summer stained blue

chapter two - old friends

Finn had been to a lot of places that looked like Toledo, Ohio -- he had yet to find another place that felt like Toledo, Ohio.

The morning was light and crisp. Goosebumps scurried across his bare arms as he untangled the mess of blankets he'd used on the couch. Dylan was still asleep, but Finn couldn't just sit around and wait; he had things to do. After digging in Dylan's junk drawer for a sticky note and a pen, he scribbled a quick note and a "thank you," then headed out the door.

Dewdrops from the grass clung to his shoes as he walked back to his car. The air really did smell different. Somewhere deep in the back of his mind, Finn remembered reading that scents are the most strongly associated with memories, which he definitely believed; he was inhaling nostalgia with every breath.

It wasn't like he hadn't been home at all since high school. Even without being back, he wasn't disconnected from this place. With social media and technology, it was impossible to leave the past behind in totality. If anything, he clung tighter to his memories while he was away, leaving the city and his friends (and his ex-boyfriend) in a mental time capsule, safe and unchanged.

Even climbing into his father's car, driving down Dylan's street and into the neighborhoods that enclosed their high school, felt like falling backwards.

He had beelined straight for Chicago after his high school graduation, clinging to his UChicago acceptance letter like a one-way ticket out of hell. It wasn't that he hated Toledo, and it wasn't that he hated his father; he hated the way both made him feel.

Even now, a year out of college, his hometown brought the best and the worst out of him.

He could still feel every wave of seventeen crashing through his broad shoulders, from acne to teenage drama to crowds cheering -- all the way to love. Or what he thought was love, anyway.

Maybe his first love taught him to feel in all of the worst ways.

The stoplight turned across from the fire station, green flicking to yellow, yellow flicking to red. Finn pumped his brakes, slowing to a stop at the four-way intersection. He didn't have to drive past his ex-boyfriend's house on the way back from Dylan's, but it was the route he always took. His heart stuttered as the car came to a stop, though; he always felt exposed driving this road, like James could sneak up on him at any moment.

They didn't have some awful, up-in-flames breakup story; sometimes, Finn wished they did. It would explain why he was still stuck in this same rut, even four years later. It would explain why he still paused at every Instagram post, why he still rushed to pick up the phone when he saw that James was calling.

It would explain why he still wanted -- needed -- James in his life as a friend. Even the smallest fibers of his being refused to let James go.

Even in Chicago, some part of him was stuck living in the past; now, climbing up the porch steps of his completely-unchanged childhood home, that past was about two steps away from hitting him in the face.

He eased the front door open without any trouble. His father never locked their doors, even when Finn was still living at home. As he stepped into the entryway, he was already bracing himself, and he remembered the reason that he had stayed in a hotel for his first few days in town. His entire body shook with how tightly-clenched his muscles were, his fingers twitching with tiny little quivers that inched their way up into his chest.

Logically, he knew that his father was gone. His heart hadn't quite caught up to his head yet.

Seeing the state of the house knocked his breath straight out of him, and he had to pause in the kitchen to take a breath. A half-full coffee cup still sat in the sink. Finn stared at it, long and hard. Then he turned away quickly, walking out of the kitchen and into the living room before his heartbeat could really spiral out of control.