TWO MONTHS AND TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS AFTER THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

Finn still has Ophelia's flower.

He pressed it between the pages of his Geography book a few days after London and it's been sitting on his bedside table ever since. He also still has the selfie he took at the Globe, tucked away in a separate folder on his phone along with all other photographic evidence that he and Oliver ever knew each other.

Four days after entering into Oliver's contract, he opens the album for the first time. His throat goes tight the moment the selfie appears. It's only been a little more than a year, but the Oliver and Finn in the photo seem like two entirely different people. They're standing in the middle of the crowd, cheeks almost squished together, a sliver of night sky visible above their heads. The expression on Oliver's face is surprise, his eyes wide in delight, his dark lips curled into the closest you can get him to a smile when he's on camera. At least wide enough for his eyes to crinkle. At least wide enough to make Finn's heart hurt.

His own grin is dazzling in the photo, all teeth and dimples. He can't remember the last time he laughed like that.

In the weeks after Oliver broke up with him, he tried to convince himself that it was for the best. Clearly, they weren't compatible. Clearly, Oliver didn't care as much about him as Finn did. And clearly, they wouldn't make each other happy in the long run.

They look pretty damn happy in this photo. And in the mirror selfie they took on Halloween. The dozens of pictures Finn sneaked of Oliver in the library when he wasn't looking, and the ones that Oliver caught him snapping. The videos of them in the park, trying to catch Maltesers in their mouths, Finn giggling behind the camera when one of them disappeared down the front of Oliver's lacey blouse, never to be found again beneath his fifty layers.

Blinking rapidly, Finn drops the phone onto the mattress next to him and slumps onto his back. Something crinkles under his head as he does; the letter that appeared on his pillow out of nowhere a few hours after Oliver disappeared. It states the same explanation that Oliver already gave him, plus some bonus info—like the fact that Finn physically can't speak about the program's existence, bound by some kind of celestial NDA. When he tried to show the letter to his mum to confirm, she just stared blankly at it for a few seconds and then told him it was empty. Bloody disturbing, is what it was.

The letter also encouraged him to reach out to Oliver within the next few days for a bonding session. Part of Finn wants to set the paper alight and pretend that none of this ever happened, to continue dragging himself through the usual routine. But the bigger part—the one that shook Oliver's hand, the one that has held on to the flower, the one that has spent the last seven days sleeping in Oliver's coat—recoils at the thought of Oliver, alone in some liminal space, waiting for a call that never comes.

Who cares if seeking him out opens old wounds? Clearly, they were never fully healed in the first place.

Finn picks up his phone and presses Call.

There are four beeps, followed by a chorus of layered voices helpfully informing him that his assigned In-Betweener will be with him shortly. The sound makes his hair stand on end and also kind of makes him want to weep, but before he can process the fact that he likely just heard an honest-to-god angel, there's the soft noise of knuckles against wood.

Oliver is standing in the doorway, looking sheepish and a little wind-swept.

Almost imperceptibly, something in Finn's shoulder loosens at the sight. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," Oliver murmurs. His steps, as he enters the room, are hesitant. "You called?"

"Yeah. I... I got a letter saying we had to do some kind of bonding exercise?"

Sinking down next to Finn on the edge of the bed, Oliver nods. Up close, Finn notices how tired he looks; the circles under his eyes are even darker than usual, his skin so pale it's almost translucent. His voice sounds weary as he says: "It's a bit unnecessary for us, really, but it's protocol." Carefully, he pulls a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. "Remember that study I told you about once by Aron et al.?"

The blank stare Finn gives him seems to be a sufficient answer.

"We learned about it in Psych. They basically did a study in 1997 where they had strangers go through thirty-six questions that get increasingly more intimate. At the end of it, people were supposed to feel a sense of closeness with their counterpart." He unfolds the paper. "This is an abbreviated version of that question catalogue. To ensure that In-Betweeners and their assignees have a solid foundation for their working relationship, or whatever."

"Okay," Finn slowly says. "So we just go through these and that's it?"

"For now." Oliver nods. "Unless there's something else you want to talk about?"

Finn thinks about it for a moment. All the while, Oliver doesn't look away from his face once. As much as Finn tries to concentrate, he finds himself staring back, cataloguing the familiar angles of Oliver's features.

The problem with Oliver Sallow is that he's a walking sense memory. Looking at him, Finn knows exactly what his hair feels like running through his fingers. How soft the skin at the nape of his neck is. Where his hands would land if he were to kiss him, and how Oliver would hold him in turn.

He takes a deep breath. "There is one thing. I have a condition for this as well."

"What is it?"

"We can't fall back in love." Anxiously, Finn runs a hand through his hair. "I'm being serious. You won't be here forever and I... I just can't."

"Okay." The expression on Oliver's face is one Finn can't read. "No romance. Makes sense."

Somehow, the relief that Finn thought he would feel doesn't come. He pushes on anyway. Getting into a cross-legged seat, he asks: "What's the first question, then?"

They start off easy: questions about who they would want to have as dinner guests out of everyone in the world, whether they'd like to be famous. Then, they get to the third question.

"Before making a telephone call," Oliver reads, "Do you ever rehearse what you are going to say? Why?"

"Yes," Finn answers. "Because phone calls make me anxious and I have a panic disorder."

Oliver abruptly looks up from the questionnaire. "Wait. Did... did you get diagnosed?"

"Yeah. They made me see a therapist after you were g—after you died."

For a moment, Oliver says nothing. Finn can see the wheels turning in his head, the surprise morphing into relief morphing into something that's a little too warm for Finn to look at. He knows they're both flashing back to the same memory: an April afternoon in Blissby Green, sitting on a blanket under a bright blue sky, Oliver's pale face pinched with worry. I'm not sick. Just fucking drop it, Oliver.

"That's really good, Finn," Oliver softly says. "I'm proud of you."

Finn doesn't realize he's been bracing himself until those words knock down the pathetic attempt at a wall he's spent the last days building. He can't remember the last time anyone said that to him—it's certainly never been in regard to his therapy. After his parents' scepticism and Coach Wiley's awkwardness, seeing the genuine assurance on Oliver's face is enough to make his eyes burn.

"Yeah. It's been good so far," he says. Trying to blink like a normal person, he picks up the list of questions. "The next question is: What is your most treasured memory?"

Oliver averts his gaze, which can't be a good sign. Finn is prepared to hear all types of responses—things that have to do with the items on his bedside table, moments that his mind projects onto his eyelids in bed every night. (His brain is a highlight reel of sixth-form scenes; Oliver always has the starring role.)

He tries not to feel so perplexed when, instead, Oliver says: "When Daniel gave me Lucretia. I think he just felt horrible after I'd told him that before that I'd been staying in a—"

"—literal village called Upper Dicker," Finn finishes.

Oliver's lips twitch into a small smile. "Yeah. What about you?"

There are dozens of answers on his tongue. The day we watched Hamlet in London. When we got ready for James's Halloween party and you were so close I thought I would die. Picnics in spring and listening to your playlists.

Every time you came to one of my games.

Every time you let me take up your time in the library, or in the park, or anywhere at all.

"When I made captain."

"'Course." Oliver twists his head to read the next question. "Tell your partner what you like about him."

"We really don't have to—" Finn begins, but Oliver is already continuing.

"I like how deeply you care about others," he earnestly says. "And how you're not afraid to show it."

Finn trains his eyes on the corner of the paper he's fidgeting with. After a moment, he says: "I like how confident you are. And... I like that you make other people feel like it's okay to be themselves as well." He pauses before quietly adding: "I've never met anyone else who made me feel so comfortable so quickly."

"Thank you," says Oliver, utterly sincere. "Next is: Share with your partner an embarrassing moment in your life." He looks up. "Let me guess. The bird incident."

"Probably." Despite himself, Finn feels a laugh fighting itself free from his throat. "Or, you know. When you walked in on me hyperventilating in the bathroom with snot on my face."

"I thought it was charming."

"Or when I got sloshed and kissed you in costume."

Oliver's smile softens. "The moustache added something."

"I'm sure it did." Cheeks warm, Finn ducks his head. "What about you?"

"I don't believe in feeling embarrassed about anything," comes the predictable response.

"Not even showing up to my games?" Finn teases, leaning back on his hands. "I feel like your brand really took a hit there."

"My brand?" Oliver's eyes flash with amusement. "I'm not the town-sweetheart-jock who befriended the weird loner goth in the library."

"Befriend, huh," Finn snorts.

Oliver smiles down at his fingers with an expression that Finn knows to be quietly pleased.

It's strange how Finn's brain chooses this moment, with Oliver only an arm's length away, to realize how much Finn has missed him. It's so easy with him—like it's been only a few days since they kissed in the library and texted every night, like they never even broke up in the first place.

"Those were all the questions," Oliver says. "Think we know each other well enough now?"

I think I know you better than anyone else on this planet. I think you know me more than I know myself.

"I think we can make it work."

***

It's an hour later when Oliver has to go back. Left alone in the quiet of his room, Finn flops onto his back and buries his face in his hands. His cheeks still hurt from smiling wider than he's smiled in months. The tightness in his chest has eased so much that, for the first time since his therapy session with Samira last week, he feels like he can properly breathe.

This realization, of course, immediately makes his heart rate pick up again.

"Fuck," he whispers.

He should've known from the moment Oliver Sallow re-appeared on his doorstep that he was doomed. His feelings for Oliver are like the pressed flower he keeps on his nightstand: their form may have changed slightly, but their essence remains the same. No matter how hard he tries to convince himself of the opposite, all his idiot brain can procure is the echo of I'm proud of you and the sight of Oliver smiling like he doesn't know that grin is the root of all of Finn's troubles.

Finn isn't over him at all.

He doesn't think he ever was.

It's the bloody pink elephant paradox all over again.

***************************

a present timeline chapter that isn't all angst??? it's more likely than you think!!

thank you so much for reading this chapter!! i hope you all made it safely into the new year :) <3

today's song is ophelia by the lumineers for obvious reasons <3

also!! today i revealed the cover for my sapphic romance love and other wicked things!! it comes out august 22nd and will be available in bookstores. if you'd like to have a book of mine on your shelf, it would truly mean the world if you would preorder it, it really helps me out! also, go check out the cover on instagram (@/phillineharms), it is simply the prettiest thing <33

see you all next week, mwah!!