- Tuesday, May 10th, 2016 -

– 3,5 months after the disappearance –

It's dark outside and since it's way past midnight, the streets are nearly deserted. I'm on my way home after hanging out with Felix. We just had a casual night of gaming and watching series on Netflix.

Normally I wouldn't be out this late at night but since my parents are gone again, I figured I could make another exception to their rules about curfew. Besides, I haven't gotten a headache today and that's worth celebrating a bit.

Throughout the night, Stan texted me a lot. He is now in a full on frenzy about me riding home with Nathan and the fact that I was almost completely in a different world doesn't seem to make him think I couldn't really do anything about that. Hell, I don't even remember how I got in Nathan's car in the first place.

Then Stan went on, calling me up until the point Felix got annoyed and asked me to either answer or put my damn phone off. He seemed the have the feeling I was going to leave for Stan again, which I didn't.

I can't help but wonder for the entire walk home, why Stan kept texting I wasn't honest with him. That he couldn't trust me. I haven't done anything to fuck up his trust in me. I have been honest about everything, except the notes from Finnley, which he couldn't possibly know about since I keep them hidden in my room.

When I'm finally home I'm pretty done with thinking about Stan's weird behaviour, about Felix being my only friend, or about Finnley in general, because all of those thoughts make me sad and depressed.

That is until I entered the house, to find a new envelope on the floor. I hurriedly pick it up and rip it open, to reveal the usual 45 cents and a note.

"Build a sandcastle? What?" I cock a brow, staring at the note, thinking about the note, noticing the time on the note briefly. What does he mean by building a sandcastle? I have to dig pretty deep before the memory of one of the first things I remember doing with him comes to mind; playing in the playground. Mom always reminds me how little Finnley told me I was building my sandcastle in the wrong way; it was doomed to collapse. Apparently, I looked at him in question before he decided to help me. Four-year-old Finnley was already a little know-it-all. But we had built an awesome sandcastle for a couple of four-year-olds – that got destroyed by older kids. But I was thankful for his help anyway.

Looking at the clock, I notice it's already 3:12 a.m. and I need at least ten minutes before I can make it to the playground.

Finnley obviously wants to meet.

Instead of cursing myself for staying out for so long, I hurriedly run towards the garage and grab my bike. I leave through the back, since I'm too impatient to wait for the garage door to open and close again. I make sure to lock the house, before I start riding the bike as fast as I could.

Please, let him still be there. I get why he picked the time; it's his birthday, March 14th. It's also the mathematical constant knowns as pi. How suitable for a nerd like Finnley to be born on that date.

Why am I thinking about that? I should focus on getting there before he leaves again. I can't be late, not right now.

I managed to ride fast enough to be there after seven minutes, throwing my bike on the grass, running the last part towards the sandpit in the middle of the playground, ignoring the throbbing of a beginning headache.

It's empty and there's no one around. Not a living soul to be seen. No Finnley waiting for me by the sand pit. I run around the playground like crazy, trying to see if he's hiding somewhere around. But as soon as I am sure I'm really alone, I slump down on the sand in the sand pit, tears escaping my eyes. I'm either too late, or I misunderstood the fucking meaning of his note. He knows I'm not as smart as him. Couldn't he be clearer about this? In any of the fucking notes? Why is he sending me all those cryptic messages, making me doubt about myself and everything I'm going through? It's hard enough with Nathan and Stan bickering back and forth, constantly pulling me to the other side, doubting who to fucking believe. I did everything I could to stay out of Stan's shady part of life. I did everything to avoid getting caught in the middle. I was just minding my own fucking business. I was just trying to figure out who I am. But no, everybody keeps dragging me into their shitty lives. Stan and Nathan drag me in their trivial war. Jaimie projecting his parents' divorce onto my relationship with Stan, turning me into a social outcast. Emma avoiding me ever since we got in a fight over Stan, not realizing right now I need her more than ever.

It's hard enough as it is already to lose Finnley. I already feel guilty for not staying by his side that night. Does everybody else have to keep fighting, pulling me into it? Can't people just let me be; grieving over Finnley's disappearance in peace?

After a couple of minutes of crying on my knees, I lay down on my back, looking up at the stars. I'm too consumed by my own sorrow and thoughts to notice footsteps closing in on me.

"God, you rode too fast to keep up." His voice is like music in my ears, sending shivers down my spine, creating a wave of both relieve and sadness crashing over me.

Finnley appears in my peripheral vision, trying to catch his breath, leaning over, breathing heavy. He's wearing the hood of a sweater over his head, casting a shadow over his face. The lighting from the moon creating a nimbus around his head. He looks like a fucking angel to me.

"Finnley!"

"You'd think you knew better than to call me that." He chuckles softly, still a little out of breath, holding his left side with one hand.

"Shut up." I groan, scrambling up from the sand. "I missed you, fool." I attack him in a hug, sending us tumbling to the ground because I guess he didn't expect me to attack him in a hug.

"Auch, fuck." He hisses, pushing me off of him. "Careful, idiot." His hands holding the left side of his ribcage.

"Where have you been!?" I nearly shout, leaning over him.

"Shht!" He covers my mouth with a hand. His face contorts in one of pain when he moved quickly to cover my mouth. "Not that loud."

"Answer me," I mumble against his hand. "I've been worried sick," I hiss when I pushed away his hand.

"I can't tell." He shakes his head. "Not yet." He cups my face, forcing me to look him in the eye. "I'm so fucking sorry, for everything."

"For what?"

Again, he shakes his head. "You need to listen. I've got about 20 minutes before I have to go. Ask me all the questions you want, but don't ask me about the past three months. You can't know yet."

"I can't know what Finn?" I want to scream and shout, but I didn't miss the fear in his eyes when I shouted a couple of seconds ago. So instead, I whisper in anger. "This is all too fucking confusing. Do you know the police is looking for you? Do you have any idea how worried your parents are?"

He snorts; to which I cock a brow and cut my ranting short.

"They are worried, Finn."

"They're good at pretending is what they are." He takes in a deep breath. "Ask me anything, but not about the past couple of weeks."

My mouth is slightly agape, words and questions on the tip of my tongue. But I don't know where to start.

'18 minutes."

"Is it true you're gay?" Dense question; I know the answer already.

He nods, seemingly amused because I chose to ask him that question.

"Are you depressed?"

He snorts again. "That's an understatement right now."

"If you don't want me to ask about the past three months, don't hint towards it."

His eyes lighten up in amusement and he smiles. "I see you got good at reading in between the lines."

"Someone send me cryptic notes for the past couple of weeks. It's good practice. Although I went crazy because they stopped."

He chuckles, toying with some sand between his fingers. "Yeah, sorry "bout that. Someone got in the way." We're seated next to each other, both staring at his hand drawing little pictures in the sand, erasing one after another by starting a new drawing. "Other questions?"

"Okay, gay, depressed..." I sum up. "What about Nathan?"

"What about him?" Finnley doesn't look up, but his voice trembles slightly.

"You send him a note, asking him to return a favour. I thought he had something to do with you disappearing."

"No." Finnley shakes his head. "Nathan is a great guy. We just got in a stupid fight because I didn't love him. But Nathan is our friend."

"And he was your boyfriend?"

"Sort of, yeah. We never officially went out, but for a short while he was the only one I was seeing."

"Why'd you hide it from me?"

"Are you serious?" He laughs and the sound of him laughing sends my heart in overdrive. "Cris, every time we'd talk about gay people or whatever, you were very clear about your opinion."

"Well, yeah, but you're my best friend. I'd be okay with you even if you'd turn out to be a killer."

"Well, I didn't believe you would accept me. So, I decided to not tell you."

"But you had feelings for me."

"Have." He corrects me. "I have feelings for you." He looks up and catches my eyes with his. I feel hypnotized by looking at him, but it's the first time the lighting on his face is bright enough to reveal a bruise on his jaw, a black eye that is fading and a cut near his left temple.

"What happened to your face?"

"Off limit." He retorts. "Good way to change subjects by the way." He chuckles awkwardly. "Subtle way to turn me down."

"I didn't... I don't... I just noticed it now." I mutter, not knowing how to answer that. I don't want to turn him down, because there's a damn zoo in my stomach going wild ever since I heard his voice. I just need my answers first and he isn't giving me the ones I've been waiting for. All that he is doing, is admitting the things I already uncovered about him. And he's obviously planning on leaving in about seven minutes. He's not going to stay and it would hurt too much to admit feelings to someone who won't stay with me.

"It's fine. Don't worry. Fight with the wrong people and you might end up getting beaten," he tells me after a stretching silence. "What have you been up to?"

"I've been fucking up my life to try and find you," I snap bitterly. It didn't mean to come out that harsh, but it did anyway. "Why are you here, if you're planning on leaving again?"

"Because I wanted to see you." He whispers. "Those notes aren't satisfying enough. I can't hear your voice, I can't see your reaction."

"Then don't leave. Stay here, go home to your parents."

"I will, but I can't right now." He looks at his watch again, getting up from his seat. "You can ask me one question about all of this." He mutters, watching me get up as well. "Just one."

"One?" I snort bitterly in response. "How about you just explain what the hell is going on? Why are you hiding? From who? Why are you here and still planning on leaving again? What the fuck is going on Finn?"

He takes in a deep breath, seemingly feeling awkward right now, before he simply shrugs. "I can't tell you who did this, or what exactly is going on. I'm leaving, because I'm forced to." He looks up to the sky. "No, that's not entirely right, because they don't know I'm here, I hope. I'll be in a lot of trouble if they do." He snaps his head down again, staring at me in frustration. "I can't tell you, because you'll ruin everything. You'll risk my safety, you risk your own. You'll probably go all macho and fuck everything up. I need you to just go on the way you are and I need you to stay in the oblivious state you're in right now." He kneels in front of me. "You can't tell anyone I was here, except Nathan, okay?"

I snort again feeling a pang of jealousy after hearing him say his name with that much warmth in his voice. "Nathan, right." I nod. "Let me ask you one question and answer it with the truth." He's obviously contemplating on not giving me an answer, but I don't care. "What's Stan's role in all of this?"

Finnley pulls up an eyebrow in response. "Really?"

"Yes, really. According to your friend Nathan he's got something to do with all of this."

"He's just a stupid little puppet in a much bigger thing." Finnley stands up again. "I have to go. Just... keep Nathan close. And for the love of God, please don't tell anyone else I was here."

"Don't go..."

"I'll be back Cris, just be patient and trust me, okay?"

"Wait! You can't leave..."

"I have to." He seems like he's in a conflict. He obviously wants to stay, but after we stare at each other in silence for a couple of seconds, he turns around and starts walking away.

"Finny, wait." I grab his wrist before he gets out of reach, pulling him back.

"I'm not going to say goodbye Cris, because I willbreak..."

I'm cupping his face and pressing my lips against his, silencing him halfway throughout his sentence.

His body freezes for a second, before he puts his arms around my neck, answering my kiss by deepening it.

It's pure bliss. It's heavenly. There's fireworks inside my head. The zoo in my stomach is out of control and every fibre in my body screams at me to never ever let him go. To not let him walk away. My body is on fire, my skin tingling in excitement. I put every bit of feeling I have for him in this kiss, causing him to moan after a couple of seconds sharing a heated kiss. Oh damn, now I know what it feels like to be complete. He completes me; I need him.

But it's only a matter of seconds before he pulls back, staring down. "Yeah, that'll keep me motivated to come back soon." He smirks.

My face heats up, thinking I just kissed him with everything in me and I think I wanted to tell him to stay with me with that kiss.

"That kiss won't be the end of this, you got me?" He winks and I must look like a freaking tomato right now. Somehow the thought of that got me hot and bothered in no time. Now I really don't want him to leave. Yet I'm surprised by his confidence. Finnley never acted this confident... or sexy. Did he ever say anything like that to anyone before?

"Please, don't follow me, okay? Promise me." His voice nearly breaking, causing my eyes to tear up again. "Promise me. Go home and trust me on this."

"Okay..." I whisper. "I promise."

It's breaking my goddamn heart to let him walk away, but I let him. I stare at him as long as I can, until he is out of sight.

Maybe out of sight, but definitely not out of mind.