With every text I received throughout the weekend, my heart beat all the higher. I had to try my very hardest not to open my messages at the dinner table, because I was sure to get asked why I grinned so much if my parents saw any of it. 

I’d told him to text me more, message me whenever he wanted to, and he, quite literally, had taken my advice to heart.

It started simple, the day after his confession. Well, was it a confession, if I’d practically forced him to tell me? Asking him whether he liked me — what was I thinking? 

He’d started with simple small talk, asking me what I was up to, and asking questions about homework after I told him I was working on them. We had homework?, his message would read, and with a big smile on my face, I reminded him. 

My fingers trembled the entire time, and whenever I received a text, knowing it was from Oliver. Seeing his name on my screen made my heart jitter in a way I hadn’t known before, and even though I wanted to pretend to be busy, I couldn’t help but answer right away. 

It was Sunday night, after a whole day and some late night messages of us sharing funny reels with each other, and with Oliver mostly sending me cat videos, when my heart was thrown into an even more intense jumble than before. 

I didn’t even know it was possible, since our conversations were still kind of dry, his texts even more awkward than talking to him in person. 

[20:32: Oliver: what are u up to?]

[20:32: Finn: just laying in bed, watching videos. And you?]

[20:35: Oliver: at the gym]

My heart stuttered — did he text me from the gym, in-between every set? Did he pause his sets just for me? The thoughts alone made something come over me.

[20:36: Finn: can I see?]

I wasn’t sure what I was expecting when I asked what I asked. It definitely wasn’t this … 

Almost did I drop my phone when the photo reached me, heat rushing up into my face. 

There he was, in all his beauty, sexiness, with that body of his, standing in the middle of the gym — and I could barely breathe. Between two machines, a giant mirror in front of him, did he pose for the mirror. 

It was barely a pose, really. His face was hidden behind his cracked phone, his other hand held onto his water bottle. He wore his dark baseball cap, over-ear-headphones atop it, the lighting too perfect as it shadowed and illuminated the freshly trained muscles on his arm and shoulder in the black tank-top he wore. And then those damn joggers, those gray sweatpants — I squeaked, quite literally, squeaked. 

My feet jittered up and down before I reached for my blanket, hiding myself beneath it completely. 

He’s so, so, so — dreamy! His shoulders so broad, his waist so much smaller, giving him that perfect triangle nacho-shaped back everyone always wanted; and it looked so, so, so good! 

Completely head over heels over that damn photo, staring at it for eternity, zooming in and out of it only to squeal all the more, I had completely forgotten to answer. Another message of his reached me, popping up atop the photo I stared at, and my heart exploded. 

[20:42: Oliver: can I have a picture of you?]

After rocking back and forth in my bed, too overwhelmed by Oliver’s picture, I was now completely frozen in place. I pushed my blanket off my face, snuggled into it, instead, and felt the continuing heat stuck on my face — a photo, when I’m like this? Bright red, I was, and I knew right away as I opened my camera, staring at my blushing face.

“And my hair is a mess!” I poked at a few strands standing out to all sides after rolling it all across my pillow, electrically charged from all the excitement. “Oh, no, no, no—“ 

Frantically, I began scrolling through my camera roll, hoping to find even a single, acceptable selfie I might have taken, but there was nothing. Most of the pictures I did have were with Matt, or there were pictures of cats, of food, of memes. I barely took any photos of myself! 

“Guess I have no choice,” I pouted in embarrassment as I ran my fingers through my hair, wishing for it to fix it even the slightest bit. With a shy smile, I took a quick picture of myself, and sent it right away — too awkward to double-check it, to nervous to even keep the chat open.

But his reaction arrived almost instantly.

With a heart, he reacted to my photo. 

And a text reached me only mere moments later, and the words I read stormed my stomach with butterflies.

[20:46: Oliver: you’re cute]

[20:46: Oliver: I’m saving it as my background]

[20:46: Finn: Don’t do that!!!! Thats so embarrassing!!]

[20:47: Oliver: but I like it]

[20:47: Oliver: and I like you]

[20:47: Finn: you’re getting way too bold now!!]

[20:50: Oliver: sorry…]

I could practically hear his disappointed voice through the message he sent me. Unsure of how to even respond to his sudden offensive, I was left staring at our messages, practically flabbergasted by his sudden courage. 

Too shy to respond, but craving more of Oliver, I decided to search for him on most of my social media apps, only for instagram to recommend him to me as if it had known. Whether it was because I had his number, or because I’d searched for the name Oliver in a million different ways, I didn’t know. 

But there he was, his tiny profile picture a similar photo to the one he’d sent me, of him in a tight-fitted, dark shirt, face hidden, biceps on full display. 

There wasn’t any more information on his bio. He didn’t have many followers, either, didn’t follow all that many people, and he barely had any posts. I did post photos, here and there, but mostly when I was out with friends, or random things I liked. Occasionally, there’d be a photo of myself, but most of them were much older; dating back almost two years, in a time where I’d hoped to find friends online, or more. Silly me. 

It felt as if I learned a lot about Oliver by stalking his instagram alone. He didn’t delete any pictures, and he was tagged in quite a few, too — those not posted by him but by his friends seemed to tell a lot more about him than his own photos. 

“Hm…” His latest picture was that of a deep-orange sunset, photo taken from the inside of a bus, and posted about four months ago. A field stared right at me, and there was no caption, no nothing; just the photo, and maybe like three likes. With a gulp, I followed him, liked the picture, and moved on. 

The next picture after was of him, taken by someone else. 

Seven months ago, it stated. 

He leaned against the metal railing of a staircase, perhaps near a park or some other public area. A tree behind him cast a shadow onto him, and he didn’t even look at the camera. Leisurely, his arms hung onto the railing, muscles shown off, and a blank face. His hair was much shorter in this photo, as if he’d had a buzz-cut only weeks before that. 

And here I thought his hair was short, now — it was quite long compared to his hair in the past. All of it suited him, though. Another photo of a landscape, a selfie taken at the gym, a photo taken of his running shoes in the midst of a jog; all blurry. 

He only had about nine posts. I liked all of them, even the ones from years ago that only showed his hand holding onto a controller as he played a video game. Then, out of sheer curiosity, I moved on to the photos he was tagged in; and that was a completely different story. 

I gulped when I saw the sheer amount of photos that appeared to be taken at parties, during the night, or in big groups. They didn’t feel like Oliver at all, and when I clicked on them to get a better view, my heart jittered in an odd sensation. 

Was it jealousy, confusion, or what was it?

I recognized his friend group right away. In one photo, one of his friends wrapped his arm around Oliver’s shoulder, who didn’t seem to care much about it. Oliver carried a beer bottle in one hand, a glimmering cigarette in the other. His red knuckles forced goosebumps onto my skin. 

“I never saw him smoke,” I mumbled to myself. “He doesn’t smell, either. Did he quit?”

But I wasn’t going to ask, of course not. 

Photos taken of him on a messy couch, couch table filled with beers, a pizza carton, and all the more mess, a girl clinging onto him way too closely, though he paid no attention to her, staring at his own phone. I gulped, and it made me uncomfortable. 

The girl had posted it, it seemed, and grinned at the camera, posing with peace signs right next to Oliver. A simple caption made my heart cramp up in a confusing jealousy I didn’t expect. 

[he always ignores me, but he doesn’t know I love bad boys]

It made me cringe all the same, but it upset me all the more. That girl was part of that odd friend group of Oliver’s, with piercings, pitch-black hair, and heavy boots. Beneath the heavy, dark makeup, she was really pretty. 

“That pic is over a year ago,” I buzzed to myself. “What’s wrong with me? Why do I care? Of course he’s had girlfriends before…” And yet, as I tried to calm myself, I couldn’t help but pout and bite my lower lip, almost as if I was disappointed.

The Oliver I had found tagged in pictures wasn’t the Oliver I saw. It confused me. 

Of course, in my confusion and sentimentalities, he texted me, reminding me of how adorable, how soft and insecure he could be; and how sure of himself all the same. I’d always thought he was shy, but seeing how straight-forward he’d become … maybe I was wrong. 

[21:24: Oliver: I like this a lot]

[21:24: Finn: hm?]

[21:25: Oliver: texting you… talking. It’s nice]

[21:25: Oliver: sometimes I dont know what to say]

[21:25: Oliver: you make me nervous]

[21:29: Finn: you’re so silly]

[21:29: Oliver: do I make you blush?]

[21:29: Oliver: you take longer to respond when you get shy]

He’d totally read me like a book, surprising even myself. Was I that easy to figure out? It robbed me of all my senses, the way he messaged me without being embarrassed! Or maybe he was, but he could hide it easily since I couldn’t see his face. His ears probably burned up red underneath those nice headphones, and h probably stared at his phone, all dreamy and lost in thought, while he drove home from the gym! 

I didn’t dare answer, didn’t even know what to say. Instead, I reacted to the gym photo he’d sent me with a heart, just like he had reacted to mine.

[21:28: Finn: you look great. I can see you’ve been working hard]

[21:30: Oliver: ill send you all the photos you want]

I couldn’t handle it any longer. Every text he sent me robbed me of my breath. 

[21:31: Finn: im going to sleep!! See you at school!]

And when I’d long fallen asleep, he’d sent me messages I’d get to see early in the morning, panicking me all the more. 

[00:11: Oliver: im picking you up in the morning]

[00:11: Oliver: lets walk to school together]

[00:11: Oliver: ill bring you breakfast … you like sweet stuff, right?]