In the Key of Fear

Philophobia: Philophobia is the fear of falling in love. Philophobia usually occurs after a person has confronted any emotional turmoil relating to love, but it can also be a chronic phobia. It can also evolve out of religious and cultural beliefs that prohibit love.

                      •~✮✩✮~•

Finnley sat on the edge of his bed, guitar in hand, the cool wood against his fingers. The room was quiet except for the soft hum of the city outside his window and the occasional distant honk of a car, reminding him that life was still moving, still happening outside of this little sanctuary. His sanctuary, though it often felt more like a prison.

He strummed the strings softly, the notes ringing out and reverberating through the air. Music was one of the few things that felt constant to him. It was his anchor, his refuge. When words failed, music spoke. It had always been that way. The melodies he played held the stories he couldn’t tell. The chords filled in the gaps of silence that he couldn’t bear to fill with his own voice.

The past few years had been a blur of uncertainty and self-evaluation. At 22, Finnley found himself feeling the weight of his own fear pressing against him like a storm cloud that never quite dissipated. There was a nagging ache in his chest, an ache that he could never quite explain to anyone but felt so deeply that it consumed him. It was the fear of what if?What if someone got too close? What if they left, like the last person had? That fear was always there, lurking just beneath the surface, ready to rise at the slightest misstep.

Finnley had once loved with the kind of intensity that only a heart untouched by betrayal could know. But after he left, after the promises and the quiet whispers turned to nothing, he learned that love was not a safe thing. It was fragile, breakable. It was a risk he could never afford to take again.

He shifted his focus, letting his fingers glide across the strings with practiced ease, his mind drifting back to the early days of his relationship with Larz—the person who had once made him believe in the beauty of vulnerability, only to rip that belief apart when he walked away without so much as a goodbye. He had never fully healed from the scars Larz left. And maybe, just maybe, he never would.

A knock at his door snapped him out of his mind. He looked up to see his sister, Willow, standing in the doorway. She had that look on her face—half concern, half understanding. The kind of look only someone who has known you your entire life could give.

“You okay?” she asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Finnley nodded, though he knew she could read the lie in his eyes. "Just thinking," he replied, his voice quieter than usual.

Willow’s brow furrowed slightly, a wrinkle of worry creasing her forehead. “You’ve been ‘just thinking’ a lot lately. You know you don’t have to go through this alone, right?” She pushed off the doorframe and took a step closer, sitting on the edge of the bed beside him.

Finnley’s fingers instinctively moved over the strings again, creating a soft, rhythmic pattern, though he wasn’t really playing anything at all. “I don’t know what to do anymore, Low. It’s like... I can’t breathe when I think about letting someone in. I want to, but I don’t. I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared.”

Willow placed a gentle hand on his, halting his playing. “I know. But you can’t keep doing this. You can’t let fear control you, Finn. You’re not going to let it win, are you?”

He exhaled deeply, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know if I can help it,” he muttered. “I want to trust. I want to believe that someone could love me without... leaving. But I can’t get past it. I can’t.”

Willow squeezed his hand gently, her voice soft but firm. “You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all figured out. You just have to try. You have us—Hayven, Arlo, Illaria, me, and even Ezra and Caterina. You’re not alone. Not ever.”

Finnley closed his eyes, letting her words sink in. He knew she meant well, that his family and friends had always been there for him. But no one truly understood the storm that raged inside him, the constant battle between his desire for love and the terror that came with it. No one could understand what it was like to feel trapped inside a cage of your own making, wanting something so badly and yet running from it at the same time.

“I don’t know how to stop being afraid,” he whispered.

Willow didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she watched him for a moment, her expression unreadable. Then she stood up, offering him a small but knowing smile. “I don’t think you have to stop being afraid. Just... don’t let it win. Take one step at a time. We’re here, Finn. We’ll help you.”

She paused at the door, turning back to him. “And if you ever need to talk, I’m here. But you know that, right?”

Finnley nodded, grateful for her presence, though part of him still felt the familiar tightness in his chest. It was so much easier to close off, to retreat into the familiar solitude of his music than to confront the gnawing emptiness inside him. But Willow was right. He couldn’t keep hiding forever.

Just as the door clicked shut behind her, Finnley’s phone buzzed on the bedside table. He glanced at the screen, expecting a message from Arlo or Illaria, his only friends, but it was something entirely different. A new notification from a social media app.

He unlocked the phone, his finger hovering over the screen, unsure why he felt a sudden tightness in his chest. He opened the notification, and there, staring back at him, was a profile picture of someone he hadn’t expected to see—Silas.

Finnley’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at the picture, the smile that Silas had once given him flashing before his eyes. He hadn’t heard from him in months, and yet, the moment he saw his face again, it felt like time had folded in on itself. It was all so complicated. So messy.

Finnley let the phone fall to the bed beside him, his heart racing. The fear, the longing—it was all back. The storm inside him was picking up speed, and he wasn’t sure he was ready for it.

But there was something about the way Silas looked in the photo, something in the way his eyes seemed to reach through the screen, that made Finnley wonder. Could he do it? Could he trust again?

The answer, as always, was unknown. But maybe—just maybe—he would find out.

                       •~✮✩✮~•

The following morning, Finnley woke up to the familiar hum of his old alarm clock, its loud, repetitive buzzing a sharp reminder that time never stopped, no matter how much he wished it would. He rolled over, squinting at the clock through half-lidded eyes.

8:30 a.m.

Groaning, he pushed himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It felt like his body was made of concrete, stiff and heavy, unwilling to cooperate. He swung his legs off the bed and stood, his feet landing on the cold hardwood floor with a soft thud. A quiet moment of stillness passed before the usual thoughts started creeping in, worming their way into his mind. The notification. Silas’ face.

What was he supposed to do with that?

Why now?

The remnants of yesterday's conversation with Willow lingered in his mind, too. You can’t let fear control you. He snorted quietly to himself. Easier said than done. His whole life, it felt like he’d been running from the very thing he craved most. The connection, the closeness, the rawness of intimacy. It was what he wanted, and yet the mere thought of it twisted in his gut, sending waves of anxiety through his veins.

He sighed and shoved the phone in his pocket, not wanting to deal with it just yet. Music, he told himself. Music could give him clarity. It always had before.

After a quick shower, Finnley dressed in a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, the fabric comforting against his skin, before grabbing his guitar. He carried it downstairs, finding his two sisters already in the kitchen, bustling about as usual.

Willow was pouring coffee, the rich scent filling the room. Hayven, the oldest of the three Montgomery siblings, was sitting at the kitchen island, staring at her computer with an expression of mild annoyance. He assumed she was still trying to find a job.

“Morning,” Finnley mumbled as he entered, setting his guitar on the table.

“Morning, Finn,” Willow called, flashing him a smile. “How’d you sleep?”

He hesitated for a moment before answering. “Same as always.”

Hayven glanced up from her computer, raising an eyebrow. “That doesn’t sound promising.”

“It’s fine.” Finnley shrugged, but it didn’t feel fine. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Eggs and toast,” Willow said, already plating the food for them. “I made extra. You look like you could use it.”

Hayven tilted her head and eyed him carefully. “What’s really going on?”

Finnley gave her a tired look, the familiar frustration bubbling inside him. “I’m fine, okay?”

His older sister didn’t buy it. She stood up and crossed the room to him, closing her computer. “You’re not fine, Finn. You’ve been avoiding something.” She said it like it wasn’t even a question, but more of a statement, like she could read his mind. “Is it about Silas?”

At the mention of his name, Finnley’s breath hitched. His chest tightened. Of course, it was about Silas. Silas was the thing he couldn’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard he tried. The mess of emotions that Silas stirred in him was enough to send Finnley spiraling into a chaos he wasn’t ready to face.

“I don’t know what to do about him,” Finnley admitted quietly, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know if I even want to do anything.”

Willow set his plate of food in front of him, her expression softening. “You can’t ignore it forever. You know that, right?”

He stared down at the scrambled eggs, pushing them around with his fork. His appetite had been nonexistent lately, but somehow the food was comforting, grounding him in the present moment. Still, his mind was a hundred miles away, tangled in thoughts of Silas.

“I don’t want to get hurt again, Willow,” he said, his voice low and tight. “The last time... with Larz... it’s not something I can just forget.”

Hayven leaned against the counter, folding her arms across her chest. “I get it. I do. But Silas isn’t Larz. You have to stop punishing yourself for what happened with him. What you had with him doesn’t define what you could have with Silas. You don’t know what it could be like, Finnley, unless you let it happen.”

Finnley looked up at his sisters, their eyes filled with concern, and for a moment, he felt a strange pull in his chest. It wasn’t the usual heavy weight of fear, but something lighter, like a flicker of hope trying to break through the darkness. He just didn’t know if he was ready to let it in.

“I don’t know if I can trust myself to trust him,” Finnley muttered.

Willow sighed softly. “You can’t live in fear forever, Finn. You have to take the leap eventually. Trust doesn’t come easy, but it does come. And sometimes... sometimes, the risk is worth it.”

A long silence passed as Finnley turned the idea over in his head. Was it worth it? Could he risk giving someone else his heart? He wasn’t sure.

Just then, his phone buzzed again. The screen lit up with Silas’ name.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Finnley muttered to himself.

He picked up the phone, his fingers trembling slightly as he unlocked it. There was a message. A simple text.

Silas: I miss you, Finny