The Dead Boy's Guide To Second Chances

10. ophelia's flower

TWO MONTHS AND TWENTY-EIGHT DAYS AFTER THE DEATH OF OLIVER SALLOW

Finn still has Ophelia's flower.

He pressed it between the pages of his Geography book a few days after London and it's been sitting on his bedside table ever since. He also still has the selfie he took at the Globe, tucked away in a separate folder on his phone along with all other photographic evidence that he and Oliver ever knew each other.

Four days after entering into Oliver's contract, he opens the album for the first time. His throat goes tight the moment the selfie appears. It's only been a little more than a year, but the Oliver and Finn in the photo seem like two entirely different people. They're standing in the middle of the crowd, cheeks almost squished together, a sliver of night sky visible above their heads. The expression on Oliver's face is surprise, his eyes wide in delight, his dark lips curled into the closest you can get him to a smile when he's on camera. At least wide enough for his eyes to crinkle. At least wide enough to make Finn's heart hurt.

His own grin is dazzling in the photo, all teeth and dimples. He can't remember the last time he laughed like that.

In the weeks after Oliver broke up with him, he tried to convince himself that it was for the best. Clearly, they weren't compatible. Clearly, Oliver didn't care as much about him as Finn did. And clearly, they wouldn't make each other happy in the long run.

They look pretty damn happy in this photo. And in the mirror selfie they took on Halloween. The dozens of pictures Finn sneaked of Oliver in the library when he wasn't looking, and the ones that Oliver caught him snapping. The videos of them in the park, trying to catch Maltesers in their mouths, Finn giggling behind the camera when one of them disappeared down the front of Oliver's lacey blouse, never to be found again beneath his fifty layers.

Blinking rapidly, Finn drops the phone onto the mattress next to him and slumps onto his back. Something crinkles under his head as he does; the letter that appeared on his pillow out of nowhere a few hours after Oliver disappeared. It states the same explanation that Oliver already gave him, plus some bonus info—like the fact that Finn physically can't speak about the program's existence, bound by some kind of celestial NDA. When he tried to show the letter to his mum to confirm, she just stared blankly at it for a few seconds and then told him it was empty. Bloody disturbing, is what it was.

The letter also encouraged him to reach out to Oliver within the next few days for a bonding session. Part of Finn wants to set the paper alight and pretend that none of this ever happened, to continue dragging himself through the usual routine. But the bigger part—the one that shook Oliver's hand, the one that has held on to the flower, the one that has spent the last seven days sleeping in Oliver's coat—recoils at the thought of Oliver, alone in some liminal space, waiting for a call that never comes.

Who cares if seeking him out opens old wounds? Clearly, they were never fully healed in the first place.

Finn picks up his phone and presses Call.

There are four beeps, followed by a chorus of layered voices helpfully informing him that his assigned In-Betweener will be with him shortly. The sound makes his hair stand on end and also kind of makes him want to weep, but before he can process the fact that he likely just heard an honest-to-god angel, there's the soft noise of knuckles against wood.

Oliver is standing in the doorway, looking sheepish and a little wind-swept.

Almost imperceptibly, something in Finn's shoulder loosens at the sight. "Hey," he says.

"Hey," Oliver murmurs. His steps, as he enters the room, are hesitant. "You called?"

"Yeah. I... I got a letter saying we had to do some kind of bonding exercise?"