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Having the midnight to 3AM shift at the 24-hour grocery store really wasn’t the worst gig in the world for a guy like Finch. He had late morning classes, meaning he could sleep plenty once he got home; he was a night owl anyway, so it wasn’t like he was royally screwing with his sleep schedule. It was usually pretty empty, so he didn’t have to deal with clogged register lines and grumpy customers who kept cutting each other to get to the front. All he had to do was the occasional restock, but otherwise he sat behind the register and read a book or caught up on homework, and it was peaceful.
Sure, it got a little lonely sometimes; Finch wouldn’t complain about another cashier or some occasional company. But it was what he’d signed up for, taking the shift no one else wanted, and for a supposed “bad shift” it was a pretty good gig. So he didn’t complain.
It was certainly a welcome change of pace, though, when his first and probably only customer on his shift one night wasn’t a red-eyed stoner or a worn insomniac fortysomething, but a really cute redhead who slammed down three bags of gummy worms, a stick of deodorant, and a fifty-pack of hair ties with the determination of someone playing a high-stakes game of Jeopardy.
Finch raised his eyebrows, scanning the candy and putting it into a bag. “Evening,” he said politely. “Or morning. Whatever you want to call it.”
The guy shrugged, flipping his wallet over and over in nimble fingers as Finch scanned his things. “Doesn’t matter to me. We’re all awake and probably shouldn’t be.”
Finch snorted. “Got that right.” He scanned the pack of hair ties. “Interesting grocery selection you’ve got here.”
Redhead gave a mock-offended snort, crossing his arms. “I thought you cashiers had seen it all. Aren’t you supposed to be completely unfazed by whatever I’m buying?”
Finch gestured to the empty store around them. “How many other customers do you see right now? I don’t exactly get a lot of action on this shift.” Redhead quirked an eyebrow, leaning on the conveyor belt.
“You always have this shift?” he asked, sounding genuinely interested. Finch nodded, pulling the bag off the rack and gesturing for Redhead to swipe his credit card.
“Yeah. No one else ever wants it, so I take it,” he said, offering no further explanation. Redhead nodded, putting his card back in his wallet. Finch handed him his bag, but rather than leaving, Redhead leaned on the counter again.
“You a student?” he asked, and Finch nodded.
“Junior. You?” he asked. Redhead nodded.
“Majoring in anthropology and minoring in creative fiction writing,” he said, drumming his fingers on the counter. “My parents wanted me to do something somewhat stable, but I just want to write science fiction, so this was the compromise.”
“You like science fiction?” Finch asked, leaning forward on his stool a little. Redhead nodded eagerly, smiling in a way that brought all the freckles on his face into focus. Finch felt a little dizzy.
“Yeah, I love it!” Redhead was saying. “I love the idea that there’s all this stuff out in the universe that has always existed alongside us, and we just haven’t--”
“Haven’t discovered it yet!” Finch interjected excitedly. He slapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry for interrupting,” he apologized, his face burning. “I just get excited about this stuff.”
Redhead grinned, his cheeks pink with excitement. “No, you’re fine! What do you--” He was interrupted by a buzzing on his phone. “Damnit,” he hissed. “I gotta go. Sorry. It was nice talking to you!” He winked, booking it out of the store before Finch even had a chance to respond.
He hadn’t even gotten the guy’s name.
Letting his head fall on the counter with a thunk, Finch groaned. So much for that, he thought miserably.
+
The next night, to Finch’s delight, Redhead came back around 2:30 in the morning. He marched determinedly up to the counter, this time carrying a bottle of dry shampoo, cornstarch, a box of Hot Pockets, and a pack of manila folders. Finch snorted, scanning the first item.
“And he’s back,” he quipped, earning another smile from Redhead that made him swoon a little. “Another eclectic selection of groceries,” Finch commented, tearing his eyes away from the little curl tucked behind Redhead’s ear and scanning the cornstarch.
Redhead shrugged sheepishly. “What can I say,” he said, offering no further explanation. “I didn’t get your name yesterday,” he added, and Finch’s heart did a little jump in his chest.
“Finch,” he said, and Redhead smiled.
“Finch?” he repeated, his eyes filled with mirth, and Finch blushed, looking down at his hands as they scanned the folders.
“My parents...really liked birds?” he offered sheepishly, and Redhead’s laugh was like explosions of color in the air.
“I’m Albert,” he offered, and Finch smiled, happy to finally put a name to the face.
“Albert,” he repeated back. “Nice to meet you, Albert.”
“And you as well, Finch,” Albert said, leaning on the counter like he had the night before and swiping his card when Finch scanned the last item. “So, Finch, what sort of science fiction do you like?”
Finch grinned. “Anything about space,” he said. “Star Trek, space exploration, aliens - all of it. It’s so big and unexplored. There could be anything out there, you know? Infinite possibilities.”
Albert had a strange sort of look in his eyes, but he seemed to snap out of it when Finch finished talking. “Oh, yeah! I love the idea of aliens too, but more the UFO-type, you know?” He waggled his fingers mysteriously. “Encounters with humans, shit that happens right here on the surface of our planet. Bigfoot and cryptids and stuff.” His eyes gained a manic sort of glint that made Finch a little weak. “The idea that all this stuff is happening right here on the surface of our planet, and we’re oblivious?”
Albert snapped his gaze away from Finch and laughed nervously. “Sorry. You probably think I’m a massive dork.” Finch shrugged, handing him his bag.
“Takes one to know one,” he offered, and Albert’s grin was like the sun.
“I suppose it does, Finch,” he said, playing with the straps of the grocery bag and making no move to leave. Finch’s chest did a little jump when Albert said his name, like it was something special.
They talked for another thirty minutes until Finch had to restock and Albert had to leave, and Finch just thanked whatever deity sat above that no one else was in the store to watch him restock crackers with a stupid smile on his face the entire rest of his shift.
+
On the third day, Albert bought a disposable camera, ballpoint pens, saltine crackers, and dragonfruit.
“What do you do with all this random stuff?” Finch asked teasingly, holding up the dragonfruit gingerly to type in the number on the sticker.
“Pentagrams,” Albert said with a completely straight face, and Finch snorted, tying the fruit in its own plastic bag before putting it with the other groceries.
“Yeah, I’m sure,” he said, scanning the crackers. “You seem to forget a lot of groceries. This is the third night you’ve been here at this ungodly hour of the morning.”
Albert shrugged. “Maybe I just like talking to my favorite cashier,” he said lightly, leaning over the counter on his elbows and smiling flirtatiously. Finch felt his ears turn red.
“I’m the only cashier on this shift,” he managed to get out without stammering, and Albert shrugged nonchalantly.
“That just means I’m lucky,” he said, and Finch rolled his eyes, biting back a grin.
“Yeah, yeah,” he teased, handing Albert his bag. “You’re just here for the short lines.”
“Aw damn,” Albert pretended to pout. “You’ve got me there.” Finch put a hand to his chest in mock betrayal.
“I’m offended,” he said, and Albert laughed, dramatically taking Finch’s other hand between his own and clutching it to his chest.
“Darling, please, I’ll do anything!” he gasped, and Finch’s brain short-circuited just a little at the way Albert said darling. He giggled, sure his cheeks were as red as Albert’s hair.
“You’re a dork,” he laughed, and Albert shrugged, dropping Finch’s hand after a moment and turning a little pink himself.
“Takes one to know one,” he teased, reusing Finch’s words from the other day, and Finch gaped.
“Oh, you bastard. ”
+
Albert came back the next night, and the next night, and the next, and his purchases just kept getting stranger.
Russet potatoes. Windex. Makeup brushes. Sourdough bread. Spice packets. Scrubby sponges. Miniature notebooks. Scented candles. Kumquats. Items from every aisle of the store, no two related and never the same thing twice. Albert would charge into the store with the conviction of a predator on a mission, dash around the store for two minutes, and slam them down at Finch’s register with a proud grin like a cat that had brought back something random from the outdoors as a gift. Albert shopped like he was in a hurry, sure, but then he’d stay and talk, and their conversations just kept getting longer and longer.
Finch learned that Albert was an only child, but he was really close with his cousins; that he could make five different types of bread but he was hopeless with cupcakes; he liked folk music and show tunes but hated EDM, his favorite season was winter, and he was obsessed with reality shows on the Discovery channel. He loved all superheroes except for Batman, because his ex-boyfriend had been obsessed with the comics and was really obnoxious about it; he played guitar in his spare time, but he never performed for people.
Finch never noticed the time passing; miraculously, customers never seemed to come into the store, and their conversations never got interrupted. Once, Albert came in ten minutes after Finch’s shift started, and they talked until fifteen minutes before it ended. Finch’s watch timer startled them both, and Albert ran a hand through his hair, blinking.
“Jeez, have I really been here two and a half hours?” he groaned, stretching. Finch nodded.
“Guess so,” he said, stifling a yawn. He peeked into Albert’s bag as he hopped off his stool to stretch. Tissues, a random CD, fruit snacks, a hat, and Sno-Balls from the pastry aisle. “Good thing nothing in here is perishable.”
Albert nodded. “Yeah. Good thing.” He took the bag from Finch, meeting his eyes as their fingers brushed and letting his hands linger just a bit longer than they needed to. “See you, Finch.”
“S-see you,” Finch stuttered, smiling as Albert walked away and then letting his head fall on the counter as soon as he was out of sight.
God, he was so fucked.
+
They were at the counter a few days later, Albert sitting on the conveyor belt while they split a pack of just-purchased powdered donuts (and Finch definitely not staring at his ass, no sir) when he thought to ask something he was surprised hadn’t come up yet.
“Hey, why are you always up at this hour anyway?”
Albert quirked an eyebrow. “Hmm?”
Finch shrugged, popping another donut into his mouth and swallowing before he asked again. “I mean, I’m up this late because of work and because I’m a night owl regardless. What about you?” He brushed his hand off on his apron. “You’ve been here every day for the past two weeks. Can’t be just because of me,” he joked.
Finch was sure he imagined the light blush on Albert’s cheeks at his remark. “I have a really weird sleep schedule,” Albert answered with a shrug. “When I was a kid I started getting really bad nightmares around this time every night, and they never really went away, so I kind of just stopped sleeping between midnight and four in the morning?” He spun on the conveyor belt so his legs were crossed and he was facing Finch. “It’s routine for me now; I’ll get home from class and nap in the evening, do a lot of my schoolwork this time of night, walk around, and then go back to sleep for a few hours until my morning class.”
Finch winced. “How did that work with 8AM classes?” he asked, and Albert hissed.
“It didn’t,” he said with a little laugh. “But I haven’t had any since freshman year, so it’s fine.” He played with his hands. “I get a lot of my work done in class, anyway, so I spend a lot of my nights exploring and reading and things like that.”
“Sounds kinda lonely,” Finch remarked, and Albert shrugged.
“It was for a while,” he mused. “Not so much recently.” He tapped his fingers on top of Finch’s hand, causing a startled happiness inside of him.
“This job used to be really lonely,” Finch said, meeting Albert’s eyes. “I get what you mean. You know how few people come in here between midnight and three? Too few.”
Albert smiled. “Glad I decided to pop in then, huh?”
Finch shook his head with a fond smile. “You have no idea.”
Albert’s face softened, and he reached up. “You’ve got powdered sugar,” he murmured, brushing his thumb across Finch’s cheek and causing his breath to hitch ever so slightly. Neither’s gaze left the other, Albert’s hand lingering on Finch’s face much longer than it needed to. Finch felt like he was falling, tipping forward and tumbling dizzyingly fast, and he never wanted it to stop.
Albert’s phone dinged and shattered the moment, and Finch’s cheek felt warm where Albert’s thumb had been. Albert sighed. “Stupid calendar,” he muttered. “Nothing important.” He sighed. “I should go, though. It’s late.”
Finch nodded reluctantly. “Alright. See you, Albie.”
Albert smiled shyly. “Albie?”
Finch caught himself on the nickname, burning with embarrassment. “Sorry, it’s dumb I don’t know where it came fro--”
“No!” Albert cut him off, and Finch looked at him in surprise. “I like it,” Albert admitted, his face flushing. “And I’ve kinda been calling you Fi in my head so it’s even, right?”
He has a nickname for me. Finch blinked. “I like that,” he said softly. “No one’s ever given me a nickname before.”
Albert smiled. “Is it selfish that I’m glad to be the first?” he asked, and Finch shook his head with a smile.
“I’m glad you’re the first,” he said, before he could stop himself, and when Albert smiled that smile Finch just felt himself falling farther and farther with no hope of ever coming back.
+
“And that’s how I ended up in the Queens Museum of Art at two in the morning,” Albert finished, leaving Finch weak with laughter, leaning on his elbows.
He’d given up on professionalism at this point, and he was sitting up on the counter with his legs dangling while Albert leaned across from him on the other counter, arms crossed and posture easy. It was around two, and it was drizzing outside; Albert had come in with damp hair and raindrops speckling his freckles, and Finch had felt the need to physically restrain himself from brushing them off of his face. He shook his head.
“That’s insane,” he giggled with disbelief. “That exhibit is so cool, though. The model of New York? I love going to see it.”
Albert nodded. “I’d love to be able to get down there, you know?” he said. “Just walk around in the model. Walk on the rivers, look in the little windows, watch the lights come on at night every twenty minutes.” Finch nodded.
“You feel like you’re in another world,” he said, and Albert nodded.
“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice soft. “Like you’ve been invited to see something special. Something no one else has seen before.”
“That’s why you like writing, isn’t it?” Finch asked suddenly, and Albert looked at him curiously.
“What do you mean, Fi?” he asked. Finch shrugged.
“You talk all the time about this obsession with parallel worlds,” he explained. “You love the idea of there being a whole other world out there, existing side by side with ours even though we don’t know about it.” He waved his hands meaninglessly, unable to convey the meaning he felt. “But that’s why you like to write, isn’t it? You’re the author, and you get to create other worlds and watch them exist side by side with the real one, and they never touch, but you get to see everything that happens anyway.”
Albert had a curious expression on his face, strange and focused and delighted all at the same time. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, Fi, you’ve got it exactly right.”
Finch blushed. “Really?” he asked, and Albert nodded.
“Yeah,” he said simply. “Really.”
Humming happily. Finch turned to grab Albert’s groceries. “Well, here, I figure I should give you these before you end up forgetting them behind the counter.” He turned back around, the bag in his hands, but before he could say anything else Albert had leaned forward to close the distance between them and pressed their lips together.
Finch’s brain skittered to a halt and restarted again, scrambling to catch up with what was happening. Albert kissed him soft but almost frantic, like he was afraid at any moment that the opportunity would be taken away. It was over before Finch could react, ending almost as quickly as it began, and then Albert was taking the bag from between them, his eyes filling with panic.
“Sorry,” he mumbled, his eyes cast down. “I had to. I just - sorry.”
“Albie,” Finch started, his voice catching, but Albert was backing away hurriedly and sprinting out the door of the grocery store, leaving Finch sitting on the counter with his hands empty and his lips buzzing with the ghost of a kiss he wasn’t quite sure had even happened at all.
+
Albert didn’t show up the next night. Finch tried to deny the sinking in his chest, but the store felt empty, and he spent his whole shift unable to concentrate on anything, trying to ignore the cracks working their way into his heart, growing wider with every second that passed with no Albert coming through the front doors.
+
He didn’t come the next night, either.
+
A week had passed with no sign of Albert, and Finch tried not to cry that night at the thought of even having to go into work with the knowledge that Albert wouldn’t be there. He got dressed slowly, grabbing his apron from by the door and getting ready to leave. His roommate, who was still up working on a project, eyed him with pity but said nothing, and Finch bit back tears, shoving his hands in his pockets and marching to the store.
No one showed up during his shift, as usual. He stared blankly at the counter, book discarded, tracing lines and meaningless shapes with his finger. He couldn’t figure out what was wrong with him; he’d managed just fine being alone on shift before he’d met Albert. Why couldn’t he revert now?
Bitterly, he slammed his hand down on the counter, wishing he had someone to talk to about his broken heart but knowing the only person he really wanted to talk to was the person who’d broken it.
After what felt like eons, his shift was over, and he left the store as his relief arrived, not bothering to say hello. He stuffed his hands in his hoodie pocket underneath his apron, staring down at the ground as muscle memory led him back towards his apartment and not really looking where he was going until he bumped into someone, stumbling on the sidewalk.
“Sorry--” he mumbled, cutting off when he looked up and saw Albert, wide-eyed and clutching a now slightly smashed bouquet of flowers. “Oh,” Finch snapped, sounding harsher than he’d thought he would. “Sorry. I’ll get out of your way.” Hating the way his voice wavered at the end of the sentence, he moved to go around Albert, only to be stopped with a hand on his arm.
“Wait.” Albert’s voice shook slightly, giving Finch pause. “They’re for you,” Albert mumbled, shoving them in Finch’s direction without looking at him. Finch’s heart stopped.
“They’re what?” he breathed, taking them slowly. Albert shrugged, still not meeting his eyes.
“Look,” he said, “what I did last week was really shitty. I shouldn’t have freaked and booked it without giving you an explanation, and I definitely shouldn’t have avoided you without saying anything.” His voice trembled. “I feel really fucking bad about it, because I really,” he took a shaky breath, “ really like you, and I know that I ruined everything by doing that. So I wanted to find you and say how sorry I was, and then I can leave because I know you probably never want to see me again anyway--”
Finch dropped the flowers unceremoniously and grabbed Albert’s face in both hands, kissing him fiercely before he could finish talking. Albert inhaled sharply before sighing, winding both arms around Finch’s waist and kissing him back. Finch took a step closer, pressing their bodies together and tangling one of his hands in Albert’s hair, soft and a little damp like he’d just showered. Albert hummed, tilting his head and fisting a hand in the front of Finch’s shirt, and the feeling of kissing him was so good that Finch never wanted it to stop.
They broke for air, framed beneath a streetlight like something out of a movie. Finch bent and retrieved the flowers from the ground, dusting them off a little. “Sorry,” he mumbled, and Albert just laughed, pushing the bouquet out of the way to kiss Finch again, sweet and drawn out like honey.
“You’re a dork,” he murmured against his lips, not quite pulling away.
“Takes one to know one,” they said to each other at the same time, eyes meeting, and they laughed so hard they almost fell over, leaning on each other for support, stumbling around the New York sidewalk at just past three in the morning full of love.
+
The next time Albert came to visit Finch at work, he asked another question.
“So you never explained what all those weird things you kept buying were for,” Finch murmured, playing with Albert’s fingers where their hands were tangled over the register. Albert laughed self-consciously.
“I, uh,” he started awkwardly, “I saw this really cute cashier when I was out walking around New York at night, and I needed excuses to keep talking to him every night, so I’d run into the store and grab the first thing I saw in every aisle as an excuse to come to his register?”
Finch gaped. “You absolute moron, ” he breathed.
Albert just smiled, humming when Finch kissed him hard over the counter.
Having the midnight to 3AM gig at the grocery wasn’t a bad gig, Finch thought. Not bad at all.