Something Like Hope
Finnley sat cross-legged on the floor of his apartment, the afternoon light spilling in through the large window, painting the wooden floor in soft amber hues. The faint scent of coffee still lingered in the air from earlier, but it was mostly masked now by the vanilla candle Hayven had lit on the kitchen counter.
Willow sat on the couch, her legs draped over one armrest, lazily plucking at the strings of her bass. She wasn’t really playing anything—just letting her fingers wander, mindlessly following the patterns of muscle memory.
Hayven was sprawled out on the floor, leaning back against the edge of the coffee table, softly humming a half-formed melody under her breath. Her hands drifted over the piano keys she had dragged over from the corner, her fingers moving almost absently.
And Finnley sat in the middle of it all, his guitar balanced on his lap, fingertips idly brushing over the strings. His sisters’ music curled around him, weaving soft and shapeless in the air. The apartment was warm with it—comfortably cluttered with sound and presence, no sharp edges or heavy silence.
For a long time, they didn’t speak.
Just played.
The three of them lost in the same easy rhythm they had known since they were kids.
Finnley let himself sink into it, let the hum of the strings soothe him, let his breath slow to match the soft, steady pulse of the music around him.
He didn’t think.
Didn’t try.
Just let his fingers move.
And then, somehow, somewhere in the middle of the wandering notes, it found him.
A melody.
Soft and delicate, but steady.
Like it had been waiting there all along, just beneath the surface.
And Finnley almost didn’t recognize it at first.
Because it felt like him.
Like Everett.
And it hit him so suddenly, so sharply, that he almost faltered.
Because the music wasn’t just music anymore.
It was the way Everett had looked at him last night.
Like he wasn’t broken.
Like he wasn’t too much or too little or something too sharp-edged to hold.
Like he was just… him.
And somehow, that was enough.
His hands stilled for half a second, breath catching faintly in his throat.
But then he kept playing.
Because he wanted to hold onto it.
To keep it from slipping away.
So he let it build, slow and deliberate, his fingers coaxing the sound into something fuller, warmer. The notes came soft at first, almost hesitant, and then more confident, his hands moving with certainty.
And just like that, the wandering, shapeless music in the room began to shift.
Hayven’s humming slowed, ears pricking at the melody.
Willow’s fingers faltered on her bass, pausing for a moment before falling into step with him.
Her low, steady rhythm filled in the spaces beneath the chords, grounding them.
Hayven’s piano joined next, delicate and shimmering, painting the edges of the melody with gentle, lingering notes.
And suddenly, it was something more.
Something beautiful.
The three of them moved as one, the melody growing and swelling, filling the apartment. Their fingers chased each other, following instinctively, leaning into the rises and falls, pulling back with each quiet, aching pause.
Finnley closed his eyes, letting it carry him.
Letting himself get lost in it.
Letting the warmth of it rise in his chest, pulling at the hollow places.
Filling them.
For the first time in weeks, he felt light.
For the first time in months, he didn’t feel like he was holding his breath.
And when the final notes drifted softly into stillness, none of them moved.
The only sound was the faint ringing of the last chord hanging in the air.
For a moment, none of them spoke.
They just sat there, staring at their instruments, blinking softly into the quiet.
Then Willow let out a low breath, her eyes still on her bass.
“Where the hell did that come from?” she asked softly.
Finnley didn’t answer right away.
Because he knew.
And he wasn’t sure he wanted to say it.
But the warmth in his chest made it hard to keep it in.
So, slowly, he set his guitar down on the floor, resting it gently against the side of the couch.
And then he told them.
Everything.
He told them about the restaurant.
About the way he had forced himself to speak.
About the way he had braced for Everett to flinch, to pull away, to think he was too broken to touch.
And how instead, Everett had just stayed.
Gentle and steady.
Like he wasn’t afraid.
Like Finnley wasn’t someone to be afraid of.
By the time he was done, his voice was quieter, a little raw.
He stared down at his hands, suddenly unsure of what to do with them.
But when he finally glanced up, Hayven and Willow were both looking at him.
And there was something soft and shining in their eyes.
Willow set her bass down, pushing herself off the couch and moving toward him. She knelt down in front of him, eyes sharp and unwavering.
“You told someone,” she said softly, and her voice was already thick. “You trusted someone.”
Finnley blinked at her, uncertain. “I—”
But she didn’t let him finish.
Because she was already pulling him into her arms, holding him tightly against her chest.
And he let her.
Let himself press into her warmth, let her arms anchor him.
And when he felt Hayven’s arms wrap around them both a moment later, he squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden stinging behind them.
They didn’t let go for a long time.
And when they finally did, Willow kept her hands lightly on his arms, her eyes fierce and steady.
“I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.
Hayven brushed Finnley’s hair back from his face, tucking it softly behind his ear.
“And I’m so glad you found someone who makes you feel safe,” she added.
Her voice was quiet, but there was something thick and heavy in it. Something hoping.
•~✮✩✮~•
Later, after Finnley had fallen asleep in his room, his sisters sat on Hayven’s bed.
The lights were dim, just the faint glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the room.
Willow sat with her knees pulled to her chest, her arms wrapped loosely around them. Hayven sat beside her, fiddling with the frayed corner of her sleeve.
For a long time, neither of them spoke.
They just stared at the floor, letting the quiet settle over them.
Finally, Hayven spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Do you think this one will stay?”
Willow’s throat tightened.
She didn’t answer right away.
Because she wasn’t sure she could.
Because she knew what was at stake.
She let out a slow, shaky breath.
“I don’t know,” she admitted softly.
And her voice broke slightly around the words.
“But God, I hope so.”
Hayven’s fingers stilled against her sleeve, her jaw tightening slightly.
“Me too,” she whispered.
And then she slowly leaned her head against Willow’s shoulder, her breath shaking faintly.
Because they both knew.
If Everett didn’t stay—if he broke Finnley’s heart, or worse, left it cracked wide open—it wouldn’t just hurt him.
It would shatter him.
And they might not be able to put him back together again.
So they sat there, leaning into each other in the soft dimness of the room.
Silent.
Still.
Praying softly into the quiet.
Hoping that this time—this time—someone would stay.
•~✮✩✮~•
Finnley stared at his phone, thumb hovering over the screen, unmoving.
The message was already typed out.
All he had to do was hit send.
Just tap the damn button.
But somehow, it felt like too much.
Like if he pressed it, something would shift and he wouldn’t be able to take it back.
Like he was opening a door he wasn’t sure he was ready to walk through.
He let out a slow breath, leaning back against the couch and closing his eyes for a moment, willing his heart to slow.
It was just a message.
Just a stupid message.
But it wasn’t.
Because he never reached out first.
Ever.
He was always the one retreating, always the one closing the door before it could be opened too wide.
But he wanted to.
For once, he actually wanted to.
The thought startled him, caught him off guard.
But it was there—small and clumsy, but real.
And he couldn’t ignore it.
Didn’t want to ignore it.
So he opened his eyes, blinked once, and let his thumb tap the screen before he could talk himself out of it.
The message sent.
Just a simple, casual, nonchalant thing.
At least, that’s what he told himself.
Everett: Hey. You busy?
And then he sat there, staring at the message like it might somehow disappear.
His stomach tightened faintly, chest suddenly light with something sharp-edged and restless.
He dropped his phone onto the couch beside him and exhaled sharply, scrubbing his hands over his face.
It was fine.
No big deal.
He could do this.
Right?
The vibration of his phone made him jump slightly, his breath catching in his throat.
He scrambled for it, almost dropping it in his haste.
Finnley: Not at all. What’s up?
The warmth that pulled in his chest was almost immediate.
Uncomfortable in its ease.
It made him want to smile and back away all at once.
But he didn’t back away.
Not this time.
He picked up his guitar from where it was leaning against the arm of the couch, cradled the familiar weight against his chest, and plucked a few aimless chords while he typed.
His fingers were almost steady.
Almost.
Finnley: You feel like hanging out next week?
He pressed send.
Didn’t overthink it.
Didn’t rewrite it five times like he normally would.
Just sent it.
The reply came almost instantly.
Everett: Yeah. Of course.
And then:
Everett: You wanna do something specific?
Finnley hesitated, his fingers pausing over the strings.
And then, before he could lose his nerve, he typed:
Finnley: Actually, I was thinking…
I was thinking maybe you could meet my family.
And then, quickly, before he could talk himself out of it:
Finnley: I mean, my friends. And my sisters.
They’re basically my family.
The message sat there on the screen, glaring at him.
It was too much.
Too honest.
But he didn’t delete it.
Didn’t backspace it into nothing.
Because somehow, he wanted it.
Wanted Everett to meet them.
To see that part of him.
To know it.
He stared at the screen for a long moment, breath shallow.
And when Everett’s reply finally came through, something warm and unfamiliar unfolded in his chest.
Everett: I’d love that.
And somehow, just seeing the words made his breath hitch.
Because it felt real.
Felt solid.
Like something steady he could actually hold on to.
And for once, he wanted to.
•~✮✩✮~•
Everett blinked at his phone, reading the message again.
And again.
Just to make sure he wasn’t imagining it.
Finnley had asked him.
Finnley had invited him.
For the first time.
His fingers tightened faintly around his phone, chest suddenly too full and too light at the same time.
A slow, disbelieving smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
It was nothing.
Just an invitation.
Just a casual hangout.
But somehow, it was everything.
Because it was Finn.
Everett barely resisted the urge to chuck his phone across the room in giddy disbelief.
Instead, he grinned wide and pushed himself off the couch, practically bounding toward the kitchen where his friends were already gathered, preparing for pizza night. They were doing it again seeing as last time they had a crying sesh and never actually made the pizzas.
Asako glanced up from where she was rolling out a ball of dough, her brows raised.
“Why are you walking like you just won the lottery?”
Renee snorted softly, tossing a handful of shredded mozzarella in Everett’s direction.
“Did you win something?” she teased.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“Or did you finally talk to him?”
Everett let out a sharp breathless laugh, holding up his phone like it was some kind of holy relic.
“He texted me first,” he said, unable to keep the awe from his voice.
He ran a hand through his hair, still grinning, disbelieving.
“He invited me to hang out. To meet his friends. His sisters.”
His voice softened slightly around the last word, a flicker of emotion slipping through.
“His family.”
For a moment, no one said anything.
And then, Lilith let out a loud, triumphant noise and threw a handful of pepperoni at him.
“Yes!” she crowed.
Renee was already abandoning her pizza, lunging at Everett with a laugh, tackling him into a hug.
Asako’s face split into a grin, bright and wild.
“See?!” she nearly shouted. “I told you!”
She slammed her hands on the counter, causing flour to fly into the air like confetti.
“Things are getting better, you absolute dumbass!”
Everett was laughing too hard to respond properly, his chest tight with something almost dizzying.
Renee was still hugging him, clinging onto him like he might float away.
Lilith was beaming, flinging random ingredients into the air in a fit of victory.
And Asako was just staring at him, eyes shining, like she was trying to memorize the look on his face.
When Renee finally released him, she grinned up at him, eyes softening slightly.
“This is gonna be something great, Ev,” she said softly.
And the way she said it made his throat go tight.
For once, he didn’t push the hope down.
Didn’t let himself be afraid of it.
He just held onto it.
Let it fill the hollow spaces in his chest.
•~✮✩✮~•
Later that night, Everett laid in bed, phone still in his hand.
The room was dark except for the faint glow of the screen.
He and Finnley were still texting, the conversation slow and easy, slipping into the comfortable rhythm they were starting to find.
Nothing heavy.
Just random things—music, books, constellations.
And Everett didn’t care that his eyes were tired or that he should be sleeping.
Because Finnley was still talking to him.
And that was enough.
He smiled softly to himself, letting his eyes drift closed.
Because maybe—just maybe—Finnley was finally starting to consider the idea of a real, genuine friendship between them.
And even if Everett wanted more—so much more—he would take this.
Because for now, it was enough.
And because for the first time, he wasn’t afraid of the hope building quietly in his chest.