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They were halfway down the street when Robin finally spoke up.
Finney had been quiet the whole walk, not his usual quiet, the thoughtful kind, but the fidgety quiet, where he kept twisting the strap of his backpack and kicking at pebbles like he was trying to burn off nerves he couldn’t name.
Robin let it go for a few minutes. Then he sighed.
“Alright,” he said, glancing over at him, “what’s going on with you today?”
Finney blinked, curls bouncing a little as he looked up. “Nothing.”
“Finney,” Robin muttered, giving him a sideways look, “you say ‘nothing’ every time something is absolutely something.”
Finney chewed the inside of his cheek and looked down at the sidewalk again. Robin could see his expression in the reflection of a car window, big brown eyes flicking everywhere but at him.
“You’ve been dodging it,” Robin said finally. Not accusing, just plain. “Every time I ask if you wanna come over. Every time I say Ernesto wants to meet you. You change the subject.”
Finney’s breath caught like he hadn’t expected it to be said out loud.
“I’m not mad,” Robin added quickly. “I just… wanna know why.”
Finney didn’t answer at first. He kept walking, hands buried in his pockets, shoulders hunched against something that wasn’t the weather.
“I don’t know,” he murmured eventually.
Robin snorted softly. “Yeah, you do.”
Finney slowed down. Not enough to stop, but enough that Robin had to match his pace.
“It’s stupid,” Finney whispered.
“Try me.”
Finney swallowed hard. His voice came out small, not scared, just honest. “I guess… I don’t want them to think I’m… weird.”
Robin frowned. “Weird how?”
Finney shrugged helplessly. “Just… me. I don’t know. I’m not good at talking to new people. Ernesto’s-he’s your actual family. If he doesn’t like me, that’s… not great.”
Robin nodded slowly, absorbing that. For once he didn’t joke back, didn’t tease, didn’t push.
“Finney,” he said, a little quieter, “Ernesto doesn’t even like half my friends. He barely even likes me some days.”
Finney let out a tiny, nervous laugh.
Robin nudged his arm. “He’s just shy. Like you. You guys would probably look at each other for five minutes and then bond over something dumb like planets.”
Finney kept staring at the ground. “I just don’t wanna disappoint anyone.”
Robin stopped walking, gently tugging Finney’s arm to get him to stop too.
“You won’t.”
Finney finally looked up, big brown eyes meeting Robin’s steady ones.
“You won’t,” Robin repeated. “Not my mom, not Ernesto, not me.”
Finney’s chest tightened at that. Not in a bad way, just in a way that meant he heard it.
Robin reached out, brushing a curl back from Finney’s forehead, careful, instinctive.
“You can come over when you’re ready,” he said. “Doesn’t have to be today. Doesn’t have to be next week. Just… when you want to.”
Finney breathed out slowly, like the knots in his stomach were starting to loosen.
“Okay,” he said quietly.
Robin bumped his shoulder, a small grin tugging at his mouth.
“Good. Now stop lookin’ like I’m about to drag you to meet the president.”
Finney groaned, but this time it sounded more like relief.
They kept walking, hands brushing every few steps in a way that wasn’t planned but kept happening anyway.
⸻
Finney was trying. Really, genuinely trying.
He had his math book open on the carpet, his handwriting neat, his tone patient. And Robin was sitting cross-legged across from him, holding a pencil upside-down like he had no idea how school supplies worked.
“…and so X would equal-Robin.” Finney snapped his fingers. “Robin.”
Robin blinked, eyebrows lifting like he’d just been brought back from a trance.
“I’m listening.”
“You’re staring.”
“I can do both.”
Finney rolled his eyes, but the smile tugging at his mouth gave him away. “You’re impossible.”
“No, I’m distracted,” Robin corrected, leaning back on his hands. “Huge difference.”
Finney snorted. “By what?”
Robin didn’t answer, he just gave him this infuriatingly soft look, like the answer was obvious.
Finney groaned and chucked his pencil at him.
“Hey-!” Robin laughed as it bounced off his shoulder. “What was that for?”
“For not learning. For being annoying. For-“
Robin didn’t let him finish.
He lunged.
Finney squeaked, actually squeaked, as Robin tackled him onto the carpet. There was a tangle of limbs, a sharp laugh from Finney he tried to hide, and Robin’s weight pinning him just enough to steal his breath.
“Get off!” Finney said through helpless laughter.
“Make me.”
Finney shoved at his chest, but Robin flipped them with practiced ease until Finney landed on top of him, curls falling forward, brown eyes wide.
Robin stilled.
Finney’s hands were braced on his chest, warm even through the fabric. His face was inches above Robin’s. Close enough that Robin could see every tiny detail, the sweep of his eyelashes, the way his breath hitched like he just realized what their position looked like.
Robin reached up and tugged one curl. Not hard, just enough to watch it spring.
Finney froze, cheeks going pink.
And then, like a bucket of cold water, Robin remembered.
“…shit.”
Finney blinked. “What?”
“My mom,” Robin said, hand still resting against Finney’s hair. “She’s having that party tomorrow. The pool thing? The barbecue?”
Finney’s heart dropped straight to the floor.
“Oh.”
Robin saw it immediately. His hand fell from Finney’s curl, landing gently against his waist instead.
“You don’t have to come,” Robin said quickly. “I just- I kinda want you there. Only if you want to.”
Finney swallowed. Hard.
The nerves surged so fast he practically felt them in his fingertips.
“A family party?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Robin said. “Nothing big. My uncles, aunts, cousins… Ernesto will be there.”
He hesitated. “There’s gonna be a lot of Spanish. Like… a lot.”
Finney let out a weak, breathy laugh. “I don’t know any Spanish.”
“I know,” Robin said, voice soft now. “But you don’t need to. You just need to show up.”
Finney looked down, completely betraying how nervous he was.
He wasn’t scared of Robin.
He wasn’t scared of being with Robin.
He was scared of not knowing how to act around everyone else.
Of messing up.
Of being the awkward white boy who didn’t fit.
Robin saw every thought passing across his face.
“Finney,” he murmured, sliding his hand up to the back of Finney’s neck, thumb brushing his skin, grounding him. “It’s just a party. You can stay next to me the whole time. I’m not gonna throw you into a room of strangers.”
Finney hesitated.
“…Do you want me to go?” he whispered.
Robin didn’t even blink. “Yeah. I do.”
Finney’s throat tightened, not in panic, just something warmer, something that meant he wanted to try even if it scared him.
He nodded once.
“Okay,” he said softly.
Robin smiled up at him, slow and relieved.
“Good. And if anyone says something in Spanish you don’t understand-“
Finney groaned. “I’m going to understand nothing, Robin.”
Robin laughed, tugged another curl, and said,
“Then just make eye contact with me and I’ll translate.”
Finney rolled his eyes, but his chest felt lighter.
They stayed like that for another few seconds, Finney on top of him, Robin’s hand at the back of his neck, math homework completely abandoned.
⸻
Finney smoothed down his shirt for the fourth time. It was nothing fancy, just a clean tee and jeans. but he still felt like he was dressing for a job interview. He kept checking the mirror anyway, pushing curls out of his eyes, then letting them fall back where they wanted.
The phone rang, loud, clunky, the harsh mechanical trill of the rotary phone mounted on the kitchen wall.
Finney jogged down and grabbed the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Hey.” Robin’s voice. Warm, low, familiar. “You ready?”
Finney swallowed. “Yeah. I think.”
“Cool. Come over.”
And then, softer, “I’ll meet you at the door.”
Except when Finney arrived… Robin was nowhere.
The music hit him first, loud, fast, all Spanish, pouring out the open windows and doorways. Voices overlapped, laughter spilling from the backyard. Someone shouted something in rapid Spanish that Finney didn’t have a prayer of understanding.
He stepped inside, instantly aware of every unfamiliar detail, the smell of grilled meat, cousins and uncles walking around in swim trunks or tank tops, Spanish flying back and forth like the only language that belonged here.
Finney stood there for maybe ten seconds before someone approached him, a man with a beer in his hand and a friendly smile.
“Y tú quién eres?” he asked, upbeat and curious. (Translation: And you are?)
“I- uh…” Finney’s brain blanked. He tried gesturing awkwardly. “I’m- um… looking for Robin.”
The man laughed kindly, clapped him on the back, said something else in Spanish, and walked off. Finney stood there frozen, cheeks burning.
Another woman passed by and said something to him too, something that sounded welcoming, but all Finney could do was shake his head helplessly.
“I don’t- I’m sorry, I don’t speak-“
He trailed off when she smiled and walked away with a pat on his arm.
He took a breath.
Okay. Don’t panic. You’re fine.
He peeked through the doorway into the backyard, a full-on pool party. Kids running, splashing, relatives grilling, cumbia blasting from a boombox on the patio table.
Still no Robin.
Finney scanned the crowd desperately, and then spotted her.
Robin’s mom.
She was arranging plates on the outdoor table, gold hoops glinting in the sun, a bright patterned blouse immaculately clean despite the chaos around her. She looked up, saw Finney hovering awkwardly by the sliding door, and her face split into a warm, immediate smile.
“Finney?” she asked in perfect English.
Relief flooded him so fast his knees almost buckled. “Yes- yeah. I’m Finney.”
She walked over and pulled him into a hug before he could prepare for it. “We’ve been waiting to meet you,” she said, pulling back enough to look at him. “You’re even cuter in person.”
Finney stared at the ground, blushing so hard he felt lightheaded. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Oh, honey, call me Rosa.”
Before he could answer, Ernesto wandered over, a shorter, sharper-eyed version of Robin, holding a dripping popsicle. He studied Finney like he was evaluating a new species.
“You’re the boyfriend,” Ernesto said plainly.
Finney tensed. “Uh. Yeah.”
Ernesto shrugged. “Cool.” Then he took another lick of his popsicle and stood beside Finney like that counted as acceptance.
It actually helped more than Finney expected.
Finney let out a long breath, shoulders loosening now that he wasn’t surrounded by strangers speaking a language he didn’t understand.
Rosa smiled at him, gently touching his arm.
“Robin should be-“
A door opened behind them.
Robin stepped out from the hallway leading to the bedrooms, towel slung over his shoulder, hair damp from the pool, skin sun-warm. He froze the second he saw Finney.
Then he grinned.
“There you are,” Robin said, walking straight to him.
“You said you’d meet me at the door,” Finney muttered, but the relief in his voice made it come out soft, almost fond.
“Got ambushed by my tío,” Robin said, rolling his eyes. “He talks for like twenty minutes straight. You survived though.”
“Barely,” Finney whispered.
Robin stepped close, lowering his voice so only Finney could hear it.
“You look good.”
Finney smiled. “Thanks, you too. I’m struggling, I cant speak to anybody.”
Robin smiled, brushing his hand against Finney’s wrist, just a tiny touch. “Doesn’t matter. You’re with me.”
Robin kept a light hand at Finney’s back as he led him toward the crowd. It wasn’t possessive, just steadying, like he could sense Finney’s nerves buzzing under his skin.
“C’mon,” Robin murmured. “I’ll introduce you to everybody.”
Finney nodded and followed.
Robin’s family was everywhere. Clusters of chairs around the pool, cousins splashing, adults drinking beer from glass bottles. The boombox thumped with cumbia, blending with laughter.
Robin started with the closest group, three aunts sitting in the shade, fanning themselves with paper plates.
“Tías,” Robin called, “este es Finney.”
The aunts perked up instantly.
One leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin.
“Este es el novio, verdad?”
Robin groaned. “Ay, por favor-“
Another aunt smacked his arm lightly. “No te hagas! Mira lo bonito que es.”
Finney had no idea what they were saying, but he could tell it was about him. Every wide-eyed look flicked between Robin and the women.
Robin sighed, hands on his hips. “Yes, he’s my boyfriend. My boyfriend. Happy?”
The aunts erupted with delighted teasing.
“Ay, Robin, por fin uno lindo.”
“Mira esos ojitos, qué ternura.”
“Dios mío, te sacaste la lotería.”
Finney stared at Robin, whispering under his breath, “Are they…making fun of you?”
Robin pinched the bridge of his nose. “A little. But mostly they’re calling you cute.”
Finney’s face flushed instantly, his big brown eyes going even wider.
One aunt gestured for Finney to step closer. He hesitated, then Robin gently nudged him forward. She cupped his face with zero hesitation, warm hands, soft smile.
“Ay, qué precioso,” she said, studying him like a piece of art. “Tiene carita de ángel.”
Finney blinked, turning to Robin.
“What’d she say…?”
Robin smirked. “She said you have an angel face.”
Finney looked like he might pass out.
Robin slipped his arm briefly around Finney’s waist, guiding him away before the aunts buried him in compliments. They walked toward a group of older cousins gathered by the grill.
As soon as Robin approached, someone called out loudly:
“Mira, llegó con su novio!”
Robin shot them a glare. “¿Quieres que te aviente al pool o qué?”
Laughter exploded around them.
One cousin elbowed Robin and pointed at Finney. “Bro, tu boyfriend está bien cute. Dónde lo conseguiste, en una tienda o qué?”
Finney froze, cheeks pinking, eyes flicking up to Robin with a silent what did he say?
Robin rolled his eyes. “He said you’re cute.”
Finney stared at him. “Again?”
“Yeah,” Robin muttered, glancing away like he didn’t want Finney to see the tiny smile on his face. “Get used to it.”
Another cousin leaned over to Finney, speaking slowly like he was trying to meet him halfway.
“Robin… good taste.”
Finney almost choked. “Th-thank you.”
Robin’s hand brushed Finney’s lower back again, steady and calm. “Alright, enough,” he told his cousins. “You’re gonna scare him.”
“Scare him? He looks like a baby deer,” one cousin joked.
Finney’s eyes grew even wider, unintentionally proving their point, and Robin stepped protectively closer.
“He’s fine,” Robin said firmly. “Leave him alone.”
But the cousins were grinning, not mocking, just teasing, warm, a little too loud, but welcoming in their own chaotic way.
Robin leaned down to Finney’s ear, voice low:
“You’re doing good. They like you.”
Finney exhaled, slow, relieved.
“Do they always talk this much?”
Robin snorted. “You haven’t even met my loudest uncle yet.”
Finney groaned quietly, but there was the smallest smile tugging at his lips.
Robin saw it.
And tugged a curl, just once.
“C’mon, pretty boy,” Robin murmured. “Let’s get you something to drink before my family adopts you without asking.”
Finney followed, still wide-eyed, still nervous, but no longer feeling like he didn’t belong.
Ernesto had taken one look at Finney standing stiff and polite by the patio table and decided immediately that that wasn’t going to fly.
“Ven, güero!”
(“Come on, blondie!”- güero is a playful nickname for light-skinned/light-haired people)
Ernesto grabbed Finney’s wrist and tugged him toward the pool.
Finney barely had time to squeak out, “Wait-Ernesto- I can’t-!” before he was dragged right to the edge and nearly toppled in.
Ernesto grinned mischievously, stepping backward into the shallow end.
“Jump!”
Finney laughed, the tension leaving him for the first time since he arrived.
“You’re crazy,” he muttered- then jumped straight in anyway, splashing Ernesto in the face.
Ernesto sputtered, then burst out laughing. “Oye!”
It didn’t take long before they were playing some ridiculous splash war Ernesto insisted was a “game,” even though Finney was pretty sure Ernesto was making the rules up as he went. Kids from the party joined in, yelling in Spanish so fast Finney couldn’t catch a single word, but the laughter was universal.
For a moment, Finney didn’t feel out of place at all.
Eventually, though, he drifted to the quieter, deeper side of the pool. The noise faded into a soft echo. Water lapped against his shoulders. Ernesto broke off to go bother some cousins.
And then arms slid around Finney’s waist from behind.
Finney startled, breath catching, until he felt the familiar warmth of Robin’s chest press to his back.
Robin rested his chin on Finney’s shoulder, water dripping from the ends of his hair.
“Hey,” he said quietly, almost shyly despite the dozens of people just feet away.
Finney melted instantly.
“Hey.”
“You doing okay?” Robin murmured, thumbs brushing Finney’s sides under the water.
“You look… I dunno. Like you’re thinking too hard.”
“I’m fine,” Finney whispered, leaning back into him. And he was. Right here, in this little pocket of calm, he was.
Robin gave him a tiny squeeze.
“You look good wet, by the way.”
Finney elbowed him lightly. “Shut up.”
Robin grinned against his shoulder. “Make me.”
Finney turned his head, cheeks flushed, lips barely parting-
But before anything could happen-
“Robin! Come here!”
A chorus of voices came from the pool steps, a whole cluster of aunts and uncles waving him over.
Robin groaned. “Dios mío…” He dropped his forehead onto Finney’s shoulder dramatically.
“My whole family has a radar for when I’m being happy.”
Finney giggled.
“Go before they come in here and drag you.”
Robin reluctantly loosened his arms, gives Finney one last look, warm, soft, almost reverent, and then pushed off toward the noisy group waiting for him.
Finney watched him go, floating quietly in the blue water, cheeks warm, heart full, finally feeling like he didn’t need to understand a single word to belong.
About ten minutes later, Ernesto tugged Finney out of the pool, dripping and giggling.
“C’mon,” Ernesto said, grabbing a towel and tossing it over Finney’s shoulders.
“Robin’s doing something stupid. You gotta see.”
Finney followed him through the yard, weaving between tables crowded with food and laughing family. Someone shouted, “Ernesto! No corras!” (“Ernesto! Don’t run!”)
They stepped into the big cleared space near the speakers-
and there was Robin.
Right in the middle of the crowd, dancing satevo with one of his aunts. The upbeat, fast-paced footwork, the spins, the sharp movements- Robin was nailing it. He looked annoyingly good doing it too, hair swaying, body loose and confident, his aunt cheering him on.
Finney froze, eyes widening.
“…He can dance?”
Ernesto snorted.
“He’s Mexican. Of course he can dance.”
Before Finney could react, an uncle noticed him.
“Mírenlo! El novio de Robín!” (“Look! Robin’s boyfriend!”)
Finney nearly choked on air.
The uncle laughed, grabbed Finney by the shoulders, and gently but firmly shoved him into the circle.
“Ándale! Baila!” (“Go on! Dance!”)
Finney stood in the center like a deer in headlights as everyone clapped to the rhythm, waiting.
Robin turned around mid-step, saw him, and immediately grinned, wide, bright, teasing.
“Well, well,” Robin said as he walked up, wiping a drip of sweat from his temple. “You ready, cariño?”
Finney whispered, horrified, “I don’t know how to dance.”
Robin just chuckled, a soft, intimate sound, and took both of Finney’s hands.
“Good thing I do.”
He guided Finney’s hands to his shoulders and slipped his own to Finney’s hips, pulling him close. The music shifted smoothly into bachata, slower, swaying, all hips and warmth.
Robin murmured, “Just follow my lead. Step- step. Don’t think.”
Finney tried. He really did.
But he stumbled on the second step.
Robin just laughed, catching him by the waist.
“You’re fine. Again.”
This time Finney got the rhythm a little better. His cheeks were burning, but Robin’s hands were steady and warm, thumb brushing reassuring circles into his back.
“See?” Robin whispered near his ear.
“You’re doing good.”
Finney swallowed, heart pounding.
“…You’re just saying that.”
“No,” Robin said, leaning close.
“I mean it.”
The crowd around them whooped and whistled.
“Eso, Robín! Míralos!”
(“That’s it, Robin! Look at them!”)
“¡Qué bonito!”
(“How cute!”)
Finney buried his face against Robin’s shoulder for a second, overwhelmed but smiling.
The music sped up again- back into satevo.
Robin pulled back, raised Finney’s hand, and spun him gently. Finney tripped halfway through the turn, but Robin caught him instantly, both of them laughing.
“Okay,” Finney gasped, breathless, “that one was definitely your fault.”
Robin smirked.
“I’m teaching you the fun stuff.”
Finney shook his head, laughter bubbling out, finally letting the moment carry him.
Someone shouted, “Beso! Beso!” (“Kiss! Kiss!”)
Robin nearly choked.
Finney turned crimson.
They did not kiss- Robin shot the crowd a warning glare- but he kept Finney close, forehead brushing Finney’s cheek, both of them smiling like idiots as the family cheered for them anyway.
Once Robin managed to pull Finney out of the cheering circle, Finney practically collapsed onto one of the lawn chairs beside the pool. His chest was rising and falling fast, curls damp, cheeks flushed a soft pink.
“I-“ Finney wheezed, trying to talk through laughter, “I can’t believe they made me do that.”
Robin plopped down beside him, not even winded. Show-off.
“You did good,” Robin said, nudging Finney’s knee with his. “Like, way better than I thought you would.”
Finney scoffed dramatically.
“Wow. Thanks. Really builds my confidence.”
Robin grinned, leaning back on his palms.
“I’m serious, Fin. First time dancing and you didn’t fall on your face. That’s impressive.”
“I did almost fall.”
“Yeah,” Robin said, eyes glinting, “and I caught you. Because I’m talented like that.”
Finney rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.
The music thumped through the grass, families chatting and laughing around them, but somehow it felt like it all faded to background noise.
Robin leaned in slightly, voice dipping low.
“You liked it.”
Finney blinked. “I- what?”
“You liked dancing with me,” Robin repeated, calm, confident, the tease just under the surface.
“You got all red.”
“I was embarrassed,” Finney muttered.
“You’re red right now.”
Finney’s ears went pinker.
“Shut up.”
Robin laughed, soft and warm. He reached over and tugged lightly on one of Finney’s wet curls,
not hard, not teasing, just something gentle, something fond.
“Seriously,” Robin said, tone shifting into something honest,
“You did great. I’m proud of you.”
Finney’s breath caught.
He looked down at his hands, then back up at Robin.
“…I’m glad you were there. I think I would’ve died otherwise.”
Robin shrugged casually, though his eyes had softened. “I mean, yeah. I wasn’t about to let my boyfriend embarrass himself alone.”
Finney snorted. “Wow. Thanks.”
“Anytime.” Robin stretched his long legs out, ankles crossing.
“Also, you looked cute.”
Finney froze.
“Robin.”
“What? You did.”
Finney shoved his shoulder weakly.
“I probably looked stupid.”
Robin grinned, leaning close enough that Finney felt his breath warm against his cheek.
“Yeah. But you’re my stupid.”
“That doesn’t even make sense!” Finney broke into helpless, breathless laughter.
Before he could respond, a sudden shout broke across the yard-
“Robin! La carne está lista!”
(“Robin! The meat is ready!”)
Robin groaned again.
“I swear, they’re calling me every two seconds.”
Finney nudged him.
“Go. I’ll sit here and… try to recover my dignity.”
Robin pressed a quick kiss to Finney’s temple-light, quick, hidden by the angle of their chairs- before standing.
Finney blinked, touching the spot instinctively, watching Robin jog off toward the grill.
He didn’t notice the slight, shy smile on his own face until Ernesto plopped down beside him and said:
“You’re in love, huh?”
Finney almost fell out of the chair.
Ernesto dropped into the chair beside Finney with all the subtlety of a falling boulder, sending a splash of pool water across the concrete. He had a half-melted popsicle in one hand and a look on his face like he’d been waiting hours for this moment.
“So,” Ernesto said, nudging Finney with his elbow, “what do you even like about my brother?”
Finney blinked fast.
“I- what? Why are you-?”
“I’m serious!” Ernesto grinned. “You guys act all cute. Just tell me. I won’t be weird about it.”
Finney groaned, tipping his head back.
“You’re already being weird about it.”
Ernesto shrugged. “I’m twelve. That’s my whole personality.”
Finney rubbed his face with both hands, already flushing.
“I don’t know,” Finney said quietly, staring at the grass. “He’s just… Robin.”
Ernesto snorted. “Wow. Deep.”
Finney shot him a look.
“You asked!”
“Yeah, and I want details!” Ernesto leaned closer, popsicle dripping near Finney’s knee. “Like- what do you like about him? Why do you guys even work?”
Finney hesitated, twisting his fingers together. He didn’t want to admit too much, but Ernesto’s eyes were wide and honestly… a little earnest.
“…He makes me feel safe,” Finney said finally, voice low. “He listens to me. He… sees me. And he never makes me feel stupid.”
Ernesto blinked, caught off guard.
“Oh.”
Finney shrugged, embarrassed by how honest he’d been.
“And he’s funny. And nice. And-“ he sighed, cheeks warm, “-I like being around him. That’s all.”
Ernesto’s grin returned slowly, softer now.
“That makes sense,” he said. “Robin’s kind of a jerk sometimes, but he’s a good jerk.”
Finney laughed into his hands.
“I don’t think that’s a compliment.”
“It is for my family.”
Before Finney could reply, a shadow fell over them.
Robin stood there holding a plate loaded with food and a pair of tongs, looking between the two of them with suspicion. Sweat from the grill glowed on his forehead, and he looked unfairly good for someone who’d been dancing, cooking, and getting yelled at in Spanish for an hour.
“…What are you two talking about?” he asked.
Ernesto opened his mouth immediately.
“Finney was saying-“
Robin didn’t even wait.
He reached out and swatted the back of Ernesto’s head with the tongs.
“Ay!” Ernesto yelped, clutching his skull. “Dude! What was that for?!”
“For being loud,” Robin said flatly.
“You didn’t even let me finish!”
“That’s why I did it.”
Ernesto stuck his tongue out at him.
“You’re just scared of what he was gonna say.”
Robin raised the tongs a little.
“You want round two?”
Ernesto screeched and bolted, slipping a little as he ran off yelling,
“Mamá! Robin’s assaulting me again!”
Robin sighed. “That kid’s gonna get me grounded.”
Finney was trying very hard not to laugh.
Robin set the plate on the table and crouched beside him, gently catching one of Finney’s curls between his fingers and letting it spring back.
“You good?” Robin murmured, softer now.
Finney nodded, small smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah,” he mutters.
They slipped out without anyone noticing, or at least without anyone caring enough to stop them.
Robin had nudged Finney’s elbow, murmured, “C’mon,” and tugged him through the hallway, past piled shoes and chatter drifting from the kitchen. Finney followed him easily, heart thumping from the dancing, the cheering, the way Robin’s hand had kept slipping down to his hip.
Robin closed the bedroom door behind them with a soft click, shutting out the noise of the party.
“Here,” he said, tossing Finney a towel and then another. “You’re gonna get sick if you’re walking around soaked like that.”
Finney laughed, catching it. “Ernesto dragged me into the pool, not my fault.”
Robin smirked, grabbing one for himself. “To be fair, you looked like you needed it.”
Finney rolled his eyes but he was smiling, soft and warm. Robin moved around the room, grabbing a shirt and some shorts from his drawers and placing them in Finney’s hands.
“They’re big on you,” Robin said, almost offhand, but his eyes lingered, warm. “But you’ll look cute.”
Finney’s ears heated instantly.
He changed while Robin faced the door to give him privacy, then Robin switched places. When they were both dry and in warm clothes, Robin flopped onto his bed and patted the space beside him.
Finney climbed in, sliding under the blanket. Neither of them was tired. Not after tonight.
They lay on their sides, facing each other at first. But then Robin scooted closer, hooked a hand lightly around Finney’s waist, and pulled him in until their foreheads touched. Finney felt Robin’s breath against his lips, soft, warm, like a question, like an invitation.
Finney answered without words, leaning in just enough that their lips brushed.
Robin smiled into it.
The room was dim, quiet except for murmured music from downstairs. Robin’s fingers traced small, aimless circles at Finney’s hip; Finney’s hand rested on Robin’s chest where he could feel the steady heartbeat under his palm.
They kissed again, slow, sweet, patient. Not rushed, not greedy. Just little presses of their mouths, the kind you give someone when you’re too comfortable to move much but too in love to stop.
Robin kissed the corner of Finney’s mouth.
Finney let out the quietest laugh. “What was that for?”
“For dancing with me,” Robin murmured.
Finney looked up at him, eyes soft. “I’ll always dance with you.”
Robin’s arm tightened around him almost imperceptibly, like he couldn’t help it. Finney shifted closer until their legs tangled easily under the blankets.
Another kiss. And another, their noses brushing, their breaths mixing, both of them smiling like fools.
No words needed.
Just touch and warmth and this perfect little bubble they carved out for themselves.
Robin pressed one last kiss to Finney’s cheek, whisper-soft.
“Stay here tonight?”
Finney curled into him, resting his head beneath Robin’s chin.
“I wasn’t planning on leaving.”
They didn’t sleep, not yet. They just held each other, kissing whenever they felt like it, sinking deeper into the comfort they’d been craving all night.
Eventually, the kisses got slower.
Finney had his face tucked against Robin’s collarbone, breathing warm little puffs against his skin. Robin kept brushing his fingers through Finney’s damp curls, slower, lazier, until even that small motion started to fade.
Their lips met one last time, a drowsy little press of affection that barely counted as a kiss.
Finney whispered, voice soft and slurred with sleep,
“…night, Rob…”
Robin felt that one right in the chest.
He kissed Finney’s forehead. “Night, Fin.”
Within minutes, their bodies melted into stillness. Robin’s arm remained draped over Finney’s waist, protective even in sleep; Finney’s hand stayed curled into a tiny fist against Robin’s shirt.
The house had quieted downstairs. Only the hum of the AC filled the room.
That’s when the door clicked.
Ernesto peeked in with the delicacy of someone fully expecting to catch them making out or wrestling or doing some dumb boy thing.
He spotted them immediately.
Two boys, tangled under a blanket.
Finney snuggled into Robin’s chest.
Robin asleep with his mouth slightly open.
Both peaceful in a way Ernesto had never seen them.
Ernesto slowly lifted his camera.
Click.
The flash didn’t fire, he had it off, thankfully, just the soft mechanical shutter sound that made him grin.
“Damn,” he whispered to himself, smiling fondly. “You two are gonna owe me for this one.”
He stepped back, quiet as a ghost, and pulled the door shut behind him.
Leaving Robin and Finney asleep, wrapped around each other like they’d always belonged that way.