk to your mom. Which I did. For two hours. And then I was guaranteed to be here when you got home."
"You're insane," I say.
He pouts. "Rude."
I lean forward to rest my forehead against his. "I'm sorry. You're a genius. I've imagined this moment over and over ever since you found out you were officially moving back. I had actual dreams about kissing you again. And this is way better than any dream scenario."
"You dreamed about me?" He quirks an eyebrow at me, and I can feel it move against my forehead.
"Obviously," I say. "And I dreamed about doing this." I pull back a little and run my hand through his hair. It's as soft as ever. Finley's eyes flutter closed again. "Although, I was hoping that I wouldn't smell like burgers and fries when I saw you."
He snorts and leans into my hand. "I don't care. Gotta get used to it."
"Nuh uh. Only for another week," I remind him.
"Right. I forgot."
I've worked at McDonald's for two years now, but after finishing my second year of Uni and moving into my third and final year, I realized I should probably start looking for something in my chosen field instead of packing greasy burgers forever. The opportunity to work on Highton House - the ancestral house of the late Earl of Palmer that's being turned into a museum - fell into my lap. Literally. One of my professors knows one of the guys on the board and put my name up to help with the cataloging to get it ready for people to come see it.
"Just a week until you start, right? What's your last day at McDonald's?" He still has his eyes closed, and he looks like he's going to fall asleep in my hand. It's adorable.
"Wednesday. And then we're driving to Murkwood to start setting up for Marley's wedding on Thursday, and we'll be there until Sunday morning."
"Right. Yes. We need to talk about the schedule for next weekend. I know we have a little bit, but...really nail down all the details." His head dips.
I giggle. "Maybe tomorrow when you're more awake."
He sits up straight and blinks his eyes quickly. "I'm up. I'm awake. I'm here. I promise."
"Mmhm." I pull my hand from his hair and lay it back on ours still tightly clasped on his ankles.
"Well, speaking of jobs, I need to find one."
"You'll figure it out."
He stares at me for a long time. And then something shifts in his eyes, and he pulls his hand from mine and touches my face. His fingers trail from my cheekbone to my jaw, and his thumb slides up to swipe under my eye. It's like he's memorizing me with his hand.
"I forgot for a second that I could-could touch you," he whispers, slightly choked. "I've wanted to just...reach out and touch you for months, and now I can. And I forgot."
I want to say something, but all we've done for five months is talk and stare at each other over miles and miles and hours and hours. So instead, I guide his other hand to my face, too. He repeats the movements, tracing my cheekbones and nose and jaw. When they drop to my neck, I close my eyes. And he surprises me by leaning forward to press his lips to mine, kissing my mouth open and letting his hands run down my chest.
We've definitely kissed before. That's not new. Even with my newfound bisexuality and never having kissed a boy before, we spent quite a bit of our time kissing last term. But it was always tame. Making out with hands above the shoulders. The farthest Finley ever got to "feeling me up" was running his hands up my sides when moving them from my waist to my neck. This...this is new. It's still tentative, like he's afraid I'm going to push him away. And my hands are still very purposefully on his knees and not moving. But he's mapping every line of my not very toned torso.
I've never really thought about my body, never really had a reason to. But now, I hope he likes what he finds. He doesn't pull his hands away. I assume that's a good sign. He does part our lips to look at me, his hands working their way back to my collar.
"If I wasn't so tired, I'd be offended you haven't moved your hands," he mutters.
I stammer. "Uh."
"I'm teasing, sweetheart." He yawns. "I am exhausted, though. I haven't slept well all week and then, you know, plane."
I rearrange us so he's tucked in my side, head on my shoulder as we recline against my pillows. "Better?"
"Much."
"Did any of that sleeplessness have anything to do with me?"
He snorts. "All of that sleeplessness has to do with you. I was so nervous to see you again."
I feel any remaining tension in my body leave in a whoosh, and I kiss the top of his head. "I was nervous, too."
"Really?" he squeaks.
"Really. It's been so long. I didn't-didn't know what it was going to be like."
"And how's it been so far? In the last..." He checks his nonexistent watch. "Thirty minutes?"
"A dream, love," I whisper. He rolls farther into me, presses his face into my neck, and squeezes me around the chest. He relaxes and then does it again, wiggling and making a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat. I giggle. "What are you doing?"
"I can't...I feel like I can't get close enough. Is that weird?"
I shake my head. "No. Not at all." I pull him closer to prove my point. He hums into my neck.
I open my mouth and close it again. Something else we haven't done yet? We haven't said 'I love you.' I've wanted to. I let it slip to Elly over the summer. And there have been so many times over the last two months at least where I've wanted to say it - the day I called him after I came out to my aunt and uncle, the day he called me to open his acceptance email with me, the day we finally posted on Facebook and Instagram once I was ready to be out. But it felt strange to say it over video call when I couldn't hug him or kiss him after, when I couldn't hold his hand and make him feel just how much I love him.
Here he is. In my arms again. I can do it now, right?
"Finley?" He doesn't answer. "Finley?"
He lets out a little snuffle. He's asleep. Of course he is. I smile. He needs it. And it amazes and pleases me that he's comfortable enough to fall asleep on me. So, I adjust slightly and trace my fingers up and down his arm.
There's a knock on the door.
"Yeah?" I whisper, hoping they can hear me.
Dad pokes his head in, instantly melting into a smile. Always a man of few words, he gives me a thumbs up and an eyebrow raised in question. I flash him a big grin and a thumbs up in return. It's an understatement. But it gives just a fraction of the absolute joy that's coursing through me. I just hope I can find the words to tell Finley how happy I am to have him back.