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“Good Morning, Finch,” Reese said, as he bent low to place the paper tea cup on the table- close enough to reach, and far enough to not accidentally spill. “Do we have a new number?”
John was standing stooped behind him, reading over his shoulder, so that his breath warmed Harold’s ear as he spoke. Quite involuntarily, Finch shivered. It wasn’t the first time John had done that. It wasn’t even the tenth. In fact, just this month, it was probably the fifteenth. Harold was just doing boring coding for keeping up with his aliases-nothing challenging. So he could run background calculations about Reese’s behavior as he muttered, “Just a minute, Mr. Reese.”
He had been chalking it all up to John’s general warmth and quiet caring nature until now. But now that he was paying attention, he was sure John’s voice had decreased in pitch as he spoke, directly aimed at his ear to produce sensation. The ex-agent knew the meaning of personal space better than anyone else, so Harold was sure this wasn’t a coincidence. There was also a certain amused fondness about his person, and a sort of… anticipation. Like he was waiting for Harold to notice.
Ah.
Harold straightened up all of a sudden and turned around, almost bumping his nose with John’s face from where he was still bent low behind him, and asked incredulously,
“Mr. Reese. Are you flirting with me?” Finch was sure he wasn’t wrong, but he could not believe he could be right about this either. His eyes widened as he saw John’s face close off, because that confirmed it. John looked at him with cautious eyes and then seemed to deflate.
“Well… It’s about time you noticed,” he sighed.
“But… why?” He asked, still floundering over the sudden realization.
“Why does anyone ever flirts with someone Harold… do keep up,” John teased, and something seemed to settle in his chest. This may be new, but it wasn’t new. Not really.
“Oh.”
“Yes, oh.” There it was: the tilt of lips and the twinkle in his eyes, combined with the definitely amused voice. John had definitely been flirting, and Harold just had not noticed. “So, do we have a number or not?” John reminded him.
“As a matter of fact… we do.” Harold turned back towards the table, picking up the cup and taking a sip, as he also picked a picture to put up and start their new case.
Not much had changed, and yet, maybe everything had.
Harold was always particular about John’s clothes. He wrinkled his nose when John choose anything off the rack, complaining about how it did gross injustice to his shoulders, or when John was wearing one of his lower thread-count suits (they were all black, and he could not tell the difference), if Harold happened to brush his hand over it, he would get this appalled look on his face at his lack of any sartorial sense.
John knew he was too far gone because he found it endlessly endearing.
He had gotten into a bit of a fistfight while handling the last number, before letting Fusco take care of him, so when he took off the coat he expected the scrunching up of Harold’s face when looking at the wrinkled mess that was his shirt. What he didn’t expect was, Harold getting up from his chair and coming towards him where he was standing next to the stand, and trying to remove the wrinkles by stroking the shirt with his hand.
Maybe he should’ve expected it. It wasn’t the first time. It was the seventeenth. He had been counting.
It was just, so out of character. Harold brushing his shoulder with his hand, removing any traces of dandruff or fallen hair from it as they left the library; Harold fixing his tie by standing on a low stool when he was sure it was perfectly done already; Harold straightening his coat needlessly… Harold, touching him without prompting. He knew how crazily obsessed with privacy the man was, it did not make sense, and it helped that he could not think straight with the man’s nimble fingers over his skin- covered or not. It helped that he did not want to dissect it, in case he finds a reason that would make it stop.
“I do wish you would take more care of yourself Mr. Reese,” Harold complained, and John had to focus to think past where his every nerve ending was singing. Harold’s hand was pressed against his torso, just casually lying there.
“Care of myself, or my clothes Harold?”
“I thought the answer was obvious.”
“Clothes then.”
“If you think so.” Harold smiled, his eyes twinkling, an undefinable, yet familiar expression on his face.
All of a sudden John realized where he had seen the same expression before. In the mirror. Every morning since he had realized he was in love with Harold.
“Harold…” He started speaking cautiously, weighing every word before enunciating it, “are you flirting with me?”
The genius looked surprised for a moment, and then he replied, matter of fact. “Of course I am. It’s about time you noticed.”
Which was… what?
“Excuse me?”
“Well you started it.” Now he seemed irritated, withdrawing his hand, which was all wrong… wrong. John hurriedly placed his own hand over Harold’s, keeping it pressed up against his chest, as he tried to catch the man’s eye.
“I am not saying I mind. Not even in the slightest. I am just trying to understand.”
“Well… you were flirting with me, and I thought it was prudent to… reciprocate.”
“Reciprocate.” He couldn’t have helped how fond he sounded, not even if he tried, “Why?”
“What kind of a question is that?” Indignation made him meet his eyes again, and he flushed seeing the smile on John’s face.
“Just answer the question Harold. Why were you flirting with me?” When the coder just huffed in answer, John decided to help him along, “was it because you wanted to?”
“Can there be any other reason?”
“Yes there can be.”
“Then yes. I was flirting with you because I wanted to.” Harold’s face softened, just as John felt his heart would melt.
“Good,” he said, pressing the hand on his chest tighter against his quickening heartbeat.
After a few moments, he decided to ask, “Hey Harold?” The man was looking at the floor, clearly wrong footed. He looked up when John called his name, searching his gaze. “Do you think you would also want to, maybe, kiss me?”
Harold’s ears tinged red, and John wanted to bite them, but one step at a time was better. He felt his chest expand with joy when Harold gave a nod in answer.
“What about a date?” Another nod.
“And a drink later?” Nod.
“And…”
“Oh for Heaven’s sake Mr. Reese, yes. Yes to everything. Now would you just kiss me already,” he snapped, annoyance over John’s teasing winning out over his shyness.
“You’re the boss,” John commented, as he bent to slot their lips together.