We Don't Talk Anymore (Like We Used To) Pt. 2
summary: This is part two to my fic We Don't Talk Anymore (Like We Used To). I tried to make this a song fic but eventually gave up but the song I was using was Major Tom (Coming Home), if you'd like to listen. Once again sorry for the wait and thank you for reading
Previous -> here
words: 3890
For once, life felt quiet. Easy. Almost like something before.
Almost.
The next few days passed in a strange kind of blur. It wasn't bad, just off. Like the air felt different now. Like something had shifted in the space between you and Finney that neither of you dared to name.You saw him in the halls again. He still kept to himself, hood up, head down, headphones on but when your eyes met, he didn’t look away this time. Just a small nod. Barely there. But it was something.
In Space and Environment, he sat beside you again. There was no more hesitation. He didn’t say much Finney never really did — but he didn’t have to. The silence had changed. It wasn’t heavy anymore, just… quiet. The kind of quiet that feels safe.The kind where there was no more tension and all the words left unspoken had been said. You tried not to read into it. Trying desperately not to think about how your pulse jumped every time his shoulder brushed yours when you leaned over the same set of schematics. Tried not to wonder if he noticed.
He did.
You could tell in the way he’d pull back, just slightly, like he was afraid to touch something fragile. After the fight, word spread fast. Of course it did, small towns never forget how to gossip. You heard versions of it in the locker room, at lunch, walking home. How Finney Blake “snapped,” how he “took out two guys without breaking a sweat.” No one mentioned why.
You wanted to defend him, to tell them he wasn’t violent, that he wasn’t that kid. However deep down, part of you knew it wouldn’t matter. People love stories more than truth.
By Wednesday, a new bruise on his jaw was darkening to that sickly shade of purple and yellow. You caught him rubbing it absentmindedly during a lecture on gravitational orbits, his focus somewhere far away. When the bell rang, you stayed seated, waiting for the others to file out. He noticed, of course he did.
“Still hovering,” he said, voice quiet but not unkind.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
His eyes softened. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
For a second, you just looked at each other, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the space where words should’ve been. You wanted to tell him you worried because you cared, but it felt too soon. Too much.
He slung his backpack over his shoulder, wincing slightly. “You don’t have to keep checking on me.”
“Yeah, I know,” you said, but your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.
“You’re still gonna, though.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “Maybe.”
A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Figured.”
He left you there in the half-empty classroom, the faint smell of chalk and cold air lingering. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. The quiet moments, the looks, the way your chest felt lighter around him now. It was just two people relearning how to exist in the same space.
-
The crisp autumn air carried the smell of wet asphalt, the trees had started to thin, their leaves collecting in piles against curbs and fences. Autumn's first cold morning had crept in quietly, sending chills down spines. School felt slower that week, the kind of slow where everyone’s tired but no one knows why.
You didn’t see Finney that morning. Or the next. By Friday, you’d convinced yourself he was fine, that maybe the bruises just needed time to fade. Perhaps his ego had suffered, in all honesty you had no clue. But the worry came back anyway, creeping in around the edges like cold air through a cracked window.
Lunch had come and passed when you found Ernesto in his usual spot at the library. His backpack sat in the seat beside him, half opened with math sheets poking out, as if he’d given up on being organized.
“Are you skipping class again?” you asked, dropping in the seat across from him.
He shrugged, eyes on his work. “Didn’t feel like going. Mr. Schilling’s been on my ass all week.”
“Classic Arellano trait.”
That earned a small grin. “You sound like Robin.”
You shot him a soft smile, a hint of sadness was hidden behind it. “Guess you’re stuck with that.”
For a while, neither of you said much. The library was mostly empty, the kind of quiet that felt sacred, not enforced, but chosen. The radiator hissed somewhere near the back, filling the space with a low hum, and the smell of old paper clung to the air like dust that had forgotten how to settle.
You sat across from Ernesto at one of the long wooden tables, half a stack of textbooks between you that both of you were pretending to read. The late afternoon light filtered through the windows causing thin, dusty stripes of light to paint the library gold.
He absently tapped a pencil against the margin of an open notebook. “Do you ever think it’s weird how this place always feels colder than the rest of the school?”
You glanced up. “It’s probably haunted.”
That got a small grin. “You’d like that.”
“It would make study hall more interesting,” you said, shrugging.
He leaned back in his chair, gaze flicking toward the windows, then back to you. “Finney’s been hanging around you a lot lately.”
You blinked, caught off guard. “You make it sound like a crime.”
Ernesto smirked. “Maybe it is.”
You rolled your eyes, hiding your smile behind a book. “You’re insufferable, you know that?”
“I’m observant,” he said, voice low but teasing.
“He sits next to me in class. Big scandal.”
Ernesto snorted. “Uh-huh. Sure. Just class.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but nothing came out. Instead, you exhaled, shaking your head. “You sound like your mom.”
He laughed. “My mom’s right, then.”
The teasing softened, turning quieter. “He’s different now,” Ernesto said after a moment. “But when he’s with you… he’s more like before. Less, I don’t know— haunted.”
The air seemed to still after that, the silence stretching between the two of you, full of unspoken things and the faint rustle of pages from another aisle.
Ernesto didn’t push. He just leaned forward again, resting his elbows on the table. “You help him,” he said finally, softer now.
That pulled at something in your chest. “Yeah. I’ve noticed.” Your voice raspy and strained, as if you didn’t want to admit it.
“Robin used to do that too.”
The words landed heavy, not sad exactly, but something close. You swallowed. “I don’t think I’m anything like Robin.”
Ernesto shook his head. “No, but you stuck around. Most people didn’t.”
Ernesto looked at you, then really looked at you. “You care about him a lot, huh?”
You blinked. “What?”
He smirked, the kind of teasing grin only a kid brother could pull off. “Don’t ‘what’ me. You’ve got that look. Like you’re thinking about him even when you’re not supposed to.”
You rolled your eyes, trying to hide the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re imagining things.”
“Sure,” he said, grinning wider. “And I’m the Pope.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly. “Shut up.”
He laughed, the sound cutting through the chill in the air. Then, quieter, “Robin would’ve liked that you two are friends again.”
That shut you up. Outside, the wind pressed faintly against the old windows, carrying the sound of dried leaves scraping across the pavement. Inside, the two of you sat in that rare, fragile quiet that only existed between people who understood loss in the same way.
Then, after a pause, Ernesto said, “So, are you gonna tell him?”
You looked up sharply. “Tell who what?”
He grinned, all smug mischief now. “Finney. That you like him.”
You laughed too quickly, almost defensive. “You’re ridiculous."
“Maybe,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “But I’m right.”
You sighed, tugging at the sleeve of your sweater. “It’s complicated.”
“Everything’s complicated,” Ernesto said simply. “Doesn’t mean it’s not worth saying.”
When Ernesto finally packed up his things, he said it like an afterthought. Casual, almost careless but regardless the words still landed heavier than they should have.
“Just don’t wait too long, okay? Some people don’t know they’re allowed to come back unless someone tells them.”
You hesitated, then nodded. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I know.”
-
The library had gone still again after Ernesto left. You were halfway through pretending to study when you felt it. The faint shift in the air that always seemed to come with him.
Finney stood at the end of the aisle, hands in his pockets, hood up despite being inside. He hesitated for a second, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be there.
“Hey,” you said softly.
He nodded once, then walked over, his footsteps almost soundless on the carpet. He stopped across from you, eyes flicking from your open notebook to the empty chair Ernesto had just vacated.
“Mind if I…?” he asked, gesturing to it.
“Go ahead.”
He sat down slowly, shoulders tense, like even the chair might judge him. For a while, the two of you just existed in the quiet hum of the library. The faint ticking of the clock, and the distant sound of a page turning somewhere far away filled the library.
“You were with Ernesto,” he said finally. Not accusatory, just stating it.
You nodded.
Finney leaned forward, elbows on the table. His voice was low when he said, “He’s a good guy.”
“He is.” You paused, studying him. “He thinks the same about you.”
That earned the faintest smile or the ghost of one. “He shouldn’t.”
You frowned. “Why?”
He hesitated, eyes fixed on the edge of the table. “Because he knew Robin. He knows what I couldn’t do back then.”
There it was. The thing he never said. The thing that hung between all of you like smoke.
You didn’t rush to fill the silence this time. You just watched him, the way his fingers tapped against the wood, restless.
“You don’t have to carry that. No one blames you.”
He huffed out a short, humorless laugh. “I do.”
The honesty in his voice cracked something in your chest. You wanted to reach across the table, to close the space, but you didn’t.
“You fought for him in every way that mattered. Even now.”
He looked up then, meeting your eyes for the first time, really meeting them. There was something raw in his gaze. Something that scared you with how much it mirrored your own.
“Everyone keeps saying I’m different now,” he said. “Like it’s a compliment.”
“It’s not always,” you murmured.
He tilted his head. “You get that?”
“Yeah, more than I want to.”
The words lingered in the soft space between you. Outside, a branch scraped against the window. A slow, scraping sound that somehow made the silence feel heavier.
Finney exhaled, then sat back. “You’re the first person I’ve talked to about it.”
“About Robin?”
“About anything.” His lips curved into that small, tired smile again. “Guess I’m still learning how.”
You smiled, though your chest felt tight. “Guess I’m still learning how to listen.”
That earned you a real laugh. Small, and quiet, but real.
“Thanks,” he said. It sounded like he meant it.
“For what?”
He hesitated, glancing toward the window where the light hit his face in soft gold. “For staying.”
You didn’t know what to say to that. So you didn’t. You just nodded, the lump in your throat too tight to speak around.
You both sat there for a long time. The faint warmth of each other’s presence clung to the air, soft and steady, like the space between you had finally stopped aching.
The light spilling across the shelves in thin streaks of gold. You could hear the faint hum of the air vents, the creak of the old floor beneath your shoes, the small sounds that meant you weren’t alone.
For the first time in a long time, that felt like enough.
-
That night, the world felt still. The kind of stillness that only comes in early fall, when the air is cool enough to sting a little but calm enough to carry every sound. You were half-asleep on the couch, an old blanket tangled around your legs, when a knock came at the door. Soft. Hesitant. The kind of knock that didn’t want to wake anyone.
You glanced at the clock — 9:47. Too late for casual visits.
When you opened the door, Finney stood there, hands buried deep in his jacket pockets. His hair was mussed from the wind that wasn’t really there, his breath fogging faintly in the cool air. He looked like he’d walked a long way without realizing it.
“Hey,” he said. His voice came out quieter than the night.
“Hey,” you echoed, stepping aside. “You’re freezing.”
He gave a small shrug, gaze darting past you into the living room. “Didn’t notice.”
You hesitated only a second before nodding toward the couch. “Come in.”
He did, shoulders drawn tight, eyes flicking around like the room hadn’t changed and yet everything had. The small lamp beside the couch cast the space in a dim amber glow. You could see the faint smudge of dirt along his sleeve, the wear in his shoes, the way exhaustion lived in the set of his mouth.
For a while, neither of you said anything. The house creaked softly in the quiet, pipes settling, wood breathing. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though. Just full.
Finally, he said, “I saw Ernesto earlier.”
You looked over. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “He told me you’ve been helping him out. He said… thanks. For the fight.” Finney’s voice tightened slightly, like the word itself made him uneasy.
“I know, he knows, too.”
He nodded once, eyes fixed on the coffee table, the faint reflection of the lamp glowing across its surface. “Robin would’ve done the same.”
You watched him for a long moment, feeling Robin’s name hang in the air like a ghost.
“He’d be proud of you.”
Finney’s head lifted, and when he met your eyes, something shifted, the hardness cracked just a little. The silence between you deepened, not heavy, not light, but something fragile. Something that felt like trust.
“I missed this,” he murmured. “You. Us. Just... talking.”
You smiled faintly. “Yeah. Me too.”
He leaned back, exhaling, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he looked at peace. The streetlight outside cast a faint gold through the window, catching on his tired eyes, and soft expression. A warmth had reached your core before you could stop it.
After a while, you whispered, “You don’t have to disappear again, you know.”
He turned to you, a small, tired smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll try not to.”
And somehow, you believed him.
The clock ticked softly in the background. The world outside was still. No wind, no rustle, no sound at all. Just the faint hum of electricity and two people who remembered what it felt like to be safe in the same room again.
When you finally looked at him, really looked and you realized you’d stopped waiting for the air to feel normal again.
Because maybe, with him there, it already did.
-
He had left a little before eleven.
Neither of you had wanted to call it a night, but the hour had crept up on you both. The lamplight had dimmed to a soft amber haze, the kind that made everything look closer, smaller, private.
You’d walked him to the door, bare feet on the cold tile, blanket still draped over your shoulders. He’d said he should go. You’d said okay, but your voice didn’t sound sure.
When he stepped outside, the air hit him like something hollow, too still, too quiet after being near you. The porch light hummed faintly behind him, a weak glow against the dark. He turned once, just to look back. You were still standing there in the doorway, arms crossed, the faintest half-smile tugging at your mouth like you didn’t know what to do with it.
The walk back was short, but it felt longer than it ever had. Each step pulled at something in his chest he didn’t have words for. The ache in his chest wasn't sharp, just constant. Familiar. Like missing something before it’s even gone.
When he got home, the house was silent. No lights, no voices, just that hum of empty space he’d gotten too used to. He stood in the middle of his room for a long time, jacket still on, his throat dry. The air was cooler here, thinner somehow.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. His hands were still cold, but the warmth lingered. It was faint and stubborn where your shoulder had brushed his earlier. He could still smell the faint trace of your shampoo, still feel the press of the couch against his back, the echo of your laughter when he’d said something half-stupid just to make you smile.
He hadn’t realized until then how long it had been since he felt safe enough to just exist beside someone.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. The room was quiet, but his thoughts weren’t.
He thought about the library, the golden light, the small sounds, the way you’d looked at him like he was something steady instead of something broken. He thought about how close you’d been when you’d said you don’t have to disappear again.
And God, he wanted to believe that.
He wanted to believe that he could stay, that he deserved to.
When he finally lay down, he didn’t turn on the light. The room stayed dim, the only glow coming from the streetlight outside, faint and far away.
The sheets were cold, and he hated that he noticed. That he missed the warmth already.
He closed his eyes, exhaling slowly. Your voice lingered anyway.
I’ll try not to.
It sounded like a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep. But for once, he wanted to try.
-
Saturday came soft and slow.
You hadn’t planned on spending the whole day together, but that’s how it happened. Finney showed up around noon, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes half-hidden behind his hair. He didn’t even knock properly, just one of those uncertain taps like he was still testing if he was allowed to show up without a reason.
“Hey,” he said, and that was enough.
You spent the afternoon doing nothing that mattered. Walking downtown, grabbing hot chocolate from the corner shop, talking about small things that filled the silence but didn’t demand it. Every now and then, his hand would brush yours when you walked too close, and neither of you pulled away fast enough.
The air was crisp, not cold, not yet, but edged with that unmistakable fall bite. The trees had started turning, shedding little flashes of gold across the pavement.
By the time the sky began to dim, you were both sitting on the grass at the edge of the old soccer field, a blanket spread beneath you and a thermos of leftover cocoa balanced between your knees.
The town lights glowed faintly in the distance, but here it was dark enough to see everything. The stars were sharp tonight. Cold and endless and close enough to touch if you reached just far enough.
You leaned back, head tilted toward the sky. “Have you ever thought about how small we are?”
Finney huffed a quiet laugh. “All the time.”
You smiled at that, “Kinda comforting, though. Knowing the universe doesn’t really care what we do.”
He glanced sideways at you, profile lit by starlight. “Guess that means we get to decide what matters, huh?”
You turned to look at him, and for a second, neither of you said anything. The air felt heavier, like the night itself was holding its breath.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Yeah,” you said softly.
He hesitated. You could see him trying to find the words, fighting that instinct to hide, to swallow everything down like he always did. But then he exhaled, and it came out quiet.
“I tried to stop feeling this way,” he said. “About you.”
Your heart stuttered. “Finney—”
He shook his head, eyes sfixed on the ground. “I’m not good at this. I just… every time I’m around you, it’s like I can finally breathe. Like the noise shuts off for a while. And when I leave—” He laughed softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “When I leave, I miss you before I’m even gone.”
The wind shifted just enough to carry the smell of the earth between you. The stars blurred for a heartbeat, your chest tightening.
You could’ve said something. You should have, but your throat felt too tight, your pulse too loud. So instead, you reached out and took his hand. Just that. Small, deliberate.
He froze, but didn’t pull away. His fingers trembled before they settled between yours, warm and certain. The way his eyes softened made your breath catch. There was no fear in them. Just relief. You could feel his pulse, fast and uneven, matching your own.
Neither of you said anything. You didn’t have to. The quiet said enough.
When he looked at you again, something shifted. It wasn’t sudden or cinematic, no sharp inhale, no dramatic pull. Just a slow, quiet gravity, like the space between you had always been waiting to close.
He leaned in first. Hesitant, searching. His breath brushed your cheek before his lips did, the faintest question in the air and you answered before words could ruin it.
The kiss was soft at first. Careful. Like both of you were afraid to break something fragile. But then it deepened, slow and certain, all the emotion you’d both been pretending not to feel finding its way through the touch.
His hand came up to your jaw, fingers trembling just slightly, anchoring you there. You could almost taste the relief he felt, warmth and fear and something that felt dangerously close to peace.
There was no rush, no urgency. Just the kind of kiss that says I missed you before I even had you. The kind that lingered because neither of you wanted it to end, because this was what you’d both been trying to say in all those quiet moments, those almosts and maybes.
When you finally pulled back, the world felt softer somehow. The stars looked closer. His forehead rested against yours, both of you breathing in sync, hearts still trying to catch up.
Finney laughed under his breath, barely there, a small, awed sound. You smiled, whispering, “What?”
He shook his head, voice rough but gentle. “Just… never thought it’d feel like this.”
You brushed your thumb against his cheek, still smiling. “Like what?”
He met your eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Like coming home.”
And for once, neither of you looked away.
Above you, the stars went on burning, ancient and indifferent. But down here, on a cracked old field at the edge of town, something new began to flicker to life.
Something small.
Something steady.
Something like love.
