Four Times Oliver Sallow Got Caught Staring at Finn O'Connell

(+1 Time He Didn't Look Away)

3. Secret

Seventeen years old. Blissby feels more like home now than any other town ever has. So does Finn O'Connell.

They've been seeing each other for a few months. It's... good. It's really good. It's so good, Oliver sometimes feels a little sick to his stomach with dread that one day it won't be.

Part of him—the flighty part that is always waiting for the news that he has to leave, the terrified part that wants to run—is amazed that they've lasted this long. But the truth is, most of the time, it's impossibly easy. In the mornings, Oliver wakes up with a small flutter in his chest, knowing that there's a message waiting on his phone from Finn. At school, he waits until the corridors have cleared to slip notes into Finn's locker.

(They feel different from their normal texts. The letters he collects in his coat pocket, passed back and forth between them, feel like proof; the idea of Finn unfolding them beneath his desk makes his heart pound. He can't tell anyone about what the two of them are, but he can carry Finn's words close to his chest. He can't touch Finn, but he can trace his horrendous handwriting while he waits for him in the library—and isn't that almost as intimate?)

Really, Oliver doesn't mind the secrecy. There's a thrill in knowing that, while they're strangers to the rest of the school, they're each other's in all the ways that matter—in texts and in stolen moments in the library, in letters and in long glances across the courtyard.

That morning, Oliver stands just outside the school gates, a cigarette burning away between his fingers. It's miserably cold and pitch-black, but he can't bring himself to go inside just yet. He has History first period—arguably the worst subject to force teenagers into at eight in the morning.

He's on his last drag when he spots Finn getting off his bike, chaining it to a tree while Kavi and Aarun do the same. Oliver can't help but watch Finn, his heart fluttering in his chest as if whispering there he is there he is there he is.

Finn's posture is slouched and his hands are buried in the pockets of his windbreaker, his skin pale in the yellow light of the street lamps. When he passes Oliver his eyes briefly lift, holding onto Oliver's as he gives a tired smile. Then, one of Finn's friends slings an arm over his shoulders, and Oliver lets his gaze slide elsewhere.

Pulling out his phone, he texts: everything okay?

Finn responds halfway into Mr. Albert's monologue on propaganda during the Cold War. Sure :)

Oliver frowns down at his phone before sliding it back into his pocket.

The next time he sees Finn is during lunch in the cafeteria. He's sitting at a table with his football friends while Oliver sits with a book and a carefully cultivated air of Do not approach. While he mechanically shovels overcooked pasta into his mouth, Oliver watches Finn poke at his meal. He's cradling his chin in his hand like his head weighs too much to hold up on its own, and though he participates in the conversation at the table, his replies seem mostly monosyllabic.

when did you go to sleep last night? Oliver texts.

Finn checks his phone as it vibrates and shoots Oliver a look across the cafeteria. I was up late talking to this really fit guy.

Cheeks warming, Oliver decides to play along. oh really? do i know him?

A small pause as Finn has to dodge the pasta being launched at his head from across the table. Then: Dunno, but I saw him at school just now. If you run into him you should tell him that his hair looks really nice today.

Even from where he's sitting, Oliver can tell that Finn's ears are bright red. He touches a hand to his hair—he tried something new today and is wearing it in a complicated half-up, half-down hairstyle that took him hours to learn. very smooth, he texts. you didn't answer my question.

Finn briefly glances over at him. Around 4, I think.

Oliver blinks. He fell asleep no later than one. Worry coils in his stomach as he wonders what kept Finn up for the remaining three hours, and he spends the next two periods coming up with all sorts of awful thoughts of Finn having a panic attack alone in his bedroom.

When he eventually shows up at the library after football practice, Finn looks like he's going to fall asleep standing up. From beneath heavy-lidded eyes, he does a quick scan of the library, confirming that there's no one else around—then, he marches straight up to Oliver and wraps his arms around him where he's sitting, bending down to nestle his head into the crook of Oliver's neck.

Oliver sits frozen in surprise for all but a second before he rests a tentative hand on the back of Finn's neck. "Hey," he murmurs. "You okay?"

"'m so tired," Finn says, his words muffled into Oliver's collar. "I don't know how I even made it through practice. I fell, like, three times."

Oliver cards his fingers through the damp hair curling at the nape of Finn's neck. This close, he can smell the shampoo Finn uses. "Maybe you should go home," he whispers.

"I don't want to," Finn whispers back. "I've been looking forward to this all day."

Oliver considers this for a moment before he gently urges Finn to lean back. Finn looks a bit forlorn as he watches him get up and grab his coat from the back of his chair. Oliver takes his hand. "Come with me."

Finn shuffles after him. The section Oliver leads him to is at the very back of the library. Hidden between the shelves, he sits down and looks up at Finn. "No one ever comes back here." After a beat of hesitation, he adds, "You can put your head in my lap, if you want."

Finn slumps to the floor without having to be asked twice. Oliver holds himself very still as he curls up on his side and places his head in Oliver's lap. For a finishing touch, Oliver drapes his coat over Finn like a blanket. "Okay?" he asks.

"Perfect," Finn murmurs against his thigh, eyes already drifting shut.

Oliver lets one of his hands settle in Finn's hair, gently playing with the strands. After a moment, he softly asks, "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Was thinking," Finn responds just as quietly. "It's... probably a bit stupid."

"Tell me."

Finn's throat moves as he swallows. Oliver ghosts his fingertips over his Adam's apple as if trying to chase away the tension. It's a few minutes until Finn speaks again. "I sometimes get so confused. I know I like you. Obviously." He cracks open one eye to give Oliver a sheepish grin. "And, in theory, that should be enough, right? I know that I like you, and we're together, so it doesn't really matter what I call it. It's just that..."

He exhales a slow breath as he tries to sort his thoughts. "I feel like it would help. Having a word for it. Only I don't know which one fits. I think I like girls, but—I'm not sure. I've never felt about any of them like I feel about you. But then again I've never felt about anyone like I feel about you, so that feels like a stupid benchmark to use."

Oliver gives a small hum and continues to play with Finn's hair.

"And I've been reading stuff online," he continues, "and there's all these other terms. You know, sometimes people can be romantically attracted to one gender, but sexually attracted to another gender or something. But how do I tell which one is which if I've never actually been in—if I've never actually liked anyone else? And then I'm like Why does it even matter what it's called? Only then I see photos of, like, people at pride with their different flags and they all look—like they belong. And I want to feel like that too, I think. Like I belong. I don't feel like I need to tell anyone else, but I feel like I have to know. Does that make sense?"

"Yes," Oliver says. His eyes are trained on where his fingertips are mapping out the shell of Finn's ear. "So the not-knowing made it hard to sleep?"

"Yeah," Finn says. "It's just—sometimes, the uncertainty makes it feel like there's this trapdoor opening up below me. Like if I don't know who I'm attracted to, then the entire foundation of who I am as a person is crumbling away, until I don't know who I am at all." He tips his head back a little to give Oliver the shadow of a smile. "I know that sounds very dramatic."

"I don't think it does," Oliver tells him. "Who you're attracted to is a big part of your identity. I can understand why not being able to put your finger on it would be scary." He pauses for a moment, his words faltering now that Finn is peering up at him. "I just don't want you to feel like you need to have everything figured out to... I don't know, qualify. You belong at pride just as much as all of those people with their flags. You know that, right?"

Finn makes a small noise that's neither an affirmation nor a denial. "It's all so bloody complicated. Sometimes I wish someone else would just come up to me and slap a label to my forehead and that would be that."

Oliver has to chuckle at the mental image. He bends down to press his lips to the aforementioned forehead. "You'll figure it out," he says with certainty.

Finn still looks thoughtful. "Do these things ever keep you up?"

"Not really." Oliver carefully tugs at his coat so it covers Finn's shoulder. "To me, it's always felt more fluid. If I like boys, then I like boys, but any label beyond that has always felt restricting. Which is not to say that labels aren't needed in general—I can see why there's a comfort to them. I guess I've just... never wanted to talk about my sexuality to anyone else, so I've never felt like I needed a word for it."

Finn nods, looking very earnest for someone who's half-asleep in Oliver's lap. "That makes sense. Thank you. For talking to me about it."

"'Course," says Oliver.

Finn's eyes drift shut again. His breathing deepens.

It shouldn't surprise Oliver that a boy who can fall asleep absolutely anywhere, rock-hard surface or not, drifts off the moment he's gotten his troubles off his chest. And still, he feels something a little like awe run through him as he watches Finn's expression relax. He has to think of something he read online once; about how people will only fall asleep with people they feel safe with. He doesn't know if there's anything to it, but at that moment he wants to believe it.

He does, too. Feel safe. So safe that it doesn't matter that his legs are falling asleep or that he forgot to bring his play and will have to busy himself by reading the spines on the bookshelf in front of him once he gets bored.

In the silence of the library, Oliver looks down at Finn where he's curled up—hair a mess, his cheek squished against Oliver's thigh—and thinks to himself that he has never been this in love with anyone before. For once, the idea doesn't feel like staring down from a cliff's edge.

It's all so good.

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

they are so SOFT!!!

this pride month, i've been thinking a lot about past me and the internal struggles that always marked this month when i was younger and figuring out my identity. i really wanted to write something about the nature of labels-- i always find these things so hard to put into words, but i hope they resonated with some of you <3

anyways! i turn 22 in approximately *checks watch* six hours, so this fluffy little snippet is my little pre-birthday gift to all of you and also to me because i truly had a blast writing this chapter in particular lol. thank you for reading, ily!!