Chasing Constellations
Everett had never been much of a texter. He was the guy who took three to five business days to respond and frequently left his friends on read out of sheer forgetfulness. But ever since exchanging numbers with Finnley, he found himself checking his phone like a goddamn teenager—glancing at it in the middle of brushing his teeth, half-distracted during game night, and pulling it out while waiting in line for coffee just to see if Finnley had sent anything.
He usually hadn’t.
It wasn’t that Finnley ignored him—he always answered, eventually. But Everett was the one starting the conversations. Always. He didn’t mind, not really, but there was something about the slight lag in Finnley’s responses, the way his messages were short and careful, that made Everett’s chest ache slightly.
The thing was, when Finnley did text back, Everett could feel the warmth tucked into every word, even if Finnley probably didn’t want him to.
It started small. A simple, “Hey, you home safe?” from Everett that first night. He had stared at the message longer than he should have before hitting send.
Finnley’s reply came several minutes later.
Finnley: Yeah. You?
Everett smiled softly.
Everett: Yeah. Tonight was nice.
There was a long pause. He stared at the screen, waiting. Finally, Finnley’s reply came.
Finnley: It was.
And that should have been the end of it, but Everett wasn’t ready to stop talking.
Everett: You still awake?
Finnley: Yeah.
Everett: What are you thinking about?
There was a long pause. Long enough that Everett almost put his phone down.
Finnley: Nothing. You?
Everett: You.
He hit send before he could talk himself out of it.
The three dots appeared, then vanished. Then appeared again. Finally,
Finnley: That’s dangerous.
Everett didn’t know why, but the message made something twist behind his ribs.
•~✮✩✮~•
Everett was the one to text first again.
Everett: Hey, what are you up to this weekend?
It took Finnley almost an hour to respond.
Finnley: Nothing, probably.
Everett stared at the message for a long moment, tapping his thumb idly against the screen. He could already feel the urge in his chest, the quiet, persistent need to see him again.
Everett: Wanna do nothing with me?
he sent before he could overthink it.
There was a longer pause this time. He started to wonder if Finnley was going to say no. He probably should have expected him to. But then:
Finnley: Okay.
It wasn’t enthusiastic. Wasn’t even particularly warm. But Everett smiled at his phone anyway. Because Finnley hadn’t said no.
•~✮✩✮~•
The grass was still slightly damp beneath the blanket they were sprawled on, but Everett didn’t care. The night air was warm and still, filled with the faint hum of crickets and the occasional distant whoosh of a car passing by. The stars were scattered thick and endless overhead, and the moon was just a sliver, making the constellations burn brighter.
Finnley was lying on his back beside Everett, arms folded over his chest, his posture just a little too stiff to be fully comfortable. Like he was still bracing for something.
“See that one?” Everett pointed upward, voice quiet. “That’s Lyra. The harp.” His lips quirked slightly. “In the myth, Orpheus plays it so beautifully that even the gods weep.”
Finnley let out a faint breath, his eyes fixed on the stars. “Yeah,” he murmured distantly. “I know.”
Everett turned his head slightly, watching him in the faint light. The soft slope of his nose, the faint shadow of his lashes against his cheek.
He wanted to reach for him. He didn’t.
“You have a favorite constellation?” Everett asked softly instead.
Finnley was quiet for a moment. “Orion,” he finally answered. “The hunter.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “You can always spot his belt.” He paused. His throat bobbed slightly. “He’s always chasing something he can’t reach.”
Everett’s chest tightened slightly. “Lonely, but beautiful,” he murmured, repeating the words Finnley had used before.
Finnley’s eyes flicked toward him, startled. There was something wide and unguarded in them for just a moment. But then he turned away, his gaze snapping back toward the sky, and the wall was back in place.
Everett exhaled slowly, trying not to let the ache in his chest show.
•~✮✩✮~•
Everett was the one to text first. Again.
Everett: “Hey, you ever seen Hadestown?”
It was several hours before Finnley replied.
Finnley: No. Why?
Everett didn’t hesitate.
Everett: They’re doing a production downtown next weekend. Want to go with me?
There was a long pause. Too long. The longer it stretched on, the more Everett felt the hopeful flutter in his chest start to sink. He was about to shove his phone in his pocket and call it a loss when Finnley’s reply finally came.
Finnley; You sure?
Everett frowned slightly. Sure? He stared at the message, unsure how to answer. He was always sure.
Everett: Yeah, I want to.
And then, finally:
Finnley: Okay.
•~✮✩✮~•
The show was breathtaking. They sat side by side in the dim theater, their shoulders occasionally brushing. During the haunting strains of “Wait For Me,” Everett found himself glancing at Finnley more than the stage, watching the way the soft lights reflected in his eyes.
When the final notes of “Epic III” faded, Finnley let out a shaky breath. His hands were clenched slightly in his lap, knuckles faintly pale. Everett, on impulse, reached over and quietly took his hand.
He half-expected Finnley to pull away.
For a moment, he didn’t. His fingers were trembling slightly beneath Everett’s.
But then, after only a few seconds, Finnley slipped his hand free.
Everett didn’t move, didn’t react. He just slowly curled his own fingers back into his lap, pretending it didn’t sting.
Finnley didn’t meet his eyes for the rest of the night.
•~✮✩✮~•
It was late on Friday night when Everett finally heard him play.
They were at Finnley’s apartment, the remnants of their late-night snack raid abandoned on the counter. Finnley had been messing with his guitar absentmindedly for the past hour, running his fingers over the strings but never really playing.
“Play something,” Everett said softly, watching him.
Finnley’s fingers stilled. His eyes lowered slightly. “I don’t know…”
“Please,” Everett murmured.
For a long moment, Finnley was still. Then, slowly, he nodded.
And then he played.
His fingers moved over the strings like he was built for it—effortless, graceful, and precise. The first notes were soft and slow, delicate as a breath, but then his playing grew bolder, more intricate, filling the room with something golden and aching.
Everett sat perfectly still, completely wrecked by it. He stared, watching the way Finnley’s lashes lowered slightly when he was focused, the way his fingers moved so deliberately.
“Jesus Christ,” Everett muttered under his breath, barely aware he’d said it aloud.
Finnley glanced up mid-song, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. “What?”
Everett just shook his head slightly, eyes locked on him. “You’re so fucking pretty it’s actually infuriating,” he thought. But he didn’t say it.
Instead, he just sat there, listening, knowing he could sit there forever and never want him to stop.
•~✮✩✮~•
Finnley wasn’t sure how it had happened—how this stranger had managed to settle so effortlessly into his thoughts. How Everett seemed to linger in the space behind his ribs, in the hollow of his chest, like he belonged there.
It made Finnley feel like he couldn’t breathe.
He had spent the last two weeks doing everything in his power not to let it show.
He answered Everett’s texts—most of them, anyway. Sometimes after a long delay, sometimes short and curt. He stared at the screen for ages, fingers hovering over the keyboard, unsure of what to say or how much to give. Every message felt like an offering, and he hated how willing he was to keep giving them.
When Everett asked him to hang out, he almost said no. He should have said no. But he didn’t. Because he was weak. Because Everett’s voice was still lodged in his head, low and warm from that night by the pond. Because the way Everett had looked at him—the way he always looked at him—made something fragile and restless crack behind Finnley’s ribs.
So he went. He showed up, let Everett pull him along into something light and easy. Sat beside him in the grass under the stars, their elbows brushing just slightly. Pretended not to notice how it made his skin feel hot and cold at once.
And when Everett had reached for his hand at the theater, Finnley had let him. For a few fragile, fleeting seconds, he let him.
But then he pulled away. Of course he did.
And he hated himself for it.
•~✮✩✮~•
The first night they laid in the grass, Finnley spent more time looking at Everett than the stars. He didn’t mean to. His eyes just kept drifting back to him.
The way Everett’s voice softened slightly when he spoke about constellations. The way he gestured with his hands when he was excited, fingertips cutting through the night like he was trying to trace the stars with his bare hands. The way his profile was illuminated by the faint silver-blue glow of the moonlight, painting the edges of his face in something softer, almost ethereal.
He was so fucking pretty. It made Finnley feel insane.
And it was so much worse because Everett didn’t even seem to know it. He just laid there in the grass, so close and so unaware of the way Finnley’s chest tightened every time their arms brushed.
And Finnley hated himself for noticing. Hated himself for wanting to notice.
So he made himself talk about Orion. About the hunter who was always chasing something just out of reach. He didn’t know why he said it—why he let his voice sound so damn raw when he did. But Everett had remembered. Had repeated the words back to him like he had been holding onto them.
It made Finnley’s breath catch in his throat.
And it made him want to run.
•~✮✩✮~•
Every time Everett’s name lit up his phone, Finnley felt that same sharp tug in his chest—the one that made him want to answer immediately and ignore it entirely at the same time.
Sometimes he let the messages sit unread for hours, trying to convince himself he wasn’t going to reply. Just leave it. Let him lose interest. Let him get bored and move on.
But then he would cave. Every damn time. His fingers would move almost on their own, tapping out a reply that was too short, too careful. He would stare at the message after sending it, angry at himself for giving in so easily.
And he knew Everett could feel the distance he kept between them. Could probably see the caution in every half-hearted reply. But Everett kept reaching out anyway. Always initiating. Always pulling. Always trying.
It made Finnley feel hollow and aching and grateful and terrified, all at once.
There were moments when he was almost proud of himself for answering at all. Like the night Everett asked him if he was still awake. Finnley had stared at the message for nearly ten minutes, trying to convince himself not to respond.
But he did.
“Yeah.”
And when Everett had replied, “What are you thinking about?” Finnley’s heart had kicked violently in his chest. He almost put his phone down. Almost left it there. But instead, he typed out:
“Nothing. You?”
And Everett had said, simply:
“You.”
Finnley’s chest had tightened so sharply that he actually had to set his phone down. He left it on his nightstand, staring at the screen from across the room, too afraid to touch it again.
And when he finally did, he sent the only thing he could think of.
“That’s dangerous.”
Because it was.
•~✮✩✮~•
Finnley hadn’t meant to play for him.
When Everett asked him to, he nearly said no. His fingers actually twitched slightly on the neck of the guitar, wanting to shut the whole thing down. To refuse.
But then Everett’s voice had gone so soft, so unbearably gentle.
“Please.”
And Finnley’s chest caved. He didn’t know why. He just nodded.
His fingers moved over the strings by memory, almost absently, falling into a familiar rhythm. He played without thinking, letting his hands work on instinct. Letting the notes fill the space because if he didn’t, he was sure his own heartbeat would be too loud.
He didn’t look at Everett. Couldn’t. Not at first.
But when he finally did glance up, it was a mistake.
Because Everett was looking at him like that.
Like he was watching something that didn’t make sense. Something breathtaking. Like Finnley’s existence had knocked the wind out of him.
And then Everett muttered, low and disbelieving, “Jesus Christ.”
Finnley’s fingers faltered for a split second, nearly missing a chord. He glanced at him sharply, startled by the rawness in his voice.
“What?” he asked softly, trying to ignore the heat threatening his face.
Everett just shook his head slightly, eyes still locked on him. Something heavy and unspoken lingered in his expression, and Finnley felt his stomach twist.
Because Everett looked at him like he had already decided. Like he wasn’t afraid.
And Finnley couldn’t understand how that was possible.
•~✮✩✮~•
Finnley’s friends weren’t subtle. Not even a little.
“So, how’s Everett?” Hayven asked too casually when they were sprawled across her couch.
Finnley didn’t look at her. “Fine.”
Willow snorted softly, not even bothering to hide her smirk. “Just fine?”
“Yeah.”
There was a beat of silence, and then Caterina leaned forward, fixing him with a look. “You’re sure?” she asked softly. Too softly.
Finnley’s throat went tight.
He knew what they were doing. Knew they were watching him too closely, their eyes too sharp. Knew they were worried.
Caterina glanced at Hayven, and for one brief, horrifying moment, he saw it—the silent exchange, the flicker of thought. The unspoken “Maybe we should talk to him.”
“No,” Finnley said sharply, before they could even open their mouths. His voice came out harder than he intended, and all three of them blinked at him in surprise.
Hayven’s eyes softened. “Finn, we’re just—”
“No.” His voice was quieter this time, but no less firm. His fingers clenched tightly in his lap, trembling slightly. “Just… don’t.”
They didn’t push him after that.
But their eyes stayed too careful. Too worried. And Finnley hated them for it.
•~✮✩✮~•
That night, when he was finally alone, he stared at his phone again, Everett’s name glowing faintly on the screen.
“Tonight was really nice. Can’t wait to see you again.” Everett had written.
Finnley stared at the message for a long time, his chest tight and aching. He wanted to say, “Me too.”
Instead, he just sat there in the dark, too afraid to answer.