TWELVE MONTHS AND ONE WEEK PRIOR TO THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

The morning after Halloween night, Finn was missing hours.

Three, to be precise. As hard as he tried, he could not for the life of him remember a thing that had happened between ten p.m. and one a.m. on Halloween night. There was the living room, crowded around a beer pong game with his friends, a blur of heat and shouts and You're not going to have a panic attack you're not going to have a panic attack these are your friends and you're having fun and you're not going to have a panic attack and then—

Nothing.

It was distressing, just losing half an evening like that. He knew that the memory still had to be there, floating around some neural circuit, but there was nothing he could do to pull it back to the surface.

This alone wouldn't have been so terrible if he could've been sure that none of his mates could remember anything either. He had done something during those three hours, and someone would've had to be with him. He just prayed that it was Aarun or Kavi or one of the other football boys.

"Hey," he said to Kavi after practice the Monday after the party. He had to shout for his voice to be heard over the racket of locker doors being slammed and the defence line's high-pitched cover of the BeeGees' Stayin' Alive. "Friday night was kind of wild, huh?"

"Yeah." Kavi grinned while spraying himself with enough body spray to make Finn feel a little light-headed. "You drank so much, I thought you'd puke all over James's carp—Oi, Aarun, those are my shoes! You put yours in your locker!"

From Finn's other side, a pair of white AirForce trainers came sailing. Finn just barely managed to duck in time to avoid getting hit in the head. Aarun, too busy fighting with his shirt to defend himself, yelped as they collided with his shoulder.

Leaning around Finn, he smacked his brother's head. Pointedly, he turned to Finn again. "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Er... Friday night." Finn pulled his shirt over his head. "Do you know if I did something embarrassing?"

"Like what?" Kavi asked.

Like crying. Like rambling about how I don't know who I am anymore. Like telling Oliver Sallow that I've thought about him every night since London. "Dunno. Puke. Do a strip tease. Sleep with James's mu—"

James's incensed shriek was all the warning he got before a half-empty bottle of Lucozade was fired at him. He caught it just in time and fired it back without checking to see where it landed.

"I can't remember much either." Kavi frowned—whether it was because he was trying to dredge up his memories or just struggling to tie his shoelaces was unclear. He usually kept his tied, but Aarun, in a display of brotherly love, had taken his time to undo the knots. "I think you were actually gone for a bit?" His head snapped up, mouth dropping open in an exaggeratedly scandalized expression. "Holy shit, Birdie, did you leave the party to shag?"

"No!" Finn immediately protested. "I just—I can't remember who I was with after we finished playing beer pong and I thought—"

"You shagged someone and you can't even remember who it was?" Aarun exclaimed. He was suddenly standing right behind Finn, mirroring Kavi's shock.

"No! There was no shagging! I did not shag!"

From the other end of the locker room, Evan Scott yelled, "Birdie found someone to shag?"

Groaning, Finn pulled on his windbreaker. "Never mind."

Ignoring Aarun's laughter, Finn picked up his duffel bag and stomped towards the exit. He already had a hand on the door handle when Kavi yelled after him, "Tell us when you find out who she was!"

She. With a bitter taste in his mouth—though it might've just been the flavour of Adidas After Sport 48h Deo Body Spray—he let the door slam shut behind him.

As he made his way back across the courtyard, he pulled out his phone. 4 new messages from Mum.

Mum: Have a good day at school, love!!

Mum: Do you think you could swing by Costco on the way back for milk? Thanks 😊

Mum: I just saw the weather report. Apparently, there's a storm supposed to hit later this evening!

Mum: It looks like the wind is picking up. Text me if you want me to tell your dad to come get you!

Sighing, Finn sent a thumbs-up emoji and pocketed his phone again. The wind had picked up, making their practice even more unpleasant than it already had been in the November cold. It was probably nothing as dramatic as his mum made it out to be, though.

Ahead of him, the library entrance came into view. Usually, Finn went to great lengths to make sure he straightened his shoulders before entering a room, forcing a smile no matter how tired he felt.

Not here.

Here, his lips ticked upward all on their own, his shoulders loosening as if a weight had been lifted off of them as his eyes fell on Oliver. He was slouched on the seat behind the librarian's desk, his head bent over a play. At the sound of the door, he glanced up, his expression brightening in turn.

"Finn O'Connell," came the standard greeting.

Finn loved the way Oliver said his name. He always sounded like he took great care to shape the vowels, his consonants as crisp as if he were reading them from the pages of a play. No one else had ever spoken it in a way that made Finn feel quite so seen.

"Oliver Sallow," he echoed. It was a ritual, this, down to the beginning of their dialogue.

Softly pulling the door to the library shut behind him, Finn shut out the sound of the wind. The quiet that fell drew a deep exhale from somewhere in his chest. Coming here, breathing in the smell of paper and ink, hearing the creaking of the wooden floorboards beneath his shoes, made him feel the opposite of what it was like to be in the locker room. He felt... calm. Settled.

"How was practice?" Oliver asked.

"It was shit." Finn dragged a chair over to Oliver's desk and unceremoniously plopped down on it. "Too bloody windy outside. The ball kept going in the wrong direction. It was like playing against a wall or something."

Oliver gave a quiet snort. Up close, Finn could see that his eyeshadow was a dark green today, contrasting the deep purple rings he'd pencilled under his eyes. At least, Finn thought they were pencilled on. It was always a bit hard to tell with Oliver. "Glad to see you survived your hangover."

Finn nodded, ears suddenly burning as he studied the other boy's face for any hints. Oliver didn't react, dark gaze steady as ever. Finn folded his arms on the desk and then tucked his face into the crook of his elbow to escape it.

"Do you remember much about Friday night?" Oliver asked after a few seconds.

"No."

Oliver said nothing. Even without looking up, Finn could still feel his eyes on him.

He had messed up. He had said something, done something. There was no way that drunk him would've managed to keep his mouth shut when even sober Finn already struggled not to be painfully obvious about this.

The worst thing was that he didn't even know if Oliver liked boys. What if he'd misinterpreted everything? What if he'd been so plastered that he'd come on to Oliver, and now he was trying to figure out a way to let him down gently?

The thought was terrible enough to abruptly make him get to his feet, the legs of his chair screeching in discontent. "Sorry," he blurted. "I... I think I'm going to head home. There's this... project I have. Yeah."

"Finn—" Oliver began, but he was already speed-walking towards the exit.

He would've left, if the sky hadn't had other plans. A lightning bolt struck the courtyard the second he threw open the door, followed by a deafening crack of thunder. The birch tree creaked pitifully as the wind blew; the trash can next to the school entrance toppled over with a bang, spilling its contents onto the pavement.

Through the rain that must have started while he had been in the library, Finn squinted at the spot where his bike was chained to the fence. For a few seconds, he honestly debated whether he should take his chances and ride through the storm.

His mother's texts flashed in his mind. He dropped his head and pulled the door shut again, reducing the howling of the wind back to a soft background noise.

His entire face felt hot as he slowly returned to his seat. Oliver watched his walk of shame with an unreadable expression, the lightning that flashed outside the windows casting strange shadows on his face. "I'll just... text my dad to come pick me up," he mumbled.

"I'll text Gabby," said Oliver.

Neither of them moved to get out their phones.

"So," Finn drew out the word, one hand nervously fidgeting with the strap of his bag. "How was your weekend?"

"It was fine," Oliver smoothly said. Outside, the wind whipped the branches of a tree against the window. "I went to see a movie with Milo."

"Nice." Finn studied the scratches in the floor. He knew that this was the point where he was supposed to ask something like Oh, what movie? but he didn't care. He didn't want to know what bloody movie Oliver had watched. He wanted to know if something had happened Friday night. He wanted to know if he was imagining it, or if Oliver was staring at him like he was searching for something.

He looked up again when he caught a flash of movement in his periphery. Oliver had moved to pick up one of the pencils strewn across the desk and was using it to pin up his hair. Finn watched, fascinated, as he fixed the strands in place, a concentrated furrow between his brows.

He couldn't help himself. Maybe it was because he was bored and bothering Oliver had become natural instinct by now. Maybe it was because he wanted to see him do it again. Whatever the reason, Finn reached across the desk and gave the pencil an experimental tug.

In an instant, Oliver's hair came free, tumbling onto his shoulders in a flood of charcoal.

Finn could hear his pulse in his ears. This was bad. This was really bad.

Reason number one: even annoyed, his eyes slightly narrowed, Oliver Sallow was pretty.

Reason number two: with Finn's hand still resting at the back of Oliver's head where the pencil had been, a sense memory bubbled up. He knew what it felt like, putting a hand in Oliver's hair, because he had done it before.

"I kissed you," he breathed, abruptly withdrawing his hand.

Oliver raised his chin. "I kissed you back."

There was something defiant about his gaze as it held onto Finn's. Thunder rolled again, loud enough to send ripples through the coffee in Oliver's cup. The storm inside Finn's head raged even louder.

"You like boys?" Finn managed. His voice didn't sound like his own. His entire body didn't feel like his own. It was like the moment before a panic attack, only the opposite.

"Yeah," Oliver simply said. He lifted an eyebrow. "Do you?"

"I... I think so." As soon as the words were out, he felt lighter—as if he'd been carrying them around for much longer than only a few weeks, unconsciously waiting for this exact moment; sitting in a gloomy library with lightning flashing outside and Oliver Sallow's knee pressing against his under the desk. "I'm not sure if I like only boys, o-or also girls. I—I haven't really figured that out yet."

"That's okay," said Oliver immediately.

Finn nodded. His eyes were fixed on Oliver's mouth. Suddenly, the thing that he'd been imagining for the last few weeks—leaning across the desk and reeling him into a kiss—seemed possible. The idea was dizzying enough to paralyze him.

In the end, it was Oliver who moved. Leaning forward, he gently took Finn's face in both hands. They were cold again, but that was not the reason why Finn shivered. It was the way Oliver looked at him, cheeks flushed, as he offered, "Make it even?"

Finn barely managed a tiny nod. A heartbeat later, Oliver's mouth was on his, warm and tasting faintly of chocolate. All at once, Finn remembered Friday night: the whiskey on Oliver's breath, the way his own hand had trembled where it'd rested on the nape of Oliver's neck.

His hands weren't shaking now. As they reached up to hold onto the lapels of Oliver's coat, they felt steadier than they'd been all week.

He slid his fingers into Oliver's hair... and couldn't hold back a quiet wheeze.

Oliver pulled back in an instant. "What?"

"Your hair." Finn gave the strands a gentle tug. "It's crunchy."

At once, the mellow expression on Oliver's face turned into a scowl. "It's five-pound box dye from Boots," he snapped. "What did you expect?"

"Nothing. Nothing, sorry." Finn pulled Oliver in again, only to end up giggling when he moved his hand slightly and could hear the strands rustling together.

"Wow." Oliver's tone was entirely unimpressed, but in the dim light from the lamp on his desk, Finn could tell that his lips were twitching. "That's exactly the reaction I want boys to have when they kiss me."

"I think it adds something." Finn's voice was strangled from how hard he was trying not to laugh. "Honest. Ten out of ten."

Oliver gave a little sniff. "I would the gods had made thee poetical." Finn tilted his head, waiting patiently for the explanation that came a moment later. "As You Like It."

"Like what?" Finn responded, unable to stop himself.

"... You," Oliver murmured, tone slightly disbelieving. His hand still rested on Finn's cheek; his fingers were warmer than they'd been a moment ago. "I like you."

Finn's entire face hurt from how wide he smiled, his hand still tangled in Oliver Sallow's strangely crispy hair.

Outside, the storm had quieted.

Neither of them was in a hurry to go home anymore.

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soft oliver x finn interactions are the best oliver x finn interactions :,)

i hope you all enjoyed this chapter! oliver's hair being canonically crunchy is honestly my favourite thing bahahha

until next friday!! <3

p.s. today's song is make me your queen by declan mckenna!!! big finn vibes honestly!!!!