The Weight Of Wanting
Finnley sat on the edge of his bed, one hand curled around his phone, the other pressed over his mouth. His fingers trembled slightly against his lips, knuckles tense and bloodless. The screen glowed in the dimness of his bedroom, casting a faint, silvery light over his face.
Everett’s name blinked softly at the top of the screen. Another message. The fifth one today.
Everett: Hey, you okay?
Finnley squeezed his eyes shut. No, he thought bitterly, his chest tightening. I’m not okay. And you need to stop asking me like you care so much.
He wanted to answer. His whole body ached with the want—to type something back, anything, just so he could feel that small sliver of warmth when Everett inevitably responded. That easy, disarming warmth that made him feel seen in a way he wasn’t sure he deserved.
But he didn’t.
He couldn’t.
Instead, he stared at the message until his vision blurred slightly, his breath shallow and uneven. His thumb hovered over the keyboard, then slowly moved away. He let the phone drop onto the mattress beside him, face-down. Like he couldn’t bear to look at it.
He curled forward, gripping the edge of the blanket with shaking hands, trying to breathe through the pressure building behind his ribs.
It was happening again—the same twisting, hollowing ache he had felt before. The same one that had driven him into isolation after Larz. The same one that had gutted him after Silas.
He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, but the memories were already clawing their way through him.
Larz, with his easy laugh and soft hands—hands that had once held Finnley’s so carefully, like he was made of glass. Hands that had traced the inside of his wrist with slow, reverent fingertips. And then later, hands that had let him go without hesitation. Without fight. Without care.
And Silas.
God, Silas.
Silas, who had smiled too softly and spoken too sweetly. Silas, who had drawn him in with every lie Finnley had been so desperate to believe. Silas, who had held him too close with hands that didn’t belong to him. Hands that belonged to someone else.
Finnley’s stomach twisted violently.
He remembered the way Silas had looked at him when the truth came out—apathetic, careless. Like it didn’t matter at all that he had ruined Finnley’s ability to trust. That he had dismantled something Finnley hadn’t even realized was fragile until it was already broken.
“You’re overreacting,” Silas had said that night. “It’s not like it meant anything.”
Finnley had almost laughed.
Like that made it better.
Now, sitting alone in the heavy stillness of his apartment, he felt that same cold, breathless fear seeping into his chest.
It was why he couldn’t text Everett back.
Why he couldn’t answer the way he wanted to.
Because he knew how this ended.
It always ended the same way.
He didn’t want to be afraid. He wanted to let himself want Everett without feeling like he was falling apart at the seams. He wanted to stop recoiling every time Everett reached for him. Wanted to stop flinching at kindness like it was a blade.
But he couldn’t.
He didn’t know how.
Because what if Everett left?
What if Everett stayed?
Both felt equally unbearable.
His phone buzzed faintly against the blanket, and his chest seized up all over again.
Everett: Just thinking about you. Let me know if you wanna hang out later.
The words made something splinter sharply inside him.
God, why do you have to be so good to me?
His throat tightened.
He didn’t deserve this.
He didn’t deserve Everett.
Finnley pressed the heels of his hands against his eyes and exhaled shakily. His head was pounding. He knew he couldn’t keep doing this—couldn’t keep leaving Everett in the dark, couldn’t keep pushing him away and hoping he didn’t take the hint.
It wasn’t fair.
And he didn’t want to be a coward.
So he made himself sit up.
He made himself grab his phone.
And he forced his fingers to type the message before he lost his nerve.
Finnley: Hey. Wanna grab dinner tonight?
The second he sent it, he immediately regretted it. His heart punched violently against his ribs. He actually nearly flung his phone across the room, suddenly panicked that Everett would see the message and read too much into it.
But it was too late.
The three gray dots appeared almost instantly.
Then:
Everett: Yeah, of course! When and where?
Finnley swallowed hard. His chest felt too tight. He sent back a time and place before he could think twice.
Then he sat there for a long moment, phone still in his hand, staring at nothing. His breathing felt shallow. Uneven.
Because now he had to do it.
He had to tell Everett.
About Larz. About Silas. About the way the betrayal had hollowed him out, leaving him cold and wary and brittle.
About the way he kept running before anyone had the chance to walk away first.
About the way he was still running.
And about the terror curling in his chest every time he thought about how not running might hurt just as much.
•~✮✩✮~•
Finnley stood outside the restaurant, gripping the strap of his bag so tightly his knuckles were bloodless. The evening air was warm but felt thin and unsteady in his lungs. His fingers twitched slightly, restless with nerves.
Then he saw Everett.
He was already walking toward him, casual and smiling. His hands were tucked into his pockets, eyes bright and easy. The sight of him hit Finnley squarely in the chest, catching him off guard.
Why do you have to look so happy to see me?
The thought made Finnley’s stomach twist painfully.
Everett reached him, tilting his head slightly with a soft, confused smile.
“Hey,” he said, his voice light but searching. “You okay?”
Finnley’s chest squeezed violently.
His face was too open. Too warm. Too kind.
And Finnley knew he didn’t deserve any of it.
He forced a tight, barely-there smile and nodded stiffly.
“Yeah. I’m fine,” he lied.
His voice came out too flat. Too sharp.
And Everett noticed.
His expression flickered slightly with something uncertain, but he didn’t press.
“Okay,” he said slowly, studying him for a moment. “You ready to head in?”
Finnley nodded again.
Then he followed Everett inside, his stomach twisting so sharply it felt like he was walking into battle.
Because he knew, once they sat down, he wouldn’t be able to run anymore.
And it terrified him.