THREE MONTHS AND FOUR DAYS AFTER THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

"It's just Finn," Oliver whispers to his reflection. "It's just Finn."

It's a mantra he's been repeating to himself for days now, trying to steel himself for the moment when his phone will buzz again. It could be any second. It could be in a few months. Either way, he spends more time than strictly necessary in front of the mirror in the hallway whenever he passes it.

Not like it really matters. His looks haven't changed. Same gangly limbs. Same shitty dye job. Same black pants and dark lace blouse he wore the day he died, half-hidden under his long leather trench coat. The only real change is in his accessories; a few less rings, a few new piercings in his ears, a brooch near his collarbone that wasn't there before.

It's become a bit of a routine between him and Nova. With not much else to do and a troubling lack of options outfit-wise, they've resorted to trading jewellery. It's one of the few things that makes the itch beneath his skin stop, even if just for a few minutes.

As if summoned by his thoughts, Nova saunters around the corner just then, a grin on her face when she spots him. "Admiring yourself, Narcissus?"

Throwing her an unimpressed glance in the mirror, Oliver brushes his hair behind his ears. "What do you want?"

"Nothing from you, don't worry." She points at the door at the other end of the corridor. Muffled, Oliver can hear the sound of chatter from the common room. "Some of us are playing cards. Want to join?"

Oliver opens his mouth, a No, thanks already on the tip of his tongue, but reconsiders a split second before it can escape. "Sure," he says instead.

While the prospect of spending an evening playing Scabby Queen with the other In-Betweeners isn't exactly thrilling, even he can admit that it's better than sitting alone in his bedroom waiting for Finn to call.

To her credit, Nova doesn't tease him, only nods and gestures for him to follow her.

An hour before sun-down, the common room is packed. In-Betweeners are scattered across the worn couches and around the dining table by the tall windows overlooking the cliffs, or what's visible of them in the gloom. Classical music is playing softly from the record player in one corner, layering over the distant crashing of waves.

Nova heads right for the small group huddled around the fireplace at the back of the room. Oliver recognizes a few faces he's met in the halls, though he hasn't exchanged more than three words with most of them. Part of it might be because there are people who are jealous he got assigned to someone he knows. Part of it might also just be because Oliver hasn't tried very hard to make friends.

The one person who looks genuinely delighted to see him is Dana. "Oliver!" she says, patting the scratched-up wood next to where she's sitting. "Come sit. We're just about to start a new round."

Oliver reluctantly sinks down next to her, folding his long legs and accepting the cards someone hands him. They're flimsy things made of printer paper that one of the other In-Betweeners DIY-ed. A true testament to the entertainment they get here in Dover.

As the game begins, Dana leans closer to him and asks: "How's your first case going?"

Oliver keeps his gaze trained on his deck. "If I don't go to supervision, you bring supervision to me? Is that what's happening here?"

"No." Even without looking at her, Oliver knows she's rolling her eyes. "This is me asking you as a friend."

Oliver's quiet snort gets drowned out in the clamour around him. This close to the fire, he feels hot and itchy under his layers. "Right."

"My cases are going great, if anyone cares," Nova throws in. She's leaning close enough that her hair tickles Oliver's cheek. "I'm already on my third one."

Dana sends Oliver a pointed look and offers him her deck. While he plucks out a card at random, she says: "See? You're still on your first. If you need help, I'm here."

Oliver says nothing as he turns to let Nova pick one of his cards. He isn't sure how anyone could help him with this. His and Finn's problems are so entangled, he has no idea where to even start. He doesn't think that any outsider could possibly understand just how messy their relationship is—how to tie up all the loose ends they're left with.

"Has Susan said anything about it?" he questions.

Dana shakes her head. She's wearing the same strange look that always crosses her face when they're talking about the Angel in charge of their operation. Out of all the In-Betweeners, she's one of five people who are allowed to have direct contact with Susan. All Oliver knows are the rumours that circulate among the In-Betweeners: Susan has no face. Susan's voice gives you a migraine. Susan has three faces. If Susan is angry at you, Susan can turn you into stone. Et cetera. 

"Figures," Oliver murmurs.

"If you want to talk to Susan about it, I can try to get you an appointment. This isn't exactly a standard case," Dana offers.

"No, thanks."

She purses her lips. In the erratic flickering of the fire behind her, her platinum hair shines like copper. "You really make it very hard for me to help you, Oliver."

"That's because I don't need any help."

While Dana says, "Everyone needs help sometimes", Nova groans, "Good God. Were you this much of a twat when you were alive as well?"

Oliver feels a muscle twitch in his jaw. His abrasiveness is not a personality trait he prides himself on. It's a survival technique honed and perfected over the course of more than a decade. He couldn't just turn it on and off with the flick of a switch even if he wanted to. Which he doesn't.

Still, whatever Dana reads on his face makes her eyes soften. "Do you miss your family? Is that it?"

"No," Oliver says without looking up from his cards. "I hardly ever think of them."

Dana and Nova exchange a look.

"You know what I would write as the intervention goal if you got assigned to me?" says Dana. It feels like a rhetorical question, so Oliver doesn't answer. "Needs to learn how to let people in."

Oliver's heard a similar version of those words before, seen that same accusatory look. All you ever do is keep me out.

An insistent vibration in the pocket of his coat makes the memory dissipate before it can dig its claws into him. He immediately drops his cards, pausing only long enough to flash Dana a grin that feels more like a baring of his teeth. "Good thing I didn't."

A moment later, he's moving toward the door of the common room.

He's back in Blissby before he even reaches the hallway, the oppressive heat and the crackling of the fire giving way to heavy silence and the smell of books.

He has to steady himself on a shelf when he realizes where Finn has summoned him.

The library. He's in the library.

Nothing about it has changed. It's as gloomy and as formidable as ever, near-silent in the late afternoon. Oliver doesn't even have to close his eyes to pretend he's alive again. One inhale of the still, dust-filled air, and he's seventeen again, his heartbeat a steady companion in his chest.

"Oliver." A whisper of his name makes his head snap around. "Over here."

Finn is sitting at a desk tucked into the very back of the library, near the section that holds self-help books and the like. He's wearing an old school jumper, his tie haphazardly knotted. By now his hair is long enough to curl around his temples and above his ears.

"Hey." Oliver's voice is as brittle as the pages in the alibi book Finn has grabbed from one of the shelves. The Art Of Letting Go, the title says. The irony isn't lost on Oliver. "Staying late?"

Finn gives a small nod. He's slumped over the desk like he often used to be back then, chin resting on his folded arms. "Yeah." A brief pause. "It's my first time back here since..."

Oliver swallows. Over his shoulder, he steals a glance at the librarian's desk. Behind it sits a girl from his Psych class—Martha, he thinks her name was. Scrolling through her phone and munching on chewing gum loud enough for the sound to carry across the room, she looks utterly disinterested in her job. Oliver feels an ugly stab of envy. "Mine too."

Finn acknowledges the half-hearted joke with a small quirking of his lips. While he isn't looking at Oliver, Oliver makes quick work of studying his face. This, too, is familiar—a skill long-perfected. His eyes still know their way around Finn O'Connell's features, efficiently darting from his eyebrows to his chapped lips to the freckles on his winter-pale skin. Snatching up what he can before Finn meets his eyes again.

Oliver clears his throat. "Is there a reason you called?"

"I just... I, er..." Finn's index finger draws a spiral on the scratched wood of the desk. "I felt a bit anxious. You know, 'cause of exams."

Oliver's eyes narrow slightly. "Right."

Finn juts his chin as if daring Oliver to call him out. This is because it's not the first time this week that Finn has called Oliver for some semi-convincing reason. Technically, Oliver isn't supposed to spend a lot of time on trivial matters—something about not making his assignee unnecessarily dependent on him.

Oliver doesn't worry about that though. Finn isn't the same as he was back when they were together. He has a therapist, friends, tools he uses to take care of himself. If anything, it's Oliver who's dependent on him now.

Months ago, that thought would've terrified him.

He's too tired to be afraid now.  

"How are you?" Finn suddenly asks. Oliver raises his gaze to find him fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper. "We always seem to talk about how I am when you're the one who's... you know."

"I'm fine."

"That's what I used to say as well," says Finn, not unkindly.

At that, Oliver abruptly closes his mouth. With Finn watching him, he folds his arms on the desk and rests his chin on top of them. They're at eye level now, only a few inches between their faces. "What else am I supposed to say?" he rasps. "I died in the most pointless way ever and now there's nothing I can do to make it undone. I miss the Walkers and you and listening to my playlists while going to stupid Costco. I lived my entire life trying not to get attached to anyone, and now I don't know if anyone still even thinks of me. Is that what you want to hear?"

Finn is silent for a moment. His pinkie finger twitches a little; they're close enough that the movement makes it brush against Oliver's knuckles.

"Yes," he finally says. "It is."

Oliver says nothing. He can't. Finn has killed all his words dead.

"Even though I don't have anything important to talk about," Finn adds after a moment, "is it okay if we just sit here?"

Oliver's breath hitches almost painfully. Finn's pinkie is pressing against his knuckles now. Under the desk, their knees are touching. "Yeah," he whispers. "That's okay with me."

They lapse back into silence. While Oliver lets his eyes roam around the library, Finn goes back to his homework, filling the silence with the soft scratching of his fountain pen and the flipping of pages.

It's almost as it used to be.

Oliver closes his eyes and thinks back to a day in autumn; another day with Finn, and the library, and his chest feeling too tight to hold in the enormity of all he was feeling.

October 28th 2020. The day Oliver Sallow first admitted to himself that he wanted to kiss Finn O'Connell.

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seems like neither of them is very much over the other, hm? 👀

i hope you enjoyed this one, even though it's short and sweet! i don't want to spoil anything, but the next chapter is another favourite of mine 😋

today's song is call you up by viola beach! a very oliver x finn song in my opinion hehe

until next week!! <3