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Finney didn’t usually do sleepovers; according to him, that was for girls. But when Robin insisted he come sleep at his house on a Friday, he couldn’t say no. Terrance would be out all day for work; Gwen would be at Susie's. It would be fun, and besides, his dad was worried about who he’d stay with.
Now they were there, in the dark living room of the Arellano house, alone on the floor, with the television’s glow as their only company. Finney wore loose pajamas and held a bowl of ice cream, while Robin sat beside him on the floor in a short-sleeved shirt and long shorts that reached his knees. It was odd, since winter had just begun; snowflakes fell on the grass and trees, and the cold was intense.
The TV show in front of them went unnoticed when Finney noticed that curious detail about Robin. The boy turned his head toward him, watching as he devoured his bowl of ice cream like it was the last one on earth. Chocolate ice cream had always been Robin’s weakness.
“It’s cold,” Finney said. “Why are you dressed like that?”
Robin’s dark eyes turned to Finney; a lazy smile began to form on his lips. Determined to make Finney laugh, he set his ice cream bowl on the empty spot beside him and leaned against Finney’s shoulder. Sudden contact made Finney blush with shyness—something that shouldn’t be happening; they were both boys.
“Like what?” Robin teased, intent on messing with him.
Finney furrowed his brow, trying to stay firm—he never managed to. Eye contact held the whole time, until Finney gave in and looked away. Really, he only lasted two seconds.
But Finney Blake didn’t give up. Well, he did with his bullies, but with Robin it was different; the trust between them grew stronger every second they spent together. He made eye contact again.
“You’ll freeze,” Finney said, playfully pushing his shoulder against Robin’s.
“Oh, the great Finney Blake is worried about me,” Robin said in a theatrical voice, pressing the back of his hand to his forehead, eyebrows raised in mock surprise. “I think I need a hug so I don’t freeze. Or a kiss.”
Both froze; their cheeks burned with the same intensity. Robin cursed inwardly; those revealing words had slipped out by accident. It was painfully obvious these two were fools in love who wouldn’t admit it.
No one could blame them: in 1978, no guy would dare speak to another like that; disgust and rejection would come from the other person, or from anyone watching.
A slight fear gripped Robin’s chest. He was done for. He had revealed a secret he planned to take to the grave. The possibility that Finney would pull away terrified him most.
“It was just...”
His words were cut off by Finney, who had already timidly slipped an arm around his shoulder. Robin’s shock turned to surprise, and then to even more nerves.
“I guess a hug doesn’t hurt anyone,” Finney said, pretending not to notice the kiss comment.
Finney wouldn’t even look at him, too shy. His eyes stayed fixed on the ice cream bowl in his lap, fingers tracing the rim with his free hand. The silence that followed was awkward.
The teenagers didn’t know what this meant. Sure, to anyone else it would look normal—two friends with an arm around the shoulder was a common friendly gesture, something for a birthday congrats or celebrating a baseball win.
To them it wasn’t. It felt far more intimate, especially because of those mischievous butterflies they felt—not just in their stomachs, but all over their bodies.
And with that intimacy, Robin took a chance.
“Finney?”
The call made him look up with effort; his gaze was a silent answer.
“I...” A knot formed in his throat.
He couldn’t hold back anymore. He leaned in and pressed his lips against Finney’s.
Even Robin was shocked by his own actions. Finney startled so hard that the ice cream bowl slipped from his lap and fell upside down on the floor. Chocolate ice cream spilled everywhere.
They pulled apart quickly. The tension between them was thick enough to cut with a butter knife. Finney stared at his spilled ice cream. Robin watched the comedy show on TV as if he suddenly loved stand-up—Finney had gotten scared by a paranormal program earlier, so they switched to this.
“My ice cream,” a high-pitched squeak escaped Finney, one he regretted seconds later.
Robin was on the verge of hyperventilating. He had just kissed his friend. A guy. On the lips. It felt strange to see him like this; it wasn’t common to see Robin Arellano so insecure, terrified, and on the verge of tears. No, not on the verge—the tears were already sliding down his cheeks.
When Finney looked at him, just as nervous, he was shocked to see Robin silently crying, head turned away.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kissed you,” his voice broke. “I was stupid, forgive me.”
Robin collapsed after those words, covering his face with his hands and sobbing quietly. Finney froze. He had never seen Robin like this before, and he wasn’t good at comforting people.
With nerves running from head to toe, Finney did the most rational thing...
Well, nothing rational—just whatever came to mind. He braced one hand on the floor to lean closer, while the other brushed Robin’s wrist. In a gentle motion, he pulled both hands away; his heart broke seeing that face—once full of confidence and mischief—now a mess of tears and snot.
“You can hit me, call me a fag, whatever, but plea—”
Finney closed the gap between them, kissing him on the lips to silence him. This time Robin startled, but they didn’t pull apart. Robin’s conflicted mind shut off, letting his hormonal teenage side take over as he deepened the kiss.
The kiss tasted purely of chocolate, full of clashing teeth and noses. Robin held Finney by the sides, while Finney ran his hands through Robin’s long hair.
When they separated, both were panting as if they’d run a marathon. They looked at each other with a mix of emotions: nervousness, love... and fear.
“I...” Robin swallowed, making eye contact. His cheeks still wet with tear tracks. “I love you, Finn, I’m sorry.” A sob escaped as he hugged Finney and buried his face in the crook of his neck.
Finney hugged him tighter on instinct, just as affected. His shoulders shook as tears began sliding down his own cheeks. He buried his face in Robin’s hair. Both cried like little kids.
“Me too, Robin,” another strong sob forced him to pause. “But we’re boys. It’s not right. It’s a sin.”
Robin lifted his tear-clouded gaze again. He wanted to stay there, in the warmth of Finney’s arms, so close he could feel their hearts beating in sync, as physically close as possible. In Finney’s embrace, Robin felt protected from the wintry cold.
“I don’t care about sinning if it’s with you, amor,” the pet name slipped out like it belonged there. “Please. No one has to know.”
Robin was usually clear about his desires; he never wavered... But now, speaking his desires to Finney, that confident facade melted like cotton candy in water.
Meanwhile, Finney had never been confident—always shy, always fearful. He never fought back, only took the hits. That made him hesitate. Was this "morally" right, or what his heart wanted?
Finney had never made such a serious decision... Now he had to, or he’d lose any relationship with Robin. He swallowed hard; this was harder than taking care of his alcoholic dad alone on Fridays.
Unsure, Finney initiated another kiss—a nonverbal answer. Robin wasn’t satisfied; he pulled back immediately, frowning, tightening his grip on Finney without hurting him.
“Finney.”
That was enough for Finney. No more words were needed. He glanced around the dark room before returning to Robin. Their faces so close didn’t help his nerves. Finney swallowed again.
The next words out of Finney’s mouth came fast, barely understandable:
“Okay, but no one can know...” Finney’s fingers drummed on Robin’s head. “My dad would kill me.”
A spark of joy and hope replaced Robin’s frown; he gave Finney a quick kiss on the lips. Finney froze a little, blushing even more—if that was possible.
“Are you sure?” Robin asked against his lips, still afraid it was a joke.
Finney nodded softly.
“If this is sinning,” he began, voice trembling, “then I’d love to burn in hell for you.”
Those words hit Robin with pure love. A traitorous sob escaped as they shared another kiss.
Maybe they were born in the wrong year, when being gay was seen as worse than murder by much of society, but their love was greater than any prejudice.
They would get through this, in secret and as genuinely as possible. A complicated, forbidden, yet beautiful and innocent love.
And those ice cream bowls—one upside down, the other still intact—were forgotten.
The night was young, just like the love between these two, who would share many more kisses that night.