The Dead Boy's Guide To Second Chances

bonus chapter: part five

Four Times Oliver Sallow Got Caught Staring at Finn O'Connell

(+1 Time He Didn't Look Away)

+1 In The Future

Twenty years old. A room on the second floor of a uni accommodation in Reading. Finn O'Connell, in the flesh, for the first time in a while.

Although, as Aarun was quick to point out when he walked in on them kissing against the kitchen counter, "It's only been three fucking weeks, you wankers! Get a room!"

They got a room. And now they're here, sitting on Finn's twin-size bed, catching  up before they go out with his—their—friends. It's a spontaneous thing—Kavi won tickets for some underground indie band's gig, Finn called Oliver about it, and next thing he knew he was sitting on a Great Northern service to Reading.

"You probably won't like them," Finn told him on the phone. "James says they're a bit shit."

"I really don't care," Oliver said.

And he doesn't. At all. Because he's in Finn's bedroom, et cetera.

The accommodation Finn and his friends share is honestly pretty nice (even though, as Finn likes to tease, it's not Cambridge?). James has them all on a strict cleaning regiment, and the previous residents left them with a few actually decent pieces of furniture. Finn's room is about the same size as his bedroom back in Blissby, and he put up most of the wall decorations he had there. Whenever Oliver visits, it feels like coming home—though that might just be Finn.

When Finn first came to Cambridge to visit him, Oliver was afraid it would be awkward; that, somehow, their dynamic was dependent on the forced proximity that comes with living in a small town and seeing each other at school every day. He quickly found that it was not. Every time they see each other, they pick up exactly where they left off. Literally.

"Ollie," Finn murmurs against his neck. The feeling of his breath makes his skin prickle. "We really need to get ready at some point."

"It's fine," Oliver returns, smiling as he noses Finn's cheek. "I set a timer."

"You did what?"

"I set," he runs a hand through Finn's hair; it's gotten long enough to curl slightly above his ears, "a timer. So we don't run late."

Finn leans back a little, resting his head on the pillow beneath him to give Oliver a disbelieving look. "When?"

"Before I rang the doorbell, if you must know," Oliver tells him. "Because I am a responsible adult who's fucking sick at time management now. Can we get back to the kissing part?"

"No! You set a timer!" Finn exclaims. His expression of betrayal is somewhat undermined by the way his hand is still resting on Oliver's lower back, having slipped under his shirt a few minutes ago. His palm there is a warm weight. "What happened to romance?"

"I didn't want us to be late and have James be mad at us." Oliver drops another kiss to the corner of Finn's mouth. "And, as dear William once said... Pleasure and action make the hours seem short."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Finn laments and reels him into another kiss. Oliver gladly lets himself be shut up, humming a little in approval when Finn's hand leaves his back and returns a moment later to run gently through his hair. "You're so needy," Finn whispers with so small amount of smugness.

"I'm touch-starved," Oliver says primly. "There's a difference."

With the way he's all but covering Finn, Oliver can feel his laugh as a low rumble in his own chest. "You know," Finn says in a low voice, "maybe when we get back, we can..."