Archive of Our Own

One Week Ago

Tapping his thighs in a pattern that wasn’t particularly rhythmical, Albert waited in his dorm for Race. Finch had just left to go and talk to JoJo alone, and he intended to send Race over here to hang out with Albert in the meantime. 

After the events of the morning so far, Albert actually really wanted to talk to someone, too. He needed to discuss what happened and organize his thoughts, because holy fuck was it amazing. 

Let’s not forget ‘half-terrifying’, right? Albert’s mind supplied, and he shoved away the thought. 

His brain had been, and clearly still was, the source of his… frankly conflicting actions towards Finch over the past week. Albert would say something nice to Finch, usually without thinking, then an internal alarm would go off to warn him against committing to it. Unfortunately, his automatic reaction was to do just that and attempt to take back his nice words. It worked sometimes, all because of one persistent fear: What if Finch hates me for saying that? 

That dumb fear had so many other what-ifs tied to it, mostly all ending in losing an extremely important friendship with his best friend. Even so, Albert wasn’t someone to dwell on those scenarios and spin fake, likely unrealistic, narratives. No, he tried to ignore it, tried to ignore the half-terrifying part of having a crush because that was much easier. Right? 

Right… his inner voice drawled, annoyingly sarcastic. 

The door opened a couple minutes later — Finch had to explain what he wanted to do with their best friends, after all — by Race, who did a quick double take at something in the hallway before properly entering. He closed the door and shot Albert a bright grin. 

“Good morning, Al,” Race greeted, his tone nearly musical in nature. Not needing permission, he dropped into Albert’s spinning desk chair and wheeled over between the two beds. 

“Morning, Racer.” The reply was short, though not unkind; Albert didn’t want to get stuck in small talk. He readjusted to sit cross-legged, but the moment he went to speak again, Race beat him to it. 

“Why’d you give Finch your hoodie? You guys have never shared clothes, which means something happened,” he concluded. He suddenly lit up, as if struck by an idea, and wheeled closer to Finch’s desk. 

“What are you doing?” Albert asked — reasonably, he thought. 

“Evening the playing field,” his best friend muttered like that made perfect sense. 

Race searched the desk area with a critical eye, then he leaned down and proudly held up an article of clothing: Finch’s archery jacket. No sooner had he found it did he toss it over to Albert, who caught it in surprise. 

Satisfied with his work well done, Race said, “There you go. An equal trade of goods.” 

Albert just stared at Finch’s jacket. “It must’ve fallen off his chair. He couldn’t see it earlier so I just gave him one of my hoodies.” 

“Why would he need it though? Was he going outside or something?” 

“Yeah, we were.” 

Brief silence. With careful movements, Albert lifted the jacket into the air to fold it in half, then just draped it over his thighs. He didn’t know what else to do with it, despite the chance that Race was probably expecting him to wear it. Albert would ask Finch for permission before doing that — if he ever actually asked. Which was a serious maybe. 

“…To do what?” Race eventually prompted. 

“To watch the sunrise. Together.” 

Stating it aloud brought with it a rush of memories, and Albert’s lips upturned into a smile. Almost inevitably, his gaze fell down to Finch’s jacket, and mental images of Finch wearing Albert’s purple hoodie this morning made him all the more giddy. He was really glad that this jacket had fallen from view earlier. 

“Oh, you’re smiling,” Race teased, leaning forward eagerly in the spinning chair. It was made a little harder when Race had his feet propped up on the edge of Albert’s bed, but he managed it just fine. “Was your morning with Fi that fantastic?” 

Albert’s nod was involuntary, but still true. “I wanted to talk about it, but I also just needed to say that, uh…” His gaze returned back to Race. “I have a crush on Finch.” 

Race just hummed with a nod and smile of his own. 

“Aren’t you surprised?” Albert couldn’t help but question the mild reaction. He’d been expecting excitement or something generally more energetic. 

“Nope,” Race replied, popping the ‘p’ sound in the word. 

“Okay, how?” 

“Have you heard yourself all week?” 

“What —?” 

“Come on, Al. It’s pretty obvious.” Race tipped his head forward knowingly. When Albert said nothing, his best friend shook his head. “Look. When you’re basically calling a friend attractive every few hours then I can’t really draw any other conclusions about your feelings towards him.” 

That sentence was clear as day, but it made Albert’s eyes go wide regardless. “I’m what?” 

Exasperated, Race said, “You cannot be that clueless. Snap out of it, man.” To accentuate the point, Race literally snapped his fingers in front of Albert’s face. Albert smacked his hand away. 

It did help, actually. Albert knew that Race wasn’t wrong: everything Albert complimented about Finch boiled down to ‘I like this about you’, at their cores. And sure, friends complimented friends often, but Albert very rarely did that himself. But in only one week, he set a new record, kind of unable to stop himself from complimenting Finch a few times a day. He wasn’t complaining about that, and it wasn’t really a surprise that Race had noticed something so out of the ordinary. 

“Wait,” Albert said, a realization forming, “if what I’ve been saying — and implying, I guess — is so blatantly obvious, then why hasn’t Finch said anything about it?” 

Race shrugged. “Maybe he just thinks you’re being extra nice now.” 

“I wasn’t an asshole before,” Albert said in defense, to which Race raised his hands in instant surrender. 

“I didn’t say that, you did. Plus, if I was in Finch’s position and you started calling me hot, I’d definitely reconsider our friendship… and probably fire some lines right back.” Race sent him an exaggerated wink. 

Albert rolled his eyes. “Shut the hell up.” 

“All that is beside the point anyway.” Race brought the conversation back on track, even while distractingly spinning in the desk chair now. Albert’s hands idly messed with the cuff of the archery jacket in his lap while he listened to his best friend. “Since Finch didn’t say anything except ‘thank you’ about your flirting —”

“Flirting —?!” 

“— then maybe he didn’t know, at the time, that he likes you back. And yes, I mean that he almost certainly likes you back now after the morning you had together, even though you haven’t told me how it went yet.” He paused spinning to point at Albert. “That smile of yours is damning.” 

How cute to have a specific smile that means you’re in love, Albert’s mind cooed. He dipped his head, unsure how to process that. 

“Also,” Race continued, “it’s not only a matter of Fi not speaking up. You haven’t said shit either, Al.” 

…He was right, unfortunately. As loath as he was to admit it, Albert had yet to explicitly confess. But wasn’t that just how these kinds of things went? You danced around your feelings with your crush until something got pushed the right way and suddenly the floor was left open. It was natural to hesitate, to panic, even, at the thought of uttering ‘I love you’ in roundabout ways, or initiating a brush of lips on lips. 

That’s complete bullshit. 

Albert just wanted to say it and act, not be burdened with fear and stuck with lingering glances and heartfelt words that meant more than friendly admiration. 

“Yeah, that’s how it goes, isn’t it?” Albert retorted unhappily, bundling Finch’s jacket closer to his chest mindlessly. “You did that with your boyfriend, just staring longingly at him across the library for what, two months? But then he finally spoke to you first.” 

“It was bullshit,” Race said earnestly, an echo of Albert’s thoughts. “And I don’t want you to go through that same waiting game, too.” He dropped his feet to the ground, an air of excitement growing around him as he grinned. “How about I be your wingman? I can help you get with Finch — wait a second, do you think Fi has ever been a wingman before? He really should, he deserves it more than anyone.” 

Albert laughed alongside his best friend. He felt lighter than he had all week, similar to when he was sitting on the porch roof and wrapped around Finch. When he was with his person. It was refreshing after their conversation. 

Before Race left, Albert promised to explain everything that had happened on his and Finch’s sunrise-watching trip that morning sometime later. Perfectly timed, the next door over (JoJo and Race’s dorm) opened when Race opened the one here. Albert had all of maybe five seconds to realize what was still laying in his lap and dart up from his bed, hastily draping the archery jacket over Finch’s desk chair. 

He’d acted just in the nick of time as Finch walked into the room, still wearing Albert’s hoodie and looking goddamn stunning in it. 

“I just saw your jacket on the ground over here,” Albert explained as he flattened out the fabric. 

“Thanks for picking it up,” Finch replied with a sweet smile that twisted Albert’s insides. 

Their day carried on in a not-quite-so-normal manner, perhaps with more stolen glances and small smiles. Neither Albert or Finch mentioned the purple hoodie or the archery jacket. 

Today

Albert loaded his backpack into the trunk of Finch’s car, placing it beside Race and JoJo’s own bags and Finch’s fancy (to Albert) soft bow case. It stored all his archery equipment and gear, and Finch even promised to try and explain all of it to quell Albert, Race, and JoJo’s curiosities. 

Their college had a small archery club that Finch had joined during his first year and was still a part of. He and his club members had designated safety lockers for their equipment and special permissions for arranging practices, both of which Albert had never actually seen. The competition today that Finch was attending had been suggested by the club’s president, but Finch had been bummed to learn that no one else could make it. 

For a Saturday that should’ve been fairly free, Albert, Race, and JoJo wanted to come watch and support Finch. They’d only half-succeeded at making time in their schedules for it. All three of them had to bring homework to work on during the competition because their various deadlines were merciless. 

Closing the trunk and rounding to the right side of the car, Albert found JoJo leaning against the door and looking down at his watch. He glanced up when he heard Albert. 

“What’s taking them so long?” JoJo questioned, then tapped at his watch. “Finch knows and emphasized himself, several times, that we can’t be late to his competition.” 

Albert glanced up to their dorm building from their position in the parking lot. “It’s definitely not his fault, Jo. I think Race is holding him up because of outfit choices or some shit.” 

As if on cue, the closest door to the outside of the dormitories opened. Finch rushed out first, apologizing without an ounce of annoyance in his tone, and Race followed more sedately, but also not in a bad mood and apologizing himself. Albert traded a quick look with JoJo — they weren’t expecting their friends to be in good spirits after the delay — before the four friends climbed into the car. 

“Race,” JoJo sighed out from the seat behind Albert, “did you even change your outfit? All that time up in our rooms, prolonging us from leaving, and you didn’t even pick out something else to wear?” 

“‘All that time’ — please, it was like five minutes,” Race told him dismissively. He didn’t deny that he was, in fact, wearing the same clothes. 

“It was seven,” JoJo immediately corrected, and Albert snorted. 

“Whatever,” Race drawled. He leaned forward, bracing his arms on the back of the driver’s seat where Finch was sorting out the GPS. “After a lengthy back-and-forth, I convinced Fi to put in earrings. Aren’t they pretty?” 

Looking to his left, Albert, yet again, admired the sight of Finch. He was still wearing his competition jersey under his archery jacket, but he added a pair of earrings now; specifically, they were small silver hoops. Only one of them was visible since Albert was seeing Finch’s profile, but Race nudged Finch to get him to turn to the rest of the car’s occupants. 

God, he was handsome. And even his slightly self-conscious smile was perfect. Albert could’ve stared at his best friend all day, except they didn’t have time for that so he managed to string together some words in response. 

“You look great,” Albert complimented sincerely, smiling back and successfully easing Finch’s strained one. 

“So do you.” Finch went as far as giving Albert an obvious full-body onceover, whose outfit was something he’d wear any day of the week. 

It did not make his cheeks burn, nope, no way. 

JoJo casually caught Finch’s attention and directed it back down to the GPS, asking how long the drive would be. While they were distracted, Race shot Albert an enthusiastic thumbs-up. He had been Albert’s dutiful wingman all week, and apparently decided that today, he’d help out Finch and dress him up a bit. Of course Albert liked Finch no matter how he looked, but the earrings were really just another opportunity to compliment him again. (Albert already complimented Finch after his best friend had gotten dressed for the day, more attracted to the competition wear than he was expecting.) 

The flirting had stayed genuine for Albert after their trip for stargazing, and it became transactional for Finch after their trip to watch the sunrise. Albert took what Finch said that morning to heart: “We both said something nice about each other, and that can be all.” He suspected Finch was doing the same thing. 

Although, that latter part was really stinging recently, if Albert was being honest. Neither he or Finch did more than flirt with each other. They were stuck in a weird spot of blatant attraction and non-confession, and at least for Albert’s part, he still wasn’t sure how to break through that barrier. 

It’ll come up, Albert told himself. You just need to find the right moment. 

A minute or so later, Finch drove out of the campus parking lot and started en route to the competition grounds about an hour and a half away. Albert fought with Race over choosing the music, then Finch declared that JoJo would handle it instead. Race pouted, but Albert was just happy to prevent Race from controlling the music. What were best friends for, if not to torment one another from time to time? 

Despite their minor hold up at the dorms, the friends managed to arrive a little earlier than anticipated, much to JoJo’s relief. He was a stickler for schedules and time restraints. 

They parked and collected their things from the trunk. Albert, Race, and JoJo agreed that they looked ridiculous bringing in backpacks, and also agreed that Finch looked badass with his archery equipment. He signed in, got a number (“18, like your birthday, Al! Must be good luck.”), and the four of them headed to the range. 

This competition was being held outdoors, and according to Finch, the indoor competitions would be starting later in the month. It was early fall now, and the mornings were already chilly with brisk breezes. Finch commented about the wind, dismayed that it would probably mess up his shots today. 

“That makes sense, since we’re outside,” JoJo said thoughtfully. “How do you work around it?” 

“What is the physics of it, exactly?” Race pitched in, genuinely excited to hear about it because he could definitely understand it. Albert didn’t envy him or his smarts. 

Finch turned to Race with a proud expression. “I actually had to learn all about the physics of shooting when I was younger, so I can answer that confidently.” 

JoJo groaned, and Albert bumped Finch’s shoulder, saying, “Please don’t bore us with science and/or math talk, Fi.” 

“But it’s not boring,” Finch protested lightly. Albert raised a skeptical brow. 

“Tell me about it — you idiots don’t have to listen.” Race tried to regain Finch’s attention, and the group broke into bickering as they arrived at Finch’s lane on the archery range. 

He was mostly just laughing at the other three, his smile catching and occupying Albert’s gaze. JoJo and Race dropped their backpacks and continued to argue about physics, and Albert placed his own bag down while watching Finch lift his bow case off his shoulder. Before Finch could unzip it, someone in the next lane called his name. 

“Adrian! What a surprise to see you here.” 

The four friends lapsed into silence and followed the sound of the voice. Albert was stunned by the sight of Finch’s twin brother — he somehow never knew that Finch and Dominic were identical twins. Seeing someone who was basically an exact copy of his crush was jarring, to say the least. The twins’ competition jerseys were in different styles, and Albert idly wondered if Dominic had a matching archery jacket to Finch’s. Dominic was already donning various gear pieces and had left his prepped bow back with two people that he’d presumably come here with. 

“Dominic.” Finch greeted with far less enthusiasm, standing up to face him. Between the pair, Finch was a solid inch or so taller. 

“I can’t believe I didn’t realize you’d be here,” Dominic said conversationally. “No one came up to ask me about the Cortez twins being in competition today, which is unusual… especially considering you and I are clearly the youngest here at nineteen.” He wasn’t wrong; surveying the archery range, Albert guessed the average ages to be closer to thirty-something. 

Finch hummed dryly in response. His brother wasn’t deterred. 

“How are you? How’s college over in… where is it, again? I get all those New York City boroughs mixed up so easily,” Dominic asked, walking a little closer. A strong urge to step up to Finch’s side rose in Albert, but he refrained for now. 

“Manhattan,” Finch replied shortly, and Dominic nodded. 

“Right, right. I always forget.” 

“If it’s any consolation, I don’t give two shits about wherever you are now, Dom,” Finch said with an unbothered shrug. 

“Hey, I’m just being civil here,” Dominic lifted his hands like he was trying to ward off Finch’s rudeness, tossing a meaningful look around them to indicate the public setting. “I just want to know how my older brother is doing, that’s all.” 

Again with new information: Albert wasn’t aware that Finch was the older of the two. He didn’t recall his friend ever clarifying it before. 

Begrudgingly, Finch said, “Everything’s been great lately — not that you really care, though.” His twin ignored the latter part of that statement. 

“Have you met anyone exciting at your college?” Dominic finally acknowledged the rest of the group. Hit with a rush of protectiveness over his friends, Albert moved forward instantly. Dominic smirked in amusement while assessing Albert (not unlike Finch’s onceover earlier, minus the flirtatious undertones), and amended, “Who’s the boyfriend?” 

What —

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Finch answered in a surprisingly normal tone considering what was just said. Albert had no idea if he schooled his expression quick enough to avoid betraying how that particular topic made him feel, but Dominic’s stupid smirk only grew. 

Fuck. 

“Does he know that?” Dominic quipped, inclining his head towards Albert. 

Naturally, the action made Finch glance over at his side to Albert, too. It was hard to identify his reaction when Albert was sure that he’d never felt more embarrassed. He refused to make eye contact with anyone, not even when Finch laid a light hand on his arm. 

Deciding to cut in, Race also stepped forward to draw Dominic’s attention. “What does it matter to you, asshole?” 

Then JoJo intervened, taking on a comparably more placating approach. “Alright, let’s stop making assumptions, yeah? We’re Finch’s friends, and since he clearly doesn’t want to talk to you, we’d all appreciate it if you just stopped talking to us.” 

“Just go back to practicing, Dom,” Finch said wearily. No longer touching Albert, he instead waved towards the range. When he spoke again, his demeanor did a complete 180. “If you don’t, then I hope you’re expecting to lose today.” 

Albert lifted his head at the unfamiliar tone, haughty and rivalrous, then he realized his friend’s tactic: Finch was igniting the ‘competitive heir’ fire with his twin. It worked like a charm, and Dominic stepped back with a scoff. 

“I don’t lose to you, Adrian,” he claimed, his own determined voice a perfect match of energy. “Try not to get too distracted today, as difficult as that might be.” Dominic shot a knowing look to Albert, who couldn’t help but sneer. Leaving them with that, Dominic spun on his heel and walked the short distance to his neighboring lane. Albert only watched long enough to see him pick up his own bow and start talking to his audience of two. 

Race propped an arm on Finch’s shoulder. He spoke only loud enough for the four of them to hear. “Can we get him moved down to the furthest possible lane if we complain enough?” 

“I wish,” Finch said, that weariness shining through stronger than ever. 

Albert was struck with how stressed Finch was all of a sudden, and he berated himself for not seeing it sooner. JoJo and Race picked up on it too, and the former shifted to stand in front of Finch. 

“Fi, your brother is not worth your time and effort, okay?” JoJo said firmly. “Today is all about you and we want you to have a good time, so just try to ignore him.” 

“Easier said than done,” Finch murmured. 

“If you really want, I can and will punch him for you, no questions asked.” Albert whispered the serious offering, and Race nodded eagerly in agreement — clearly, he’d love to join in on a fun activity. It brought a faint smile to Finch’s face and eased some of the tension in his body. 

“No, we’re not doing that.” JoJo immediately shut them down, to Race and Albert’s disapproval (regardless, they didn’t argue it). Glimpsing his watch, he continued to gesture to Finch’s bow case. “How about you get your equipment out and explain it to us real quick before you go practice? That should help take your mind off things.” 

Finch took a long, stabilizing breath before answering. “It would help, you’re right.” When he started to move, the others joined him, and he added, “And Racer, I’ll explain the arrow physics once I get them out.” 

Race lit up again, pleased to hear that Finch hadn’t forgotten. Albert just traded a faux annoyed look with JoJo while they set up their spot behind lane 18. The hosting archery group already lined up shade canopies for audience viewing, and all that Albert and his friends could bring in addition to that was a blanket to sit on. It wouldn’t be terrible considering the competition was going to run from 11:00am, through a break at noon, to only about 2:00 in the afternoon. They’d packed snacks for the break and planned to go out for a proper lunch afterwards in celebration. 

Most of what Finch explained to Albert, Race, and JoJo about archery and all his equipment went right over their heads. It was to be expected, but that didn’t change how interesting it was for the three of them. Albert found himself particularly invested, his smile unlikely to fade as he watched Finch in his element. 

“I could listen to you all day,” Albert commented at one point, speaking without thinking again. Finch turned to him with a bright smile of his own. He seemed less stressed at that moment, more concentrated on getting ready and talking to his friends. 

“The same goes for you,” he replied easily. He sat his bow on the ground (JoJo and Race moved to examine it further as if they hadn’t been doing that for the last ten minutes) and pulled off his archery jacket. A breeze blew past them then, and Finch immediately shivered, cursing the chilly weather under his breath. 

Albert was only temporarily distracted by the way that Finch’s competition jersey perfectly framed his muscles before speaking. “Can you not wear your jacket while shooting?” 

Shaking his head, Finch said, “No. It’d just get in the way, at least for me. And,” his voice took on a playful tone, “I told you that earlier. You claim you could listen to me all day, and yet you forgot something I said a few minutes ago? How does that work, Al?” 

“It doesn’t,” Albert conceded, simply happy to make Finch laugh. For the record, he did actually remember Finch talking about his jacket, but Albert had only asked now due to his own distracted state. Not that he’d admit that part aloud. Instead he said, “You’ll just be cold.” 

Finch shrugged. “I’ll warm up while practicing. Speaking of,” he addressed Race and JoJo, “can I have this back now?” 

The pair relinquished their attention and Finch hoisted his compound bow, sending all three of them a half-wave before he walked over to his lane. Annoyingly, Dominic was still practicing in his own lane and remained beside Finch once he’d arrived, but Albert knew he shouldn’t intervene, at least to allow Finch the opportunity to focus. They didn’t appear to be talking for now, so Albert took that as a good sign. 

Following JoJo’s suggestion, Albert pulled out his laptop. He was supposed to be working on an essay — by comparison, Race had some engineering work to do, and JoJo had to read a long history chapter — but Albert’s attention was wavering at best. 

He couldn’t keep his eyes off of Finch. 

That’s nothing new, his mind informed him. Albert was acutely aware of that fact, thank you very much. 

He actually had a bit of a habit of watching Finch, both idly and intently, and it had started before his little crush and persisted afterwards, too. Seeing his best friend do archery — something that Albert had never seen anyone do in real life — was automatically remarkable. It was practically a given that he wouldn’t be able to do anything else while at this competition. Finch was too brilliant to not watch in action, and Albert couldn’t bear to ignore such impressive feats. 

If Race or JoJo noticed that Albert wasn’t actually working on his essay, neither of them said anything. Albert hoped that it’d stay this way, but he knew it was unlikely. 

At the conclusion of the practice period, Finch turned to walk back towards them but he was promptly stopped by his brother first. From facial expressions alone (it was too far away to hear properly), Albert deduced that they were most likely being arrogantly competitive again. When Finch broke away from Dominic a moment later, his now stormy expression didn’t bode well. 

“He is getting on my very last nerve,” Finch said as soon as he was in earshot, carefully placing down his bow and lifting a hand to block the view of Dominic from his peripheral vision. “I swear, I’m going to put him in his place because I cannot stand —” 

“Woah, hey.” Albert scrambled to stand up, placing himself in front of Finch. They made steady eye contact soon enough. “Remember what Jo said earlier? Your asshole brother isn’t worth your anger, Fi.” 

Sighing, Finch’s gaze dropped. “I know. But it’s not just that.” 

“Then what is it?” Albert held Finch’s arms, trying to get him to look back up. His friend’s eyes flicked behind Albert, presumably to JoJo and Race, before landing on Albert again with confliction. 

“I can’t say it’s nothing, because that’s a boldfaced lie, but it’s…” Finch hesitated, clearly torn between something that aided in causing him distress in addition to his brother’s presence. Eventually he said, “I fucking hate to say it’s complicated, because it shouldn’t be and I wish it wasn’t, but it is — and I know that doesn’t make sense to you but I just…” Another strained pause. “Can’t confront this right now.” 

Upon considering his next move, Albert chose to take a half-step closer, looking up slightly at Finch, who shivered in his hold. “How can I help?” he asked, his voice having gone entirely soft and caring. A deep ache had appeared in his chest, and Albert only wanted to make Finch feel better somehow. 

Instead of answering the question (it honestly seemed to stir more indecision behind Finch’s eyes), Finch yet again tossed another look over Albert’s shoulder to Race and JoJo, both of whom were now also standing. “This is what I get for waiting, huh?” 

Albert didn’t quite understand the implication of that. Glimpsing over to their best friends, they appeared to get it, if their nonverbal sympathies were anything to go by. What did Albert miss? He was going to restate his question when an announcement rang out across the field that the archery competition was about to begin. Sensing that Finch was about to pull away, Albert quickly closed the gap between them with an embrace. He held on tight and hoped to wash away the mental stress and physical cold that Finch was struggling with. 

“I’ll be here when you get back,” Albert whispered his promise, providing the opening to Finch that if he wanted to talk later, then they could. Channeling a brighter mood, Albert added, “Good luck, Fi. You’re going to do amazing today.” 

He stepped back with a smile, relieved to see Finch match it (the tension in his body remained, but had noticeably lessened). JoJo and Race gave their own wishes of good luck. 

“Try to have a good time, yeah?” JoJo suggested, lightly punching Finch’s arm. “Put up those blinders and focus on who you’re doing this for.” It looked like his gaze had lingered on Albert in particular when he said that last part, but it had just as easily shifted to Race, too. 

“You know, Fi, I’d really like to bet on your performance today,” Race said with a smirk, “but if it’ll stress you out too much, then I won’t.” 

Finch just waved a hand at him. “I’m pretty sure that formally betting on the archers isn’t allowed here, which sucks because I anticipate this going well — and I’d like to earn you some cash.” It sounded joking enough, but they all knew Finch’s stress wouldn’t be alleviated that swiftly. He picked up his compound bow with ease, and sent them all a confident smile as he started to walk backwards. “See you guys on the other side.” 

With that, he spun on his heel and approached lane 18 on the range. Dominic was already waiting in lane 19, but told his older twin brother no snide comments as the hosting announcer explained the rules of target archery. It was also stated that once the qualifiers were done, half of the forty archers competing would advance to the first part of finals after the midday break, then they’d be split one more time after that. 

In no time at all, the competition began. 

Albert really had no frame of reference for what “good shooting” looked like, and he was sitting way too far from the targets to tell where Finch’s arrows were landing. Around the area, Albert was surprised to see binoculars and what looked like telescopes on tripods; audience members and archers alike were using those devices to scope down the range. He wished he had something like that, or that Finch did, at least. As a result of the lack of either of those tools, Albert attempted to discern how it was going from Finch’s body language. 

Every dissatisfied drop of his shoulders, the excessively drawn-out aiming periods (compared to other archers, anyway), and the way his arms fell to his sides like they carried the weight of the world were sending wholly negative signs. 

That stress was clearly affecting his performance, although Albert truly couldn’t tell if Dominic’s remarks to Finch between shooting rounds were helping or hindering him. On one hand, Finch might’ve been performing better to a degree by instead focusing on doing better than Dominic. On the other hand, Finch might’ve been faltering even worse with his twin’s vocal competitiveness constantly at his side. 

“Hey, Al?” JoJo tapped on Albert’s shoulder at some point, causing him to look over at his best friend. Gently, he asked, “Are you going to start working on your essay, or…?” 

“I can’t focus on that when Finch is out there stressed to hell and back.” Albert really hoped that didn’t come out too sharp — that wasn’t the intention. Unfortunately, both JoJo and Race were now giving him those pitying, sympathetic looks. The fact that JoJo knew what was going on too wasn’t particularly shocking to Albert. 

“You haven’t really been able to focus all week, right?” Race prompted. “Because of your crush on Finch?” 

Albert dropped his head into his hands. The realization shouldn’t have been so obvious. “I guess so.” 

“And Finch hasn’t been…” JoJo paused, and Albert imagined that he probably looked to Race for help on his word choice. “He hasn’t been at his best, let’s say. Do you know why?” 

You know why. Don’t be dense about this, Albert’s inner voice advised. 

“If he actually likes me back,” he wasn’t corrected on the truth of the matter, “why did I make him wait all week when I could’ve — no, should have said something already? Why did I put him through that?” 

JoJo moved closer to wrap a consoling arm over Albert’s shoulders. “Hey, it’s not your fault that confessing to the person you love is terrifying.” 

“Like you know anything about that,” Albert said coldly, only to be instantly slammed with regret and questioning where that even came from. “Fuck, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean —” 

“You’re not wrong.” JoJo’s tone was nothing but calm and considerate, and Albert wasn’t sure how to interpret the non-reaction. He continued to say, “And I know it’s the stress talking, so there’s no hard feelings.” 

“Now I’m stressed too?” Albert’s statement lilted up into a question. 

“You’ve been bottling it up all week,” Race explained carefully. He’d been observing the shooting range, but veered back to their little group. “You know, ‘ignoring the half-terrifying parts’ of having a crush and the possibility of losing your friendship? It’s come back all at once and now you’re…” He gestured down to Albert’s shaky, fidgeting hands, something he hadn’t even noticed he was doing. 

“It’s kind of like you guys switched.” JoJo was thoughtful, rubbing a grounding hand on Albert’s arm while gazing past him to Finch again; Albert followed his line of sight. “Fi is clearly struggling to focus on the competition right now, and Dominic being there is really just an extra nuisance.” 

Despite JoJo claiming that all this wasn’t Albert’s fault, he could only blame himself. 

Then you can fix it, his mind stated confidently. 

Wholeheartedly, but hopefully not foolishly, he believed it. 

Suddenly announcements were being made again — the qualifiers had ended. Numbers were called out, and the archers that would continue to finals after break shook hands with whoever they’d beaten. Albert listened out to hear ‘number 18, Adrian Cortez’, though it was directly followed by ‘number 19, Dominic Cortez’. Disregarding Finch’s annoying twin, Albert was elated about Finch qualifying, the excitement of that almost overriding his need to fix what had been messed up. 

Race stood and started towards Finch before Albert could even shake off JoJo’s arm. JoJo allowed it but he nor Albert stood when Race spoke. 

“Okay, I see that determined gleam in your eye, Al, but before you jump to action,” he said, “let me talk to Finch first. I know you’re eager to confess, but I just want to make sure he’s… ready, I guess. I’ll only be a minute or two, promise, then he’s all yours.” Race winked before striding over to Finch, blocking Albert’s view of him and vice versa. 

Waiting impatiently, Albert looked around the competition grounds. He wanted to find a spot that was somewhat more private than the line of open-air shade canopies. Eventually, he noticed the stone building that housed the concessions stand and bathrooms. If they went to the side where the bathrooms weren’t, then they were unlikely to be interrupted. JoJo nudged him, offering a reassuring smile and inclining his head towards a now approaching Finch. 

Albert was on his feet in a flash. He barely waited for Finch to sit down his bow before wrapping him in a tight hug, his excitement returning in full force. Finch reciprocated the embrace, his laughter warm and inviting. 

“You qualified!” Albert cheered. He maintained an appropriate volume lest he be unintentionally rude by congratulating his best friend too loudly. 

Still laughing over Albert’s shoulder, Finch said, “I don’t know how, to be honest.” 

They released the hug, mostly on Albert’s part to look Finch in the eye. “You qualified because you’re amazing, Fi. What else?” 

“You’re amazing,” Finch echoed, entirely sincere but paired with an odd smile. In fact, it was an odd smile that reminded Albert of what he needed to do. He switched to holding Finch’s hands in both of his own. 

“I’m here if you —” 

“Can we talk about —?” 

They’d spoken at the same time, faltering over one another’s words. 

Recovering first, Albert nodded. “Yeah, we can talk. Just let me get something real quick.” He let go with one hand to scoop up Finch’s archery jacket, which had been nicely laid across Albert’s backpack, and passed it over with a smile. “So you don’t get cold,” he explained. 

Finch thanked him, draped the jacket over his arm for the time being, then Albert was leading him over to the mostly-private spot by the concessions building. Standing by the wall, the two friends faced each other and released their hand hold so Finch could slip on his jacket. Albert watched with what he could only guess was a lovestruck smile on his face. Finch noticed, chuckling quietly and bowing his head to the ground. 

Deciding that there was too much space between them, Albert stepped closer to grab a hand again, already wanting it back. They reconnected and Finch looked back up, unabashedly hopeful in every sense of the word. 

“I’m so sorry for making you wait, and I won’t drag this out either.” Albert initiated the conversation, no preamble or hesitation to be found. He poured all of his honesty into saying, “I really like you, Adrian, and I wish I’d said it sooner.” 

“I really like you, too, and I desperately wish I could’ve said it sooner,” Finch yet again parroted Albert — the same thing he’d been doing all week. 

“You mean it?” The question came out involuntarily, Albert’s voice carrying that nagging, old doubt. 

“Of course I mean it,” Finch assured, steadfast. He lifted his free hand to brush some of Albert’s hair away from his face, ever so gentle. “I’m sorry too for making you wait…” A pause. “I was scared of confessing, so I put it off all week until it nearly crushed me today with how badly I wanted to tell you how I feel.” His short laugh was humorless. “It’s stupid, I know —” 

“No, no, do not say that being scared is stupid,” Albert cut in, shaking his head. “I felt the exact same way, irrationally scared of how you’d react for two weeks straight. It’s not stupid, really, it’s just…” He trailed off with a mere shrug, unable to word it properly. 

Finch sighed. “I get it, I just wish that it hadn’t happened, because I’ve always wanted to do this.” The hand in Albert’s hair drifted down to caress his cheek, then traveled even lower to tip Albert’s chin up slightly. 

There were two intakes of breath at the action. 

“Fuck,” Albert muttered, already inching closer as Finch did the same. Their gazes blatantly fell to each other’s lips, and Albert pulled himself together enough to ask, “Can I kiss you?” 

Smirking, Finch said, “What’s the magic word?” 

“Oh, you’re seriously going to be an asshole about it?” Albert shot back, not even trying to fake being annoyed by it. 

“If you won’t say it then I guess you’re not getting a kiss —” Finch started to pull away but Albert brought him right back by the waist, pressing their bodies flush together. They just stared for a few seconds in the new, intimate position, then Finch whispered, “You know I hate waiting, Al.” 

“Can I please kiss you, Adrian Cortez?” Albert adored the faux shocked expression on his crush’s face at his words. 

“Wow, you really mean it — pulling out the full name, too. And you may kiss me,” Finch allowed in the sweetest voice Albert had ever heard. 

The pair surged together, their lips connecting in an all-encompassing kiss. It wasn’t perfect (Albert had a stray thought of whether or not Finch had ever kissed anyone else like this) and unfairly brief, Finch lightly pushing away just before Albert had fully melted into the rhythm of it and the intoxicating feeling of Finch against his body. 

Finch had placed a hand on Albert’s chest, just resting it there, and Albert saw as well as heard that Finch was somehow already short of breath. 

Teasingly, he said, “That kiss was maybe twelve seconds long, by the way.” 

“I know,” Finch confirmed, tapping Albert’s chest. “It was just overwhelming for me, like fucking shit.” 

“In a good way or a bad way?” Albert checked. 

“So, so good,” Finch replied hastily. With renewed composure, he firmly said, “Kiss me again.” 

Because Albert wasn’t an asshole, he did as he was told. 

Holding Finch’s waist, Albert turned them so that Finch was pressed back against the wall; he gasped into the kiss and Albert redoubled his efforts to make him fall apart. This second attempt lasted significantly longer, and Albert found his rhythm and completely blocked out anything that wasn’t Finch. Making out with him and being able to touch him in such an intimate way was better than Albert had ever hoped. Even his one dream of doing this exact thing didn’t stand up to the real deal. 

Surely nothing would beat the first make-out session with the love of his life. 

After several passionate and heart-pounding minutes, Albert concluded that removing his body from where it was attached to Finch was nigh impossible. How could you blame him? This came as naturally as breathing and blinking, and now he had to stop? Unfortunately, the universe was cruel and unforgiving — his lungs required access to fresh air, and every inch of his body felt ridiculously warm and tingly. 

Despite his reluctance to move, Albert also concluded that it was worth it to hear Finch’s happy giggling and see his gorgeous smile. 

“I loved every single second of that,” Finch shared, letting Albert take his hands and gently guide him to stand from the wall. “I can’t wait to do it again.” 

Albert smiled just as joyfully back. “Yeah?” 

Finch nodded. He appeared to be much more confident and sure of himself now, no stress burdening him. Albert was extremely glad to see this side of his… crush again. 

“Are we dating now?” Finch asked bluntly, then added, “I’d really like to call you my boyfriend.” 

“We can be whatever you want, bub.” The nickname slipped out of its own accord, and Finch’s eyes went wide, somehow making him look even more excited, if that was possible. 

“I love that,” he said. “Can I call you… sweetheart?” 

“Sure.” Albert was sure that his heart did about a dozen flips at that adorable name, and Finch leaning over to peck his cheek made it do a few more somersaults, too. 

“Wonderful. Now, sweetheart,” Finch savored the word, dragging them back into the view of the public and still holding hands, “I have a competition to win and a brother to one-up.” 

Albert corrected his boyfriend (he would never get over the new relationship status) about still having their midday lunch break before finals. They returned to Race and JoJo, learning that their smiles had been discernible from a distance and indicative enough of what had finally occurred. The couple was congratulated on getting together, and the group shifted back into easy conversation while snacking. 

Everything was almost the same as it had always been. 

Of course, Albert was now sitting directly beside and delicately holding the hand of Finch. It was like seeing him in a new light, being able to admire him and all of his divine beauty from another point of view. Albert felt his cheeks flush just thinking about it, feeling unendingly lucky to have Finch officially at his side. 

Their break ended in high spirits. Albert, JoJo, and Race had hyped up Finch even more than they did earlier, fully believing that he could win the whole event. Finch told them not to get their hopes up quite so high, but his confidence had skyrocketed regardless. Getting ready to walk back to his lane, Finch removed his jacket yet again and implored Albert to wear it; he did, if only to keep it warm while Finch was shooting. 

(Definitely not because he’d been wanting to wear it all week, no way.) 

Before finals started, Finch was the one to initiate a discussion with Dominic first, likely reigniting the flames of their competitiveness. Finch appeared to have the upper hand, successfully irritating his younger brother. Albert was proud. 

He’d put his laptop away earlier, knowing and accepting that he wouldn’t get anything done while they were here. Race and JoJo had done the same, though none of them were dejected by this outcome. Instead, they were thrilled to simply watch the competition. In equal measure, the trio talked about nearby archers and bickered over the vague concepts of rules that hadn’t been retained, not even in the furthest stretch of the imagination. There was a good chance that most of it was purely made up. 

The archers were eventually split again, leaving the remaining ten archers to finish out the competition. Finch had made it into the last ten, and Dominic just barely missed the cut, ending in eleventh place. He was pissed, and Finch’s boasting only served to worsen the blow. While Albert understood that the twins’ competitive heir bullshit had been ingrained in them since they were kids — started and constantly perpetuated by Dominic — he wondered if Finch was taking it too far. 

That being said, Finch was in a splendid mood and Dominic was undeniably a jerk who enjoyed riling up his brother. 

It was probably fine. 

Dismissing the thoughts, Albert watched the rest of the competition in tense anticipation. It had only ramped up after the last round of finals concluded. His boyfriend walked back to the group with a cheerful smile, carrying his bow at his side like it weighed nothing. 

“So that felt really good, but I’m pretty sure everyone else stepped up their game,” Finch informed them, no displeasure to be seen or heard. He started to take off all his gear and disassemble the necessary parts on his compound bow to pack it up. 

“No matter what score you get, it’s still impressive that you made it to the top ten out of forty other archers,” JoJo commended proudly. 

“And,” Race chimed in, leaning heavily on Albert’s shoulder, “you and dumbass over there,” he tipped his head back towards Dominic, “are the youngest here, which makes it even more impressive. Right, Al?” 

It took a second for Albert to realize he was being addressed. “Yeah, of course.” 

He had been listening to the announcements, eager to hear the final scores and placements. He smiled down at Finch, and extended a hand to get him to stand up alongside him, Race, and JoJo. Soon enough, they heard it: 

“In ninth place is Adrian Cortez, with a score of…” 

Caught up in the moment, Albert didn’t even hear the rest amidst cheering with his friends. Finch flushed with gratitude, and Albert made a mental note to reward his talented partner with more kisses once they were alone. He goddamn deserved it. 

A few minutes later, the hosting announcer claimed a successful and fun archery competition and thanked everyone for attending. Finch was approached by multiple strangers, supposedly recognizing him now as one of the Cortez twins and heirs who’d competed. (Albert had no idea how popular they were, and JoJo and Race were in the same boat.) Naturally, Dominic was also greeted, and Albert knew it was only a matter of time before Dominic made his way over to speak to Finch one last time. 

“Congratulations on your placement,” Dominic told Finch, who had his back turned and an automatic ‘thank you’ on the tip of his tongue. Upon seeing his brother, he hesitated for half a second before straightening his back. They had a bit of an audience covertly paying attention; Albert suspected this exchange to be awkward. 

Forcing a casual smile, Finch replied, “Thank you. Congrats to you as well on getting…?” He trailed off, feigning forgetfulness. 

“Eleventh,” Dominic said with his own strained smile. 

“Right. We were pretty close in score then.” 

“I wasn’t far behind, but you were…” 

When Dominic didn’t finish his statement, Finch hummed questioningly. Albert swore he saw Dominic’s eye twitch (Race definitely snorted from nearby, and JoJo bumped him in silent scolding) before he continued. 

“You were better than me today,” Dominic ground out, although he did an exemplary job of making it sound like a plain and casual observation. 

Finch was far too pleased to hear that, smug as can be. “You’ll have plenty of opportunities to best me in the future.” He extended a hand to shake for a show of sportsmanship. “Better luck next time, and I’ll see you around, Dom.” 

His twin brother reciprocated the handshake and said, “See you later, Adrian.” He left with whatever dignity he had left, still putting on a contented front for the crowd. 

“You are such a convincing actor that it scares me sometimes,” Albert whispered to Finch, who only laughed in response. 

They — well, Finch — finished talking with random strangers on the range. He hefted his bow case while the other three grabbed their backpacks, and they all headed back to the car. Albert snatched the keys from his boyfriend’s hand and dashed around to the driver’s seat, taking no complaints about the unplanned switch. He was treating Finch, and once they got to the restaurant, the celebratory treatment would continue with Albert, Race, and JoJo handling payments. Really, Finch should have expected this. 

Lunch was a lighthearted affair, comfortably similar to any other time the four of them went out for food. Except this time, Albert delighted in every instance that Finch took to be closer to him. If he was being honest, he was enjoying the physical contact way more than he thought he would. 

(A passing thought told him that Race would relate and call him ‘needy’ or ‘touch-starved’. 

Albert would never admit to the accuracy of that.) 

Returning to the privacy of the dorms later in the afternoon, Albert was finally able to treat his lovely partner to all the kisses, cuddles, and praise that he so thoroughly deserved. It still stung to think that they could’ve been doing this for weeks by now, but Albert was more than happy with the fact that they were actually doing it at all.