Finley
I wait in the kitchen for Harlyn. I really just want this over with. I'll let him say his piece - which I'm convinced will be some variation of "it was a mistake" - and then he'll leave, and I'll cry while I get ready for class. If I'm lucky I can salvage some kind of friendship, if only for Max's sake.
Of course, I went and kissed him. He was just right there, staring at me. And with no sanity left - and all the things Max pointed out running through my head - I kissed him. And it was so good. Until I opened my eyes and there was fear in his. Because I went and kissed an obviously straight guy and scared him off. I shake my head. I've thought about this enough. And I'm clinging to the fact that Harlyn is a decent, kind person. He'll understand. Even if I'm mortified for the rest of my life.
The doorbell rings at exactly eight thirty, and I open the door, only now realizing that I probably should have changed. I'm in pajamas, plaid pants and an old ratty t-shirt. I retreat to the other side of the room, cowering against the cabinets, while He takes his shoes off.
"Where's your host mom again?" he asks.
"Spain," I answer, rubbing my eyes. They're puffy and itchy from tears and lack of sleep. "Escaping the cold. She texted and said she'd be back on Thursday."
"Sounds like fun," he muses. "Warm." I hate that this is so awkward.
"You want some tea?" I ask. I realize too late that in order to make tea, I'd have to stand right next to him where he's leaning against the stove. I wonder if he'd move.
But I don't have to worry, because he says, "No I'm good. I had two cups of tea already this morning."
"That's a lot of tea," I say, wrapping my arms around myself.
"Yeah, well, I've been up since 6," he admits, crossing his ankles.
"Why?"
He smiles softly. I'm not strong enough for this. I train my eyes on the tile floor.
"Couldn't sleep."
Probably because he was up all night trying to find a way to let me down easy.
"I'm sorry."
"Finley," he says gently. "Look at me? Please?"
I force myself to make eye contact with him. "What?"
He pulls in a long breath, like he's trying to prepare himself. I brace myself.
"I like you."
I blink at him, my jaw dropping a bit. "What?" I didn't hear him right. Right? That's the only explanation. This is a hallucination brought on by no sleep and wishful thinking.
"I...like you," he repeats. I stare too long again. This...can't be happening. Max was right? He'll never let me live this down. "I know. It's a lot. And honestly, I don't know what it means either. In like...regards to me. I don't know. What I am. I've never liked a boy before. At least not that I can remember. Or that like...registered as a crush. I definitely like you though."
"When?" I blurt.
He frowns. "What?"
"When did you start liking me?" I ask.
"Oh," he says. And then he smiles. "A couple weeks ago. After Leeds castle. That's when I finally...realized it. Fully. But I think it started before that. At least Brighton. Probably even before that."
So, I haven't been going crazy. Neither has Max. We were actually picking up on things. What am I supposed to do with this? I've been denying it for weeks, telling myself I can't feel this. And now...
"Why did you look scared? When I kissed you." I ask.
He frowns. "Did I?" I nod. "Is that why you left?" I nod again. His shoulders slump. "Finley..." He looks like he wants to come across the room, but he stays glued to the stove. "If I looked scared...it's because I was afraid I messed up. I'm still afraid I messed up. That I kissed you before explaining myself. That I pushed you away. You did leave, if you remember." His eyes are playful.
I'm too distracted to be playful back. "Yes, well, you did look terrified."
His smile falters. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I was trying to figure out how and when. And nothing felt right. Or I was too scared." He shoots me a look. It's the look I saw in his eyes before I bolted - fear. "Scared that you wouldn't like me back. Scared that I'd mess up our friendship." He pauses. "But I don't want to be just friends. I have no idea what that looks like. I've never done this before. And if you don't feel the same, that's alright. I just..." He trails off, his eyes still trained on mine.
And then my brain slows down enough to let me truly look at Harlyn. He's still leaning back against the stove, hands braced on the edge like he's ready for the worst. His coat is unzipped, but he hasn't taken it off yet. The fear is still firmly stuck in his eyes. And I want nothing more than to take that fear away.
"Harlyn..." I whisper. I step closer, my heart thumping. There are still thoughts running through my head, trying to convince me that he's playing with me, lying. But I tell them to shut up and stop in front of him, my ankles bracketing his. "I left last night because I thought I screwed up. I thought I had been stupid and kissed you when you obviously didn't like guys."
He laughs. "I did bury the lead a bit, didn't I?"
"Yeah." I shrug. "I hoped, but I didn't let myself hope too much."
Harlyn blinks a few times. "You hoped?"
"Yeah," I whisper. "I hoped." I unclench my hands from my shirt and raise them to Harlyn's face. "I've liked you since we started texting about Queen Victoria. Longer, actually."
"Really?" he asks.
"Really." I brush my thumbs over his cheekbones. He's got a tiny bit of scruff on his jaw that I've never noticed before. "But I just kept telling Max 'He's the straightest boy around.'"
That gets a genuine laugh out of him, and I pull my hands back from his face. He doesn't let them get far, though, before grabbing them in his. They're cold and soft.
"Is this ok?" he breathes.
"Of course," I say.
I'm so distracted by the feel of his hands in mine that I almost miss him say, "I've never...done this before. With a boy. I'm going to be hopeless."
"It's just like with a girl." I pause. "Actually, I can't say that. I've never done this with a girl. So..."
He smiles briefly, but then it falls. "I'm sorry I don't have more of an idea of what this means. What I am. It's another reason I've been scared to tell you. I don't...want you to think I'm pulling your leg or...I don't know. I can't come out to you. I can't come out to anyone else. I don't know what I am so I can't -"
"Hey," I say, squeezing his hands. "You don't have to know. It's all new. As long as you're sure you like me -"
"I am," he interrupts. I can't help but grin, which makes him grin in return. "Like one hundred percent sure. I liked that kiss way too much to not have a hopeless crush on you."
"Really?" I tease. He goes a bit red around the ears.
"Yeah. I did." He pulls in a deep breath and raises his head. "Can I kiss you again?" My entire body melts. He's asking? To kiss me? Me? Harlyn Evans is asking to kiss me? Am I sure I'm not sleeping? He squeezes my hands. I'm not dreaming. I'm very much awake. And the boy I like is standing not six inches from me, staring at me bashfully.
Instead of answering, I lean forward, letting him close the last inch. This kiss is even better. There's no uncertainty, no question that both of us want this. I take it slow still. I don't know how comfortable he is. But when he parts his lips to deepen the kiss, I give in immediately. His right hand leaves mine and moves behind my ear again, trailing to cup the back of my neck. My knees buckle a little, and I break the kiss, resting my forehead against his.
"I think you're going to be just fine doing that with a boy," I gasp.
He giggles. "Yeah?"
I nod. And then, the thoughts break through, and my head does the one thing it's really good at - telling me all the worst case scenarios. I don't want to think about any of that right now, so I shake my head.
Harlyn frowns. "I know that head shake. What's wrong?" He catches my elbows before I can back away too far. "Did I do -"
"No," I say firmly. "No. You didn't do anything. I'm just..."
Harlyn pulls me back toward him, tilting his head to catch my eye. "What is it?"
"Just my anxiety doing its job," I whisper. "I don't know how you can even like all of this...mess. I'm screwing up such a happy moment with all my weirdness."
Harlyn half smiles, his hands firmly on my upper arms. "You forget that I've seen you much worse than this. And we're still here."
I narrow my eyes. "You still liked me? Even after seeing me in a literal panic attack?"
He nods. "I liked you even more," he says.
"You're insane."
"I saw how strong you are, Finley Bowers," he says, his eyes begging me to pay attention. There he goes again, using my full name.
"I'm not strong."
"Yes." He says it so firmly I jump a little. "You are. You face your demons every day. And you're still here." He pushes his lips into a thin line. "I know there's a lot of unknowns. There are so many questions. But this is good."
I nod. "Yeah." He pushes my hair behind my ear again, and I smile. "You like my hair, don't you?"
"Oh, my gosh. You have no idea how many times I've thought about touching it." He picks up strands with both hands and lets them fall.
"Well, go on then," I say. He raises his eyebrows. "Run your hands through it. You're allowed to now. Although, I will let you know that you could've played with my hair at any point in the last six weeks, and I would've let you."
He continues to stare at me, so I take his wrists and guide them to my head. It takes a second, but then his fingers rake through my hair. A chill washes over me. I could get used to this. He's transfixed, eyes glued to the top of my head. He stands up straighter, and I'm brought eye level with his chin.
"It's so soft," he says. "How do you get it so soft?"
I look up at him. "It's called conditioner. And it's not just for girls. I need to get it cut, though. It's so long."
"No," he protests. "I like your Flynn Rider hair."
I snort. "It's longer than Flynn Rider's hair." He finally drops his hands. I set my fists on my waist. "What now?"
He shrugs. "I have no idea."
"God, Max is never going to let me live it down that he called that you liked me," I say.
Fear flashes through his eyes again. "You haven't told him anything have you? About the kiss? About any of this?"
"No. No, no. I promise," I say. "I know he could tell that something was up last night, but I didn't say anything. I...wasn't really in the mood to talk about it. And you get to tell people when you're ready."
He lets out a long breath. "Ok. Sorry. I will tell people. Soon. I just need to figure this out a bit more first."
"And I completely understand." I slide my fingers into his. "Just know that when we do tell Max - whenever that is - he's going to be really happy for us. He's been rooting for you since day one."
A slow smile fills his face. "Honestly, he's the one I'm least worried about telling."
"Yeah?" I take his other hand. "Who are you most worried about?"
"My parents," he breathes. "And Elly. And other family. But especially them."
"Well, then we'll work up to that. And when you're ready - only when you're totally ready - you can tell them. I can even be there for moral support if you want. If..." If I'm still here then. But I don't say it. I can't say it. Not now. That's a conversation for later. "In the meantime," I say instead. "I want to hear all about your crush on me."
His head jerks back. "Finley Bowers. Wanting to be the center of attention? Has hell frozen over?"
I scoff and take a few steps toward the door. "Well, if you don't want to -"
"No!" Harlyn tugs me back by our still interlocked fingers. "No, I'm just teasing."
"I'm just curious how you knew and when you were going to try to tell me and...I don't know. I feel like it'll make it more real. And I'll get to see that goony look on your face again."
"What goony look?"
"The look on your face after we kissed five minutes ago," I say. "It was cute."
He rolls his eyes. "Fine. But!" He pulls out his phone. "It's nine o'clock. We have class in an hour. And you -" he looks me up and down "- are still in your pajamas."
"Right," I say. "I really need to get ready. It's a half an hour walk to campus so..."
"And I didn't bring any of my school stuff with me." He says it like he's realizing it for the first time. I raise my eyebrows at him. "I was nervous. I barely thought to grab my keys. Did I grab my keys?" He pats his coat pockets and there's a jangle. "Oh good. Honestly, with the state I was in, it wouldn't surprise me if I forgot."
"You were that nervous?" I ask.
He levels a "duh" look at me. "I was so worried that I'd completely freaked you out. And that you'd never speak to me again. I was this close to coming here last night. But we'd already made the plan for this morning. And I didn't want to freak you out more than I already had."
I duck my head. "It was a bit of a rough night." That was an understatement. It wasn't quite panic attack level, but it almost made it there. I hung on to the shred of hope that this conversation would go well. I never let myself imagine something as good as this.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"I'm the one that left."
"I'm the one that let you." I meet his eyes again. There's so much there. So many emotions I can't pin one down. It's frustration that comes out in his next words. "I should've just told you. I should've just told you then. I should've just told you on Saturday, when we had a whole eight hours alone together. I should've told you the moment I realized." He shakes his head and haltingly reaches one hand up to brush his fingers across my jaw. "I was just so scared."
"As someone who understands fear," I say, melting under his touch and still not believing that this is all real. "Like, fear is my resting state. I get it. It's scary. But guess what?" He raises his eyebrows. "You're not alone anymore."
All remaining tension drains from his body, and he leans his forehead against my collar. My arms find their way around his neck, and he squeezes me into him. And we just stand there. I don't really care that I need to leave in twenty minutes and I'm still in my pajamas. With the joy coursing through my veins, I could be an hour late and I wouldn't care.