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Finding the force, or better, the willingness of dressing up was one of the biggest efforts someone could require from Millie.

Dressing up meant leaving. Leaving meant saying him goodbye. Goodbyes lead to tears.

She would very much avoid them, especially when she has been trying to keep that damn crying in the back of her head since their fight.

Reluctantly, she gets up the mattress and she collects the same clothes of the night before, the alcohol and Finn's scent staining on the fabric like a persistent black mark.

His handprint, his soft bites, the deep kisses he left on her were still caressing the whole of her body, thrilling her in ways she couldn't describe, and that she couldn't wash them away even if she tried to.

You simply can't erase a feeling. It soaks into your skin, and it becomes part of you.

Millie looks at her denim dress and in it she just sees the way Finn holds her, how his digits brushed on her sides and painted her like she was the canvas and he was the painter.

In a simple piece of clothing, she sees his hands taking it off of her. She sees him hugging her, and the ghost of that recent memory is too much she can bear with.

She decides to get a grip of herself if she doesn't want to start to cry. Things were already going to Hell, no need to depressing herself even more.

Once fully dressed and with her hair collected in her usual tight bun, Millie walks out the room, and when she reaches the empty kitchen, she finds her phone there, on the table next to a box—it has been inside it for all night.

Finn probably left it there for her.

She sighs. Unbelievable. He was making sure she'd call Oliver to pick her up regardless of his own very feelings and his abandonment issues.

With trembling fingers and shaky breath, she unlocks it, texting Oliver to pick her up and sending him the address. One minute after, the reply is already there.

But something else isn't.

She looks around. Everything seems so quiet. The only muffled sounds of the vacuum, laughter, and music come from the basement. Grace and Maggie were still probably busy cleaning (and what was better than cleaning with some music? It turned the whole thing less tedious).

But in all of this, where is Finn?

"Finn?" Millie calls for him, walking to the desolated living room.

Empty. She walks back to the kitchen and when she looks around in defeat, the corner of her eyes spot something through the back door, slightly ajar.

She has never seen that part of the house. There is a little backyard garden, protected by a white rusty wooden fence and two flourishing trees in the corner. But what catches her sight is the wooden hammock hanging from them...

And who is sitting on it.

Finn is swinging softly back and forth, head tossed back and eyes closed in deep contemplation. The honeyed sunlight pours on him as if it has found the perfect place to reflect its light.

"You're my Starlight, too, Finn." Now she has the certainty of it.

Their story wasn't just hers. It was about him, too. It was about this guy, this special, insecure, head over heels type of guy and her, a girl that didn't think she deserved any kind of attention from him and too scared to face the world.

"Millie, you are mine." Finn's voice echoes in her head and she can only die down that smile that, unfortunately, is completely not fitting the situation they're in.

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