Archive of Our Own

FOUR YEARS AGO

Wednesday…

The TV’s white glow lit up Robin’s whole living room, illuminating Vance’s scrunched up face as he jabbed furiously at the buttons on his controller. His brother sat beside him, face impassive. Robin himself was sprawled out unconventionally over his leather lounger, sulking. Most things he sulked about were irrelevant, really. But it hadn’t helped that he’d been banned from playing Street Fighter Six on his very own play station by angry tweedle dee and grumpy tweedle dum— the imposters who had practically barged in and decided to live in his damn house.

“Is it my go yet?” he whined, voice muffled due to his face being squashed up against the arm of the chair. Vance scowled and both brothers looked over to him in unison to growl “no.” Robin groaned self-pityingly, stretching his limbs further across the chair until he could feel himself begin to slip slowly from his awkward slump.

He fell to the ground at the same time the TV’s speakers roared “K.O!” and narrowly dodged Vance’s thrown controller, rolling out of the way parkour-style. “Fucking piece of shit!” The blonde seethed, throwing himself up from the sofa and stepping over Robin’s now lifeless body, presumably to grab another soda from the kitchen.

Griffin smirked to himself, quietly setting his own controller down and taking up his phone instead. After a few moments of unbothered silence, the boy finally peered over his phone and took a mild interest in Robin’s display of victimhood. “What’s got you so bearable?”

“I don’t think that’s the word,” Robin mumbled into the carpet “I’m in mourning.”

A pause; as if Griffin was deciding whether the conversation was really worth his time. Then with another slightly unnecessarily big sigh, Griffin sat forward and nudged Robin with his foot. “Right…Why are you being so bearably quiet and mournful then?”

Robin let out a long-strung moan of self-pity. “I’m such a stupid fucking chud.”

Griffin went silent, closing his eyes to regain some form of patience. “Why do I even try?” he muttered to himself, then raised his voice to call his brother in. Vance trudged into the room, coke can in hand, and nodded his head with a grunt.

“What?”

“Figure out what’s wrong with your friend. It’s too much work for me.” Griffin rolled his eyes and dragged his knees up to his chest, grabbing up his phone again. Vance turned his head deliberately until he was staring at Robin stretched out on the floor, face in the carpet.

“Uh…what’s wrong with you?” he repeated uncertainly, eyebrows scrunched, as if caring about his friends was a problem he had yet to work out properly.

“Didn’t you hear?” Robin rolled over with a gasp to glare up at Vance. “I’m in mourning!”

“Of…what exactly?”

He sat up with renewed passion, running a hand through his hair. God, he needed a haircut too. Could this day have gotten any worse?

“I can’t host my party this Friday.”

Vance choked on his mouthful of soda. “You didn’t think to mention this sooner? It’s fucking Wednesday!”

“More importantly, why not?” Griffin had seemingly regained interest, having decided to put his two cents in.

“I can’t get any booze!” Robin complained. “My Ma took my fake ID away. I can’t exactly host a party at my house without any booze!” Vance huffed and sat down in Robin’s recliner seat, folding his arms.

“So what? People can just bring their own stuff.”

Robin shook his head violently. “It’s not an Arellano party if I don’t provide drinks.” He drew his legs to his chest with a wistful sigh. “And anyway, my dealer’s out of town. So even if I did get my ID back, I couldn’t get any!”

Vance and Griffin shared an unimpressed look.

“What’s that look for? It’s so scary when you guys sync up like that— stop it.” Robin glared at them.

“Don’t you think either one of us could just go buy from someone else with our ID?” Vance offered dryly. Robin gaped at him, mouth aghast with offence.

“And betray Alexander? Absolutely not!—”

“Robin, Robin— it’s just one time,” Griffin attempted.

“No! We have a good relationship! Alexander has gone to visit his Grandma in Texas, and I will not be hooking up with someone else while he’s out of town.”

“You had no problem hooking up with someone else while your ex was in town,” Vance pointed out. Robin rose to his feet.

“This is fucking slander!” He stared from one brother to another, then pointed a finger at each of them. “This, I will not take in my own home.”

“Truth bomb hits hard.” Griff shrugged, shoving a piece of popcorn in his mouth. “Does it even have to be alcohol?”

Robin froze, then frowned. “I…hadn’t thought of that.”

“Weed is better anyway,” he mused.

“You have a dealer?” Vance raised his eyebrows at his younger brother, half impressed and half annoyed. He’d probably be more annoyed if he wasn’t so high himself at the moment.

“A friend,” Griffin corrected. “Not like the parasocial crush Robin has on his dealer, by the way. An actual friend.”

“So invite him, then. That’s sorted, right?” Vance waved his can pointedly at Robin, who was stroking his chin thoughtfully.

“I suppose…that might just work. If he brings a shit ton. Then, you know, obviously everyone can just bring their own stuff anyway.” He shrugged.

“I just said that—” Vance let out an exasperated sound, but ultimately decided not to chase it.

“One problem,” Griffin hummed, typing something out on his phone.

“What now?” Robin flopped back onto the sofa next to him.

“Finney won’t come unless he knows people.”

“Who’s Finney?” Robin squinted. He yelped as Vance threw his empty can at him, spilling a dribble of the remnants down his shirt.

“The weed dealer, dipshit.”

“My friend, actually.” Griffin rolled his eyes and continued. “He says he won’t sell to people he doesn’t know.”

“Won’t you be there?” Vance grunted.

“I’m still deciding,” his brother replied defensively.

“So…in other words, waiting to see if Billy will come?” Robin grinned, setting the can down on the floor. He was met with a pillow to the face and a vehement scowl from Griffin.

“Shut up.” His cheeks had already taken on a steady blush, the heat climbing up his face in seconds. Vance made a gagging sound, and promptly received the same cushioned attack.

“Calm down, I’ll text him.” Vance threw back the pillow with twice the force and snatched up his phone.

“I don’t think he has a football match this Saturday, so I’m sure he’ll turn up,” Robin added, patting Griffin on the arm and nodding wisely. Griffin gradually looked down at the hand on his arm, then back up to Robin’s oblivious face.

“Robin.”

“Yeah?” He grinned.

“If you don’t get your chubby cheeto fingers off me and shut the fuck up—” Griffin picked up the one remaining pillow lying next to him. Robin pulled his hand back quickly and leapt up off the sofa, sticking out his tongue with a laugh.

“Chill out, Griffy, what does it matter—”

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.

“What does it matter that you have a little crush on heartthrob Showalter?” Robin continued.

“I don’t get crushes,” Griffin growled.

“Well, you might get crushes if you went out once in a while. Like, if you actually showed up to my parties!” Robin clapped with a grin. Griffin looked away with a scowl. He dared to take another step closer to the sofa, hands spread out placatingly. “Come on, whenever Billy’s round he’s always asking after you.”

Griffin chewed on his cheek. Eventually, he relented. “Fine. I’ll come if—” he held up a hand before Robin could get too excited, “if you let Finney bring his sister.”

Robin groaned and threw up his hands. “Finney was one thing, but you know I don’t like fucking randoms at my parties!”

“She’s not a random,” Vance pitched in, “she’s the reason Finney’ll come, right?” He sent a meaningful look towards Griffin who picked it up and nodded. Robin sucked in air through his teeth.

“Not a random? From you, Vance?” He turned his tactic to try Vance, wiggling his eyebrows. “You have a crush on her or something?”

“I’m gay. You know that,” Vance deadpanned, casting his eyes back to his phone. Robin deflated, then finally admitted defeat with an exaggerated whine.

“Fine, fuck! She and your stupid stoner friend can come.”

Griffin let a small smile meet his face, sending off a text to Gwen. This might actually be the first time he could consider one of Robin’s lame parties fun.

Friday…

Finney arrived tastefully late to the party. He wasn’t really one to go to these things— but both Griffin and Gwen had somehow convinced him that this would be the night of his life, so here he was. The night had started with Finney taking one look at the crowds of inebriated teenagers, and promptly making a beeline for the garden.

He needed to be a little less himself if he was going to deal with this many people and not make a fool of himself.

He sat in the grass, flanked by a circle of people; Gwen on his left, Griffin on his right. He had shared out two more blunts after Griffin gave him the cash, and he had exactly five more before he ran out for the night. Gwen was staring up at the stars, glassy-eyed, her hair splayed across the grass. Finney grimaced.

He owed a smoke to the host, which he would have done if he could have found the guy. He sounded like a douchebag anyway, from how Griffin complained about him.

Robin was leaning against the sliding door to his garden, quiet for the first time in his entire life. Billy had sidled up to him, a beer in one hand and the other raised to dap him up.

“Hey, there birdy! Long time no see.”

Robin turned with a half-distracted grin to return the dap, pulling Billy into a jostled bro-hug. “There you are, Showalter. I was starting to worry you wouldn’t turn up.” He pointed at him with only half a joke between his teeth. “You would’ve really fucked us over if you didn’t come.”

Billy frowned, but laughed it off with a shrug of his shoulder, leaning against the other side of the doorway. “Oh yeah? How so?” But Robin’s gaze had already returned back to the garden, a little glazed over in thought. He neglected Billy’s question to focus on one individual.

“Hey, can you grab Griff for me?” He licked his lips, only tearing his gaze away when Billy’s perplexed silence stretched on too long.

“Uh…what for?”

He let his hand fall onto Billy’s surprisingly toned arm, stumbling drunkenly closer. “I need to ask him something. And then…I need you to do me a favour.”

Billy raised an eyebrow, a silly smile sliding onto his boyish face. “What can I do you for?”

“Keep Griff distracted, but after I learn the name of the pretty boy sitting next to him.” Robin giggled at a pitch which was probably more embarrassing than he had registered. The footballer next to him hummed, as if thinking it over.

“And why exactly should I be the one to get Griffin?”

“Because he’ll actually listen to you, duh.” Robin rolled his eyes. If he wasn’t so pathetically hammered off of stolen drinks, he might’ve recognised the mischievous glint in Billy’s eye as he leaned a little closer.

“And why is that, Robin?” His tone was coaxing, as if getting a confession out from a guilty fourth grader.

“Because he likes you, Showalter. Now go— fetch me the boy!” Robin smiled, oblivious as ever to Billy’s smug face as he pushed him down the stairs from his back porch.

Billy huffed back a laugh to himself as he hopped down the last few steps, striding up to the circle with more confidence than he’d have if he were sober. He stopped just short of Griffin’s back, letting his knee graze his head and shoving his hands in his pockets. It took a moment of fallen silence and exchanged looks; a few awed glances and the usual whispers, before Griffin finally looked up with a scowl.

“Showalter,” he greeted reluctantly.

“Hey there, Griff.” He grinned back at him. He could feel the warmth where Griffin was slowly leaning into his legs, a silent argument against the glare currently sitting on his face.

“Did you want something?” he sighed, tilting his head like the conversation was already boring him.

Billy thought he looked so pretty like this; head leaned back with his eyes all glazed over and a little red. Griffin’s curls were slightly windswept, and the summer evening had him rid of his usual baggy hoodies and denim jeans. His pale arms and legs now reflected the warm string lights around the garden.

He was getting distracted. He cocked a smirk. “Depends what you’re offering,” he answered.

Griffin rolled his stormy eyes. “What do you want?” he repeated, through gritted teeth this time.

Had that blush always been on Griffin’s face?

Maybe Billy was imagining it. But he liked to believe he had put it there. He opened his mouth, the flirty reply already on the tip of his tongue—

“And don’t say me.”

Billy’s mouth stayed open. Then, a sheepish look flushed his face as he shut it slowly. He laughed a beat too late. “How d’you know I was gonna say that? Bit presumptuous of you.”

“Because you’re a stupid fucking flirt and…” Griffin was playing with the carabiner on his belt loop, a sign that he was getting self conscious. “…And because I know you. So get on with it and stop embarrassing yourself.”

Billy bit back a smile. He rocked thoughtfully back on his heels, then dropped one hand from his pocket, palm open to Griffin. He jerked his head back towards the house with no further explanation. “Come on.”

Griffin looked at his hand, then back up at his face. His face scrunched up in consideration, before he made an exaggerated show of exasperation and slapped his hand into Billy’s, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. Billy didn’t let go as he steadied him, then began tugging him back up the steps to the porch.

“Seriously, what are you doing?” Griffin’s cheeks were so pink now, but Billy stayed wilfully ignorant to the implications of his actions. He pulled him up onto the penultimate step, only pausing on the one above him to finally answer. He leaned down to whisper close to his ear, too drunk to repress the giddy smile at the way Griffin’s whole body tensed up in proximity.

“Host wants you.”

With that, Billy finally released his hand and stepped over to the doorway, nodding to Robin and taking a spot leaning against the wall.

“Took your time flirting, Bilious,” the host snickered.

“Yeah, yeah— shut it Arellano,” Billy joked back, shaking his head and letting his gaze soften as it found Griffin, still stood stiffly on the step.

He reluctantly tore his gaze away from Billy as their eyes met, then trudged up to Robin. “What?” he grumbled. It came out quieter than usual. Robin didn’t seem to notice, grabbing Griffin’s shoulder and pulling him closer to whisper-yell into his face.

“You wanna tell me about the cute person you got sitting next to you?”

Griffin pulled a face of pure scrutiny. “Gwen?…Are you sure? She’s not exactly your type— I’m not sure your attitude would mix with hers.”

“No—” Robin hissed, “not the girl! The boy, next to you.”

Griffin’s second face made Billy turn away fully to face the other direction. His eyebrows had shot up so high on his face, they had been hidden by his hair. He couldn’t contain his laughter, so he faced the garden wall in shame and listened in closely.

“God, you really are a slut. I guess you’d go for anyone, huh?”

Billy stifled another fit of giggles. Robin whined then stomped his foot. “I don’t care that he’s a boy, tell me his name!”

Griffin sighed loud enough for Billy to hear. “That’s Finney. My friend who brought the weed.”

Billy peeked over his shoulder to catch a glimpse at Robin’s awe struck face. When Robin’s eyes returned to Griffin, he took him up by both shoulders and shook him violently.

“You didn’t tell me your dealer was fucking pretty!”

Griffin attempted to shrug his hands off with a displeased look. “Apologies. Was I supposed to give a description?”

“Yes!” Robin squeaked, shaking him again. “When he looks like that, yes!”

Billy chose that moment to step in, slinging an arm around Griffin’s shoulders and pulling him out of reach from Robin. “Well, I think it’s time you buckle up and go talk to him like a big boy. He owes you a joint right?”

Robin blinked, then stared longingly at the mysterious boy in the garden. “Yeah…that’s right,” he replied, sounding a little weaker now with his own nerves.

“Go get him, buddy.” Billy clapped him on the shoulder as he passed the threshold, dragging Griffin along with him.

“Where are you going?” Robin called.

“I’m getting another drink!” he threw over his shoulder, scoffing to himself as they rounded the island. Billy didn’t bother to move his arm as he opened the fridge, plucking up the first bottle of beer he saw and cracking it open with his teeth. Griffin flinched beside him at the noise. “Shit, sorry. Should’ve warned you— I forgot.”

Now he looked at him, Griffin seemed to have whirred to a stop. He was frozen by his own flusterment, staring up at Billy with half-lidded eyes. He blinked away the daze upon being perceived, letting his stare wander uselessly around the kitchen. “I haven’t even told you anything to remember,” he replied softly.

“Yeah, but I already noticed you don’t like the sound. So I’m apologising for forgetting.” Billy shrugged with the one shoulder he had free. “It’s the decent thing to do, I think.”

“I didn’t know you could be decent,” Griffin returned dryly. Billy huffed.

“Well, now you know. I’m not all bad, you see?” He grinned teasingly, then nodded his head to the fridge again. “You want a drink?”

Griffin shook his head. “I don’t drink.”

“No?” Billy clicked his tongue. “But you smoke?”

Griffin shrugged jerkily under the weight of his arm. “Sometimes. Finney usually has some, so when we hang out I’ll smoke with him.”

He nodded slowly. A comfortable quiet settled upon them, where Billy let his arm drop to circle Griff’s stomach from behind, as he leant back against the counter. Griffin stayed very still while he moved, and then for a little while after too. Billy couldn’t pretend his eyes weren’t burning a hole into the side of his face as he waited for him to make his next move.

Finally, after what seemed like hours of painful intensity, Griffin let out a shaky, resigned exhale and turned around to face him. Billy made space for him to step closer between his legs. Their eyes scanned each other’s faces, taking the moment to appreciate each feature in detail.

“What d’you say we get out of here?” Billy asked, slowly. Carefully.

Liking Griffin had sometimes felt like creeping around an active landmine site. Part of him liked the adrenaline of it all.

He seemed to consider it carefully, teeth chewing on the inside of his mouth as his eyes strayed down to where Billy’s arm was still hanging lazily around him. “Where?” he questioned hesitantly.

“My place?” Billy offered.

Griffin hummed, eyes falling to his lips. He glanced warily at the doors either side of them. Only when he was sure no one was looking in on them did he teeter forward to brush his lips against Billy’s. After, he pulled back with a sharp inhale, analysing the cautiously composed look of curiosity on Billy’s face.

“Okay.”

Billy hadn’t cared enough to hide his smile this time when Griffin had taken his hand and led him away from the party.

Out in the garden, Robin had finally managed to strike up a conversation with his newest obsession. He leaned up against the the tree at the back of the garden, having pulled him away from the circle of smokers. Finney was opposite him, eyes cast away shyly. Robin took a drag of his joint and admired his face up close.

“I haven’t seen you around much. Have you come to one of my parties before?” he questioned, shifting slightly closer. Finney’s eyes flicked to him, then returned to his observation of the garden with a hidden smile.

“No. But I wouldn’t have come, even if you did invite me.”

Robin let out a surprised laugh. “Why the fuck is that?”

Finney rolled his eyes. “Well, for one, I don’t know you.”

“But you know my name?”

“Everybody knows your name.”

“Alright,” Robin snorted, tilting his head to try and catch his eye. “And if I asked you now, would you come?”

“Hm, I don’t know...” Finney sighed and looked up at the slips of starlight which peeked through the branches above them, a secretive smile playing on his mouth.

“You’re killing me here,” Robin groaned. “Why? Why don’t you know?”

“You sound like an idiot,” Finney laughed.

“I am an idiot,” he corrected.

“At least you’re self aware.” Finney smirked, taking the offered joint from Robin’s outstretched hand. “But…I guess you’re not as bad as they say.”

“Who’s they?” Robin murmured, eyebrows raising. He didn’t need to talk so loudly anymore; their shoulders were brushing together against the bark of the tree, and Finney’s eyes were on him.

“You know…people talk about you. I listen.” Finney shrugged. His bare arm rubbed against Robin’s, skin cool to the touch. Robin pressed closer subconsciously, his grin knowing. Robin didn’t think he’d ever find a better high than the drug of Finney’s attention that night.

“So it’s Griffin who’s been talking shit?” he asked playfully.

“Maybe,” Finney teased. Robin kissed his teeth and turned towards him, caging him in slightly.

“Not good enough,” he insisted. “Who was it?”

Finney’s hand came up to his chest, laughing as he pushed him away. The resistance under his palm was slight, but it made Robin sway. He moved back in closer. Finney didn’t stop him this time. “Why does it matter who?” he whispered.

“It matters because he’s making me look bad in front of you.” Robin grinned.

“I didn’t know I meant so much to you?” Finney’s eyes narrowed, but his lips were tilted up at the edges. Robin wanted to kiss him. His smile faded a little, but the emotion behind it stayed in the lines of his eyes, in the tucked corners of his lips.

“I didn’t either,” he answered eventually, voice quieter.

“What changed?”

“You turned up,” Robin gestured at him, “looking like this.”

“Is that your version of a compliment?” Finney snickered. Robin smiled back, leaning against the bark of the tree to one side again. Finney’s head was tilted down to look at him, their faces close enough to feel every breath through parted lips. It was enough to feel the temptation in the air. It felt thick between them; each breath Robin took was heavier and harder than the last.

Robin licked his lips, eyes dipping down to Finney’s mouth, then back up to his kind brown eyes. They were almost black in the moonlight, the garden lights reflecting as little pinpricks in his irises. “It’s my version of a warning.”

A sense of overwhelming longing filled Robin, right up to the brim. He could barely handle looking at Finney without wanting to do something stupidly forward. He was anxious.

Since when did that happen to him?

He averted his eyes to quell some of the ache in his chest.

The party from afar looked messy. Chaotic. Just how he liked it. Still, beside him was perhaps the calmest presence he’d ever felt. Finney’s soft voice washed over him like a summer breeze. The problem was, Robin still wanted him more than anything else that this damn party could offer.

That thought terrified him. He broke off his own train of thought, forcing a grin onto his face as he nodded towards the house. “You wanna come get a drink with me?”

“Do you have anything non-alcoholic?” Finney glanced back at him. His eyes felt all too intense for the few seconds they lingered there, on his face.

“We have coke, orange juice and fanta,” he shrugged, “take your pick.”

In the kitchen, Robin cracked open a beer and busied himself with finding an unopened bottle of fanta for Finney in the fridge. Finney leaned against the counter next to him, watching with a small smile on his face. Robin straightened up with a groan.“We ran out of fanta, but its fine, ‘cause it’s shit anyway. You good with coke?”

Finney rolled his eyes but took the offered bottle. “Fanta is not shit. I’m pretty sure its like, in the top three best selling drinks in America, so it can’t be.”

“Americans are stupid,” Robin grumbled, shutting the fridge and taking a swig of his own beer.

“Doesn’t matter, you can’t deny facts,” Finney protested. “It’s in the statistics!”

“So what, you just happened to educate yourself on the success rate of drink companies in your free time, to back up your awful taste?” Robin asked sarcastically.

“Why do you care if I do?” Finney raised an eyebrow.

“I refuse to associate with someone who chooses fanta as their number one drink. It’s basic and boring!”

“For the record, its not my number one drink.” Finney pushed himself off the counter to stand at the same height as Robin— except from the fact that he was about a head taller. Robin swallowed slightly as he tilted his head up, but kept an unimpressed look on his face.

“Oh yeah? What is it then?””

“Grape juice.”

Robin set down his beer with a groan, running a hand through his hair. “Absolutely not! That’s even worse Finn— oh my god…”

Finney snorted, resting his elbow on the counter and leaning down into his space. “What’s your favourite drink then, Mr. Superior?”

Robin smiled, thinking for a moment, but before he could answer a loud voice interrupted their moment.

“Who invited Finney fucking Blake?!”

Bruce Yamada’s beaming face appeared in the doorway behind Finney. He strode into the kitchen, placed his bottle of vodka down on the counter and wrapped his arms around him from behind. Finney had gone a light shade of pink by the time Bruce’s chin was resting on his shoulder. “I missed you,” he continued.

“Hey, Brucie,” Finney greeted him fondly.

“What’s good Yamada?” Robin echoed, if not a little flatly. His eyes travelled to all the places Finney was pressed close to the baseball player; a sharp feeling twisted in his stomach. Something ugly was rearing its head, and Robin had had enough experiences with his own jealousy issues to know when he was dooming himself to unwarranted possession.

“Sick party, dude. Another rager.” Bruce winked and pointed at Robin. “You don’t mind if I steal Finney here, do ya?” The wording made him bristle. He forced himself to relax against the edge of the island counter, picking up his beer and jerking up a nod. “Great. I’ve been trying to get him to meet my teammates for a while now, if you know what I mean.” Bruce smirked and raised his eyebrows suggestively.

Finney rolled his eyes, shrugging off Bruce’s arms and turning towards the living room. “I’m going willingly. Stop dragging it.” He gave a brief, sheepish smile over his shoulder at Robin. “We’ll talk later, ‘kay?”

As Bruce followed him, Robin could see Finney hiss a few words of reprimand with a scowl and a nudge at Bruce’s shoulder. Even though it gnawed at his dignity, Robin continued watching until they disappeared into the dark crowd, no longer illuminated by the flashing lights adorning the living room. The last thing Robin heard was Finney’s gentle laughter; the start of a blush creeping up his cheeks still.

Finney spent the next few hours being dragged around by Bruce and forgetting each name told to him moments later. Usually he would take the chance to flirt a little, maybe even get laid. But all the faces soon blurred into one, and although he was enjoying being around Bruce, he was getting a little impatient to get back to Robin. He had already found the person he wanted to fuck— not that he’d gotten the chance to say it with his friend’s insistence.

Eventually, since he didn’t see him around school much due to popularity differences, Bruce took him aside to catch up. “I know you’re not the sociable type, but you seem more distracted than usual. Usually you have a little more fun with my teammates.” He smirked, sipping at his drink. Finney groaned.

“Is it that obvious?”

“That you have someone on your mind?” Bruce snorted. “Dude, yeah.”

Finney smiled at his own drink, now flat and a little warm. “I do have someone who caught my attention already tonight. He’s just…not who I thought he was. Or how people say he is.” Bruce hummed.

“Let me guess— it’s Robin who’s got you all flustered?” Finney nodded reluctantly. Bruce’s grin grew guilty. “Well, let me do you a favour and help set you up. If I knew you two were talking like that I wouldn’t have barged into your conversation so rudely.” He rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

“It’s fine. Just embarrassing.” Finney rolled his eyes and nudged Bruce out of his guilt spiral before it could start. “So, tell me Mister popular, what’s the plan?”

Bruce’s smile turned cunning.

True to his word, Bruce did help Finney find Robin; sat on the stairs with Vance, watching the party in silence. He trailed after him as planned, but hung back nervously when he saw Robin’s company. Bruce’s plan evidently hadn’t accounted for his own worst weakness. Vance’s eyes snapped up first from his phone, drawn to Bruce’s figure leant against the wall, in the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. A smile came up to his face, all sharp teeth and malice. Then he nudged Robin and nodded over to Finney. Robin moved his head slowly, obviously a lot more drunk than when Finney had left him.

“Bruce wanted to ask you something,” Finney blurted, wincing at the look of surprise on Bruce’s face. This was not the plan. “I can take care of Robin if he’s drunk.”

Vance took a contemplative sip of his beer. “Does he now?” His eyes lit up a little. Finney’s stomach churned with dread.

“Yep.” He sent a quick, pleading smile in Bruce’s direction who pushed himself off the wall uncertainly. Vance stood, making his way down a few steps. He paused, then gestured down at Robin. “He’s not too bad. He’s just sulking, but I’d recommend getting him to bed.” Vance slunk past him, stopping in front of Bruce. As Finney crouched down to be at eye level with Robin, he could hear Vance’s voice in the hallway.

“I thought you weren't talking to me anymore?”

Finney took a seat next to Robin and brushed his hair out his face, loosely tucking it behind his ears. “You look pretty sad for someone who hosts chaos at their house by choice,” he murmured.

“Lets go for a walk. How about that?” Bruce’s voice was tight with nerves as it carried up the stairs.

“It’s nearly midnight.”

Robin frowned and leaned closer to Finney, eyes drinking in his face. His shoulders relaxed as their arms brushed. “I’m okay…now you’re here.”

Bruce scoffed loudly, gaining more confidence and volume. “You telling me you got scared of the dark or something?”

The hallway bellow fell into silence.

“Fuck this,” Vance growled.

The front door slammed, and a glance to the bottom of the stairs told Finney that the two had left. He really hadn't thought it through when he had sent Vance over to Bruce. They always had a strange air between them, and despite Bruce still clinging onto his so called heterosexuality, Finney didn't doubt that Vance may be the very reason he never took up any of his fan girl’s offers.

Who knew, maybe they’d finally get together for once.

Turning back to Robin, he noticed those brown eyes still hadn’t left his face. He had a small, absent smile on his face as he rested his head against the banister.

“You’re really pretty, you know that?” he slurred.

Finney felt his whole face go red. He really hadn’t thought this through. Flirting with Bruce’s teammates were one thing, but Robin seemed to make him lose all the charm he held with little effort. “Y…You are too,” he fumbled out. Robin’s smile curled into something more teasing.

“You think so?” Finney nodded slowly, feeling lost for words. He closed his eyes. “That’s too bad…” he sighed, “if you didn’t have a boyfriend I would’ve liked to take you out.”

Finney choked on his own spit. “Boyfriend? I don’t have a— what?” Robin cracked open an eye, frowning.

“You’re not dating Yamada?” Finney shook his head with an incredulous laugh. Robin leaned forward, swaying precariously. He steadied him with one hand, and Robin leant into it, all the energy and smile returning to his brilliant eyes as he cleared his throat. “So…uh, theoretically, how would you feel about that date then?”

Finney hummed as if debating it, his own smile pulling at his face as Robin’s warm hands enveloped his. “Well, I guess I’d be happy to be free tomorrow…theoretically.”

Robin laughed breathlessly. “I’ll pick you up at seven then.” His breath smelt faintly of beer, but Finney was too high on more than weed to care, especially when his lips were being kissed so sweetly the next second.

Graduation day…

Finney was buzzing with excitement and nerves by the time he reached Robin’s driveway. Beside him was his cap and gown, in the passenger seat. He’d been waiting for this day for years.

This morning, he had gotten an acceptance letter to the university in Arizona; his dream school which worked closely with NASA in planetary optics and space engineering. The sun was streaming in through his open windows, and he was graduating with some of the top grades in his school. Overall, it was a very good fucking morning. And he wanted to share it with one particular person.

Robin didn’t exactly know he was coming over, but he always left a key under the mat for when he was too lazy to open the door. Finney was humming a soft tune as he fiddled with the lock, the front door clicking open. Finney shut the door behind him and moved to the shoe rack to slip off his converse.

“Robin!” he called, rolling his eyes. His boyfriend was probably still asleep. He let his footsteps thud into the carpet, eyeing at the very spot Robin had asked him out earlier this year fondly.

The walls of this house were familiar by now. Despite all their arguments and break ups, Finney was starting to hope things would pick up for the future. They didn’t exactly have labels yet; which warranted half the rows they’d had over Robin’s tendency to fuck around. Not that Finney didn’t occasionally do the same to make him jealous, but he had a feeling that maybe the relationship was maturing a little. They hadn’t argued over something like that in months. In fact, they’d spent almost every day before high school ended in each other’s presence. Even if he did still have to remind Robin to get out of bed once in a while, their relationship had definitely evolved.

He pushed open Robin’s bedroom door gently, smiling at the still sleeping boy tucked up in his sheets. Finney dropped his bag and crawled onto the bed, pressing a soft kiss to Robin’s warm chest. “Morning Rob,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair. Robin’s eyes fluttered open, flickering with confusion and surprise before he pulled Finney closer to his chest instinctively.

“Morning. When the hell did you get here?”

“Just now. Wanted to see you.” He dropped a kiss to his mouth and rested his chin on Robin’s chest. Robin hummed, still half asleep, and promptly closed his eyes again. Finney let the silence stretch comfortably, revelling in the warmth of the shared body heat. But it wasn’t long until he caught a glimpse of something which made his stomach drop.

“Robin fucking Arellano.” He sat up quickly enough that it startled Robin from his doze.

“Shit— uh what?”

“On graduation day? Seriously?” Finney turned away, catching up a pair of purple boxers lying inconspicuously on the pillow next to his head. They weren’t Finney’s, and they certainly weren’t Robin’s because Robin hated the colour purple. Robin’s bewildered face turned to panic as Finney pushed himself up off the bed and threw the boxers in his face. “You’re such a fucking whore!”

Tears pricked at Finney’s eyes as he stood and snatched up his bag, turning to the door. Robin stumbled over his own feet to shove off the duvet, following Finn as he shoved open the door and stormed down the hallway.

“It’s not what it looks like!” Robin’s voice was creeping up in pitch. “Baby wait—please.” He trailed close behind, cursing as he slipped on the stairs in his pursuit.

“You are so fucking gross!” Finney scowled.

“I didn’t know you were coming over— wait up Finn, please!” Finney took the steps two at a time, shaking off Robin’s hands as they grabbed at him.

“We talked about how well we were doing two fucking days ago, then you go and get another boy in your bed!” Only when he reached the front door did Finney spin around to glare at him. “Are you that fucking stupid that your poor brain cells can’t manage remembering the conversation we’ve had thirty goddamn times!”

“I swear I wasn’t cheating! I mean, we’re barely even dating Finn!” Robin flailed his arms, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. Finney stilled, eyes narrowing. Robin groaned. “Wait, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“I think I’ve heard enough,” Finney cut off his blubbering, tilting his chin up and turning on his heel to unlock the front door. “I told you I wouldn’t want to date a cheater anyway.” Robin followed him out into the driveway, spluttering with exasperation.

“Like you can fucking talk! I saw how Timmy was looking at you at the party last week, I bet you were shoving your tongue down his throat all night!”

Finney let out a loud gasp, spinning back to glare at his not boyfriend. “Shut up about fucking Timmy! I wasn’t the one who slipped my cock between someone else’s cheeks three months ago and called it a science experiment!”

“It was in the name of sexual science! I don’t even know if I’m gay!”

Finney unlocked his car and slipped into the drivers seat, turning the key and yelling over the enging, “we’ve been hooking up for eleven months, Robin!”

Robin pressed his palm against the glass, face scrunching up in frustration. “Yeah? Well, you look like a girl Finney! How would I know?!” Finney scowled and begun to reverse joltingly, sending periodic glares at Robin as he continued to hammer on his window. “Don’t leave me!” his muffled voice came, “Finney, please! I can explain!” Finney sped up the car, knuckles white on the steering wheel as he focused ahead.

Suddenly, a loud thump and a yelp made him screech the car to a holt. He paused. Finney’s jaw dropped. In the rear view mirror, Robin was picking himself up from behind the car, evidently having tried to stop his reverse by putting himself as a blockade.

“You ran me over, motherfucker!” Robin shrieked.

“And you dented my fucking Subaru!” Finney screamed back, pressing down on the cars horn, beeping and beginning to reverse again. Robin jumped out the way this time, cursing up a storm and limping back towards his house.

Finney pulled out the driveway and sped back home. He didn’t go to the graduation ceremony that night. Instead, he packed up his bags, deleted all of his contacts but Bruce, Griffin and Gwen, and took the first flight to Arizona. He had been stupid to trust the perfect morning with his not-so-perfect relationship. Looking back on it, he wished he had reversed a little faster and ran Robin over properly. He envisioned this over and over on the flight to Arizona to keep the tears at bay, and solemnly vowed to never let that lazy low life in his heart again.

Today…

“Finn, I thought you wouldn’t make it!” Bruce’s delighted voice snapped him out of his memories. Walking through Denver had been a visceral experience; after refusing to visit for the past four years, the town’s streets had flooded his mind with old emotions. He smiled tiredly and took the chair opposite Bruce’s.

“My flight was delayed, so I went to drop my stuff off at Gwen’s. Its a bit closer to here than my hotel,” he explained, sighing as he accepted the glass of fanta from his friend. It was a warm summer evening. The sunlight was still warming the air desperately, despite the fact it was already setting.

“Well I’m glad you’re here anyway. My boyfriend’s band is playing tonight, I wanted to show you them.” Bruce took a sip of his own drink, scanning the outdoor bar, looking for a hint that the concert might start soon.

Finney raised his eyebrows, pleasantly surprised. “You two are still going strong then?” Bruce blushed.

“Yeah! Five years since you made me come to terms with my sexuality. Isn’t that crazy?” He looked truly happy. In the past four years, Bruce had changed. He expressed himself in ways he would’ve never even thought to try in high school; his style, his piercings, his smile. It was less fake, somehow. Not that he was any less confident, though— that seemed like an everlasting personality trait. Finney almost regretted staying away for so long and missing the chance to see his best friend grow so much. “Who knows who I would’ve ended up dating if you didn’t want to fuck the host that night.”

Finney nodded with a more strained smile. Vance and Bruce had ended up getting together the same night he and Robin had. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought of him these past four years, but still. The mention of him out loud was souring his mood. He glanced at the sign at the bar, reading “FREE DRINKS AND LIVE MUSIC” and grimaced.

“I hope my stupid fucking chud of an ex boyfriend doesn’t turn up tonight. He’d do anything for free drinks,” he joked, shaking his head and chugging the rest of his fanta. He missed the guilty look that flashed across Bruce’s face as he stood and raised his empty glass. “I’m going to get another drink. Want anything?”

“Vodka cranberry please.”

Finney made his way to the bar, only to be greeted with yet another familiar face. “Griffin Stagg? Is that you?” Griffin looked up from his phone, face crumpled with displeasure before it morphed into surprise. He put his phone down and leant against the opposite side of the bar.

“Finney Blake. You’re back in Denver?” He wasn’t smiling exactly— that would be too out of character. The Stagg-Hoppers didn’t tend to smile much, but Finney could tell Griffin was pleased to see him. “I thought you disappeared for good.”

Finney laughed sheepishly. “That was the plan, to be honest with you. But I’m around for this summer. Bruce was begging to see me, and I finally finished my course at uni, so…”

“Well, in that case I’ll be sure to hit you up to hang out some time. You still smoke?”

Finney rolled his eyes. “Is that really a question? I went to university, not conversion therapy.”

Griffin nodded slowly, letting out a huff of breath close to a laugh. “I’m assuming you still don’t drink. What can I get you?”

“A fanta for me and a vodka cranberry for Bruce, please.” Finney leaned against the bar, clearing his throat. “So, you stayed and worked in Denver, huh? This your only job?”

Griff shook his head. “Nah, I’m a band manager and I work at this bar as their main venue.”

“Oh, the band that’s playing tonight? Your brother’s the drummer right?”

“Yep,” Griffin agreed, giving Finney a curious look as he grabbed the two glasses and put one under the fanta tap. “I’m surprised you came to see them, though. Didn’t think that this’d be your first choice of things to do on your first night back in Denver.”

Finney waved a hand as if to dismiss it. “It’s fine, I don’t hold anything against you or your brother, if that’s what you’re getting at. I’m past it.”

“That’s not…quite what I mean Finney,” Griffin replied slowly, setting down the fanta in front of him and pouring out the measurement of vodka.

“Then what is it?” Finney tilted his head in confusion. Griffin grimaced.

“I’ll take it Bruce hasn’t introduced you to Vance’s band mates.”

Finney shook his head slowly but before he could get the chance to ask, the answer was given for him. Behind him, on the stage, the mic began to rumble with feedback. A spatter of applause erupted throughout the bar.

“Good evening, Denver! How we feeling tonight?” Robin’s voice echoed out in the open bar. It was deeper than it had been four years ago, but unmistakably him. Finney would recognise that voice anywhere. He’d been hearing it in his dreams almost every night for years. He was rigid with shock, staring vacantly at Griffin’s grimacing face.

“Oh,” is all he said, quietly.

“Good luck,” Griffin murmured, pushing forward the glasses. The rhythm of the kick drums starting synced with Finney’s numb steps back towards the table. Bruce was gnawing at his lip anxiously when he sat down.

Finney finally raised his gaze to the stage, taking in his ex. Robin’s hair was shorter than it had been in high school, but still reached his shoulders. He looked…ridiculously good. He had somehow gotten more attractive in the years Finney had left. He didn’t think that was possible. He was wearing a baggy band t-shirt with the sleeves cut off and a pair of black denim shorts. On his head was the red bandana Finney had given him for his eighteenth birthday. His eyes lingered on it for longer than he wanted to admit, travelling down tanned arms to take in the muscle he had gained. There was no trace of the lazy, apathetic asshole that seventeen year old Finney had once decided to love, albeit despite any good reason.

The man standing in front of him was filled with a passion only maturity could forge. Maybe what made him all the more dangerous was the fact that Finney was still painfully attracted to him, despite the fact that if he had tried to count the amount of times Robin had cheated on him, he would run out of both fingers and toes.

How disappointing. Perhaps Finney was the only one who hadn’t changed enough these four years. Finney blinked back into reality to Bruce calling his name worriedly. “So, this is Vance’s band?” he asked dumbly, eyes slowly straying back to the stage. Bruce sighed.

“Look, Finney, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you but I was scared you wouldn’t come back to Denver. I wanted to see you so badly, and I thought you should see how much Robin has changed—”

“It’s fine,” Finney cut him off bluntly, forcing his stare to the glass in his hand. “I don’t care.” It sounded like a lie, even to him, but it it shut Bruce up long enough for Finney to think to himself for a moment.

The music was good, in all fairness. A mix of all of Robin’s favourite bands— loud riffs, seductive lyrics and heavy drums. His voice carried out through the bar. The grin on his face was filled with excitement, a pure love for what he was doing. Finney could remember all the arguments they’d had over Robin’s lack of conviction; he’d longed to make music and play his part in a band. His dream was to be a rockstar, ever since he was a kid, and yet he had always been too lazy to put a step forward and pick up a guitar. Finney couldn’t stand it.

Robin would diminish his dreams and refuse to follow his own. Now he was standing on a stage, following the very route he’d sworn was impossible for him to go down. It made him wonder what changed. If he had found someone better, someone who changed his life and touched parts of his soul he could never seem to reach. The very thought was bitter, even if Finney knew they were never good for each other.

He’d been watching the band play in silence for around fifteen minutes when their eyes finally met. The heat spread through him against all logic; his body reacting to the rush of Robin’s warm eyes trailing over him. Finney’s breath stilled in his chest. His own eyes were wide with shock, chills rippling through his skin. Then Robin smirked, and it was as if someone had pulled a trigger inside of him. It felt like muscle memory, the way a blush came up to his face and made his lips curl up on instinct to return it. Robin refused to break the eye contact, grabbing the mic and bringing it closer. He seemed to emphasize the lyrics, his first clenching at his side and his eyes burning into Finney’s skin with evident longing and hunger.

Sweat beaded at his brow. His knuckles were white at the mic, breathing heavily with a new light in his eyes. His voice grew louder, singing words of remorse, lust and teenage love. The song ended with an instrumental. Robin wiped his brow and glanced back at his band. Finney felt as though he’d just been slapped, snapping out of his trance. He sat there, flustered and hot, just like the first night he’d met Robin.

“Getting another drink,” he muttered, standing abruptly and walking quickly over to the bar. His heart was hammering as he nodded at Griffin and asked for a refill. He wasn’t planning on smoking so soon on arrival, but upon consideration he grabbed his weed from his pocket and began to roll, just to do something with his shaking hands. Footsteps came up behind him, a familiar laugh making him pause. He didn’t dare look up, but the body came to a stop close behind him. Close enough he could feel the heat radiating off his skin.

“Hey Finn,” Robin said softly. Finney didn’t turn. He shook his head and brought the roll up to his lips, licking it and rolling it shut. Robin moved to lean against the counter next to him, his silence heavy. “Finn, I know it’s you. Don’t ignore me.”

Finney finally snapped. “Why the fuck would I want to talk to you Robin?”

Robin bit his lip and smiled, taking in his face hungrily. Finney blushed and looked away quickly. “Well you’re here, aren’t you?”

“Not for long,” Finney muttered harshly, putting the joint to his lips and rummaging in his pockets for a lighter.

“Smoke here. I want to talk to you.” Robin handed him his own lighter. Finney paused, looking at the initials carved into it.

F & R <3

He scoffed, but relented and lit up the blunt in his mouth. The first hit relaxed him enough to let his guard down, looking out across the darkening sky. But it wasn’t long before Robin’s voice interrupted his moment of peace, as usual.

“I’m sorry for everything that happened between us.”

Finney dragged his eyes over to meet Robin’s face. He continued.

“I didn’t treat you right. Shit, of course I know that. But I just wanted you to know that you changed my life.”

Finney resisted the urge to roll his eyes but didn’t interrupt.

“I guess I needed someone to love me like you did. But I also needed someone to leave like you did, and I see that now. You were right about most things… I was a lazy piece of shit and I didn’t realise how much I could do. But you saw. And I don’t blame you for leaving. I’d thank you for it actually… because I couldn’t have written the songs I did if you had stayed and put up with my bullshit.”

He cleared his throat.

“I wouldn’t have felt just how much I lost; how much I could miss something. And don’t get me wrong, I still miss you. Every song you heard tonight— it was about you. I’ve never written a song about anyone else, Finn.” Robin’s voice cracked with desperation. He paused and looked away for a moment. Finney stared at him.

“I’m not asking for a second chance.” He blew out a breath. “I wouldn’t ask that from you. I guess I just wanted you to listen… and maybe ask for a fresh start. As friends.”

“Friends,” Finney repeated, numbly. Robin blushed, a little embarrassed.

“Yeah…if you want.” He grabbed up the water Griffin gave him and chugged it down.

Robin returned his stare to him instantly once done, setting the glass down with his eyes turned up with hope. Finney stared back, taking a slow drag of his blunt and processing his words. His mind was reeling, and he couldn’t think of a single thing to say that was worth Robin’s time.

Soon, someone on stage called his name; Billy was waving at him furiously. Robin winced. “Shit, I uh… gotta go. But can you just—” he bit his lip and let his eyes trail over Finney mournfully. “Just think about it, okay?”

Finney watched him go, feeling lost. He couldn’t even begin to figure out what he was feeling. There were way too many complicated emotions spinning through his head, but the main reaction was one that he pushed down with a deep shame. Warmth. Hope.

Love.

Finney wasn’t so sure he could just be friends with Robin. As much as he had hated Robin, he had still loved him. The balance had never made sense. But now, maybe there were a few less reasons for his dignity to wail if he did stop to appreciate him. The definition of his muscles rippling as he picked up a guitar on stage. His boyish smile bringing a giddy feeling to Finney’s stomach, even when it wasn’t aimed at him. His voice as it greeted the crowd for the second time tonight.

He was fucked. Well and truly fucked.

But at least if he was getting fucked, it might as well be Robin.

He sat back down at his table, deep in thought and a little less miserable than he had been ten minutes ago.

“So?” Bruce asked nervously.

“Hm?” Finney had almost forgotten the other boy was there. He frowned in confusion. “What?”

“How did it go? The talk with Robin?”

Finney grinned and blew out a breath, rubbing his face in his hands. His cheeks still hadn’t lost their heat; he could feel it in his splayed fingers as he stared down at the table with a dizzying smile. “Is it bad if I say I want him back?”

Bruce let out a loud laugh, slapping his glass down on the table. “I knew it! I fucking knew this would work, oh my god— wait until Vance hears about this!”

“Bruce!” Finney whined, beyond humiliated. “This is not a good thing— I want to get back with my ex.”

Bruce sucked in air through his teeth and thought about it for a moment. “Yeah but…” he trailed off then winced. “Actually, there’s no sugar coating it. It’s pretty pathetic.”

Finney groaned and let his head hit the table. Bruce patted him on the head and continued. “But in all fairness, you can’t be expected to just sit there, knowing your ex has turned hot. Especially when you haven’t dated anyone else in four years!”

“He was always hot,” Finney grumbled, “he’s just less of an asshole about it now, apparently.”

“Tomato, tomato. I say go for it!” Bruce grinned as Finney gave him a withering look.

“Even if I did want to…I just couldn’t do it. He said he wants to be friends.” Finney scrunched his face up in disgust.

“What’s so bad about that?” Bruce soothed.

“I want to stick his dick down my throat,” Finney deadpanned. “That’s not exactly friendly behaviour.”

Bruce choked up on his laugh as the music started up again. Finney turned his head to stare longingly at the singer. Robin’s eyes had returned to him.

“This song was written about my ex boyfriend,” he spoke softly over the backing music, smiling gently. “Most of these songs are, actually, but this was our first hit. So, in honour of him being here, I’ll sing the song about our break up. It’s called…Vance’s Purple Boxers.” He strummed a little at his guitar and let out a laugh, leaning quickly into the mic to whisper, “please don’t kill me Finn.”

Finney’s jaw dropped slack. Bruce snickered, and Finney turned to him sharply.

“What?” he hissed.

“Just listen! You’ll see.” Bruce whispered back excitedly.

Finney did as he was told, turning back to the stage and listening closely to the lyrics. This one was particularly vulgar, and by the time it got to the chorus, Finney’s whole face was flaming red.

“He found your boxers in my room,

Then hit me with his Subaru…”

Finney groaned and covered up his face. “Please don’t tell me…”

“They were Vance’s!” Bruce exclaimed, laughing so hard he was doubled over in his chair.

By the end of the show, Finney had made up his mind. He walked with Bruce back stage, and looked away uncomfortably as Vance and him kissed. Billy greeted him with a nod and promptly walked around to the bar to find Griffin. Finally, Robin turned up. He was still sweating, and he looked a little surprised to see Finney, but his face broke into a smile none the less.

“Hey Finn, you alright?”

“Let’s talk,” he said firmly, gesturing over to the street at the side. Robin nodded, blew out a shaky breath and shoved his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, okay, Lead the way.”

The alley was dark, but the lights in the bar were just enough to make out the anxious look on Robin’s handsome face. Finney pulled out a cigarette, then offered one to Robin, who shook his head. Finney’s hands were shaking as he lit the cigarette, letting it hang uselessly at his lips for a moment whilst he thought of what to say. He met Robin’s gaze with finality.

“I don’t want to be friends, Robin.”

“You don’t?” Robin’s whole body deflated.

Finney shook his head. “I can’t be friends with you. I hate listening to your songs and knowing they’re about me.”

“I understand.” Robin murmured. His gaze was on the floor, his eyes glistening and his jaw working.

“No, you don’t,” Finney snapped furiously. He took a step forward, glaring at him until he met his eye. “I can’t listen to your goddamn songs knowing that you’ll write them about someone else one day. Don’t you get it? I don’t want to be friends.”

Robin’s face was full of confusion as he raised it to look at Finney. “What are you saying?”

“You said you wouldn’t ask for a second chance from me. And I think that’s fucking bullshit. The Robin I knew wouldn’t have hesitated to take back what belonged to him.” Finney leaned in closer, letting some of his anger blow out in a sigh. “Maybe you really have changed,” he mused, voice lower now, “but I guess I hoped you hadn’t changed that much.”

Robin’s eyes widened, then flicked down to his lips. A slow smile took over his face as he understood. “You’re serious?” Finney nodded silently. Robin stepped forward a little, one hand hesitating near his jaw. “Can I…?”

“Don’t fucking ask, idiot,” Finney groaned, grabbing Robin’s shirt and pulling him in. The kiss was harsh. He could feel teeth and tongue and years of longing, breaths panting out into the air between them. Robin’s shirt was still balled tightly in Finney’s fist when he pulled back, dropping his useless cigarette and stomping out.

“You got any plans tonight?” Finney asked breathily.

Robin shook his head, still looking dazed.

“Good.” Finney pulled out his phone and texted for an uber back to his hotel. He stooped back to drop a kiss to Robin’s lips, their foreheads pressed together. Now he was coming down from his burst of adrenaline, a new surge of emotion was pricking at his eyes.

“I missed you,” he whispered.

“I missed you more.” Robin curled his fingers into his and smirked into his shoulder. “Let’s hope it goes better this time round, yeah?”

Finney laughed and tugged him by the arm to walk down the street. “Don’t let Vance leave his boxers lying around in your bed and we won’t have a problem.”

“Noted.” Robin brought their hands up to his mouth and kissed the back of his hand, letting out a long, contented sigh. Then, after a few moments of peaceful quiet, he spoke up again. “For the record, you’ve changed too. Where did you get the fucking confidence Finney Blake?” He looked at him with a teasing smile.

“University of Arizona,” Finney responded dryly, letting their shoulders brush.

He looked back down at Robin, smiling to himself.

This was probably a bad idea. But good ideas didn’t taste so good, and those were the ones he liked the best. If he was going to be fucked either way, he might as well be fucked by rockstar Robin Arellano.