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“Your house looks great from the outside, and the neighborhood seems nice, too — nothing’s cramped together,” Finch complimented, sharing a laugh with Race.
“We both love how spaced out everything is; it’s totally different from apartment life,” Race agreed before gesturing for Finch to follow him. “Now come on, let’s get you a drink and I can take you on a quick tour with some of the other guys from college before we all have dinner.”
Finch may not have seen Race or their old college friends in three years, but it was like they hadn’t lost any time. Race got the group together while Finch grabbed a beer, and during the tour of Race and his boyfriend Spot’s new house, that comfortable familiarity clicked back into place. It soothed a minor worry that Finch had about things turning awkward with the people he actually knew here, and in turn, he let himself unwind more.
By the time they all returned, it was time for the dinner party to live up to its name. Guests were encouraged to start getting their food and the kitchen became a whirlwind of shuffling bodies and chatter about what was being served. Within minutes, Finch had a full plate and followed his two friends into the dining room, where they managed to get seats beside one another.
He finally had a moment to survey the guests he didn’t recognize. He put names to faces of the three people he thought were Race and Spot’s respective siblings, who were also the ones who’d apparently paid for all the food and drinks for this party. With brief glances, he glossed over the strangers — various friends of the hosting couple that he’d never met — until he landed on the guy sitting on Race’s other side.
That man deserved far more than just a glance.
They were sitting at opposite corners of the tables, so Finch couldn’t see every detail as well as he suddenly wanted to, but he took what he could get. The plethora of freckles, the backwards hat covering most of his shoulder-length red hair, the snake tattoo curling around his upper left arm, the sleeveless hoodie that showed off his muscular arms.
As if sensing his prolonged gaze, they made eye contact for the first time.
Finch’s body and mind simultaneously overreacted and froze up in a whirlwind of sensations. Voices dimmed, sparks flew, and their subtle, mutual upturn of lips was undeniably profound.
Although the moment ended a second later, its effect was bound to ripple.
…Right? Finch hoped so.
He blinked away the slight dizziness in his head when Jojo, one of his college friends who sat beside him, bumped his arm.
“What was that just now?” Jojo asked with a sly glint in his eyes.
“I was just looking around the table,” Finch said plainly, knowing his lie was clear as day. Jojo hummed, obviously unconvinced.
“Sure. Go shoot your shot after we finish eating — and besides, you have all evening to get to know him better,” he encouraged, sincere in a way that Finch missed after years apart.
He realized he couldn’t remember the last time he ever had a crush on someone. And more importantly, he never reacted quite as strongly with other people. Nerves could get in the way of something great if he didn’t find a way to dim them, but the party was stocked with a perfect solution.
“I don’t think I’ll be talking to him until I’ve had at least one more of these first.” Finch lifted his half-full beer meaningfully and Jojo rolled his eyes.
“Whatever helps you with talking to that hot guy, then you do you.”
Admittedly, Finch wasn’t the best at holding his alcohol, but he knew it’d make him generally more talkative and sociable. The first step down this route led him to introduce himself to the three young women sitting on his right side; he only recognized Hotshot as Spot’s sister, but they’d never met. They struck up conversation easily, and it carried Finch all the way through dinner, the rest of his first drink, and into the second one.
People gradually started to migrate over to the living room. Finch was kind of disappointed to have lost track of when the snake tattoo guy must’ve gotten up from the table. In following the crowd, his balance was okay since he was only starting to get tipsy — but the consideration was a reminder to be careful later. He didn’t want to embarrass himself by stumbling around hardly two hours into the party because he was too much of a lightweight.
There weren’t quite enough places for everyone to sit — not conventionally, anyway. Some people took the sofas and chairs while others opted for the floor, creating an imperfect ring around the coffee table, which was covered in a bunch of coasters for drinks, a few video game controllers, and some physical party games.
The snake tattoo guy was by the entrance to the living room, leaning casually against the wall with a beer can in hand. Letting his friends go ahead, Finch moved to stand near him, successfully catching his gaze again.
“Hey,” the guy said flatly, but it didn’t register as rude or dismissive.
“Hi,” Finch replied, then gestured to the room. “Why aren’t you sitting?”
“Just staying out of the way until everyone else figures out their spots.”
“Well, I’d like to take a seat.” Can’t be unsteady on my feet when I’m not standing, after all, Finch almost joked, but he quickly decided against painting that kind of picture. Instead, he looked over and continued in a smooth delivery. “I don’t know if you’re planning on hovering over here, but… do you want to come sit with me?”
The snake tattoo guy’s eyebrows lifted slightly at the invitation, taking an extra second to respond.
“Sure.” A brief pause as he straightened up. Seeming to anticipate Finch’s next question, he said, “My name’s Albert, by the way.”
“I’m Adrian, but you can call me Finch,” he tossed over his shoulder as he turned to walk further into the living room.
Albert trailed behind. “Cool name — well, names. Actually, I think I remember Racer talking about you when he was in college.”
Finch led them to an open area on the floor beside the loveseat, situated at a convenient angle to see both their fellow guests and the TV. He made sure to swipe two coasters off the coffee table for their drinks before sitting down.
“Really? I hope he told you all good things,” Finch said, noting the friendly distance between them. Still better than they were at the dining table, so he’d take it.
Making a half-hearted attempt at being thoughtful, Albert said, “He probably did.”
“Oh, I don’t like that answer. Race shared all my embarrassing stories with you, didn’t he? Because they’re definitely not as bad as you’d think.”
He’d spoken lightheartedly, but he was sober enough to worry at the thought of Albert already having a skewed impression of him because of second-hand tales. He avoided doing it himself just a minute ago, but what if the seeds were planted well before this first meeting?
But Albert just huffed a laugh — he even smiled a bit — in amusement.
Finch promptly forgot what he was thinking about, laughed too, and admired the man beside him.
“No, he didn’t; your name just rang a bell. I don’t know you like that or really at all, I swear,” Albert assured, and Finch believed him. He lifted his beer can up and right before he took a drink, he added, “But I would like to know you.”
It gave Finch the precious few moments he needed to process. His heart did roughly five messy somersaults behind his ribcage and he suddenly wished he could blame the alcohol for the heat rising in his cheeks. Regardless, he knew exactly what to reply with.
“I’d like to know you, too.”
Albert placed down the can with a hint of satisfaction in his expression. Leaning back on his hands, he kicked off their conversation by asking about the origin story of Finch’s nickname, of which Finch had plenty to say about his shitty relationship with birds. From there, they jumped between topics, sort of going back and forth, but Finch felt like he was rambling more than he should have been, like he wasn’t giving Albert enough opportunities to take over. It certainly wasn’t aided by the fact that any time he needed a drink, the closest option was his slowly-draining bottle of alcohol.
That being said, Albert appeared to be both interested and relaxed as he listened, and Finch was definitely tipsy by the time his drink was gone but he felt good.
Around the pair, the other party guests had also been chatting and hanging out until Race eventually got the group’s attention while, beside him on the couch, Spot turned on the TV and video game console.
“Spot and I picked out three games that we thought everyone might enjoy, obviously going for the ones that will not destroy relationships, as you can see here.” Race’s voice was filled with sarcasm as he motioned at the two games on the coffee table: UNO Party and Monopoly. He got some equally sarcastic agreement from around the room.
“The other game, Sonic Racing, is on the PlayStation. It’s basically like Mario Kart,” Race explained. “Spot, Jack, Charlie, and I have all played this before so we’re going to show you guys how to do it —”
“Don’t watch Jack’s part of the screen though, he sucks at it,” Charlie said, all matter-of-fact.
Jack threw a hand up in mild irritation. “I’m getting better!”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Spot said, ignoring Jack’s glare.
“Like I was saying,” Race spoke over the interruption, “we’ll play first, but we’ll pass around the controllers after each Grand Prix to whoever else wants to try. And we’re doing this game first because if we did it later, then hand-eye coordination would go out the fucking window.”
Finch laughed with the others, then turned when he heard Albert say his name.
“While I can still walk in front of the TV without getting yelled at, I’m going to get myself another drink. You want one too?” Albert asked.
“Yeah, thanks,” Finch said without thinking about it too hard.
Albert took their empty drinks and crossed the living room. He passed in front of the TV barely long enough for Race to say “Al, move” in a joking complaint, and Albert just flipped him off. In Finch’s direction, Albert shook his head in exasperation, making him smile as he disappeared into the kitchen.
Finch’s smile lingered while his mind flitted through a jumble of happy thoughts, all revolving around his sudden, new connection with Albert — and how he couldn’t get enough of it. Of how right it felt when they talked and made one another laugh and gazed at each other. Albert’s intent gaze was something else, with those gorgeous green eyes of his. They seemed like they’d convey so much if only Finch had enough time to explore their depths.
Maybe I’ll get the chance tonight, he thought wistfully before his mind drifted to the next happy thing.
A couple minutes later, the gaming began. Finch and Albert readjusted how they were sitting — if Finch scooted a bit closer to Albert then that was his business — to more easily watch the first race, which was accompanied by loud, colorful commentary from all around the room. After such an exciting start, the four controllers switched hands, and Finch and Albert both got one for the second Grand Prix of the evening. Despite having no previous experience in Sonic Racing, their final standings were in the top five racers, with Albert one position above Finch.
“Congrats, I guess,” Finch said after they passed off the controllers, pretending to be more annoyed than he really was.
“Thank you,” Albert replied. “Now, I won’t brag too much…”
“How humble.”
“But I deserved that win after how many times you targeted my ass with your items.”
Finch sent him a disbelieving glance. “Even if I was targeting you — which I wasn’t — there’s no way you could’ve paid that close attention during the races. They’re too chaotic.”
“I saw enough,” Albert claimed, and Finch felt that spark flare between them again.
“You’re paying special attention to me?” he said, excitement easily played off as flirting.
A faint smirk danced across Albert’s lips when he said, “Don’t let it go to your head.”
As if I can think about anything else now, Finch muttered internally.
Grand Prix after Grand Prix were completed with nearly everyone taking a turn. Because people were still drinking, reaching the point of being pleasantly buzzed, the racing results got progressively lower while the reactions were more heightened.
Finch lost track of time, not that he minded, considering the entertainment and the warmth in his body from sipping on his third beer and from talking more with Albert. They didn’t bother with asking for a rematch, and soon enough, the group called it quits on the video game, wanting to do something else.
When people started to get up and move around, Finch watched in a slight daze as Albert did the same and extended a hand down to him.
“Want to check out the snacks with me?” Briefly, Albert’s eyes seemed to search Finch’s own. “And a bottle of cold water sounds pretty good too. Come on.”
Grateful, Finch took the offered assist in standing up from the floor. His body rocked to the side a little bit with the motion of being righted, and he wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or Albert’s unsurprising strength that made him dizzy just then.
“You good?” Albert checked, clearly trying to not make a big deal out of it. Finch just waved him off.
“Yeah, I just haven’t stood up in like, two hours.” He chuckled and stretched, mentally preparing to walk again. After a quick bodily check, he deemed that since nothing was swaying anymore, he could manage it well enough, so long as he didn’t move too fast.
Before they got to the kitchen, Finch split off to use the bathroom. Looking in the mirror afterwards, he took stock of his appearance. He had expensive taste when it came to clothes, but he knew that he didn’t need to dress up for this obviously informal dinner party. While unnecessarily checking his rings and adjusting his nice button-up, his hands froze at the collar as he was hit with a fleeting daydream of Albert slowly undoing the top buttons just to see more of Finch.
Shit, he needed to get a hold of himself. No more fantasies.
But… after some struggling, he undid one of the buttons anyway.
It wasn’t that noticeable honestly, but it made him feel more confident. He looked good, he felt even better, and now he was ready to rejoin the party.
Finch walked back to the kitchen with a remarkably even stride. The first person that he made eye contact with was Albert, and whatever resonated in that look was just as bright and poignant as it was earlier at dinner. Like a magnet, it drew Finch closer until he was leaning against the opposite counter from Albert. He would’ve stood beside him, but Race had an arm heavily draped over Albert’s shoulders and Jojo stood across from the pair, so Finch just took the spot next to the latter. He was hoping he’d get a minute to check in with Jojo during this break.
Albert grabbed a water bottle from the counter behind him, then held it out for Finch.
“I thought you might want this. And I opened it already,” Albert explained casually. Then his line of sight dropped for half a second, and a minute, unreadable twitch in his expression was the only reaction he spared for the sight.
That had to be some degree of success. Finch took it in stride and accepted the water appreciatively.
“Oh, so he is the reason you’re so smiley tonight, Al,” Race drawled with a grin.
If Finch had been taking a drink already, he might’ve choked a bit. Whether it was out of amusement or shock, though, he wasn’t sure.
“Okay, that’s… Please ignore him, he’s just drunk,” Albert said to Finch in an attempt to disregard Race’s comment. He didn’t deny it, nor did he sound particularly embarrassed, but his pale complexion failed to hide the tinge of color on his cheeks.
Race’s attitude switched on a dime, disheartened by Albert’s words. With a pout, he said, “But I’m not wrong. I know lots about you, and right now you’re happy.”
Not exactly the most hard-hitting or eloquent response, but Albert sighed and conceded to cheering Race back up. While they were occupied by that, Jojo lightly tugged on Finch’s arm to spin him around so they were facing the kitchen island instead. A variety of sweet and salty snacks had been put out in a modest spread.
“It sounds like it’s going well,” Jojo prompted excitedly, although he’d lowered his voice.
“It is,” Finch confirmed quietly, getting lost in his somewhat hazy thoughts. “Everything’s been great, and fun, and just — better than I expected because he’s so…”
When his brain couldn’t decide on the most suitable word to describe Albert, Jojo supplied the one he’d used earlier.
“He’s so hot?”
Taken out of his reverie, Finch laughed. “Of course he’s hot, but also just like, attractive in a bunch of ways… in every way a person can be attractive, I guess, I don’t know.”
“Well, from my point of view, I think it’s safe to call it mutual, so I’m super happy for you,” Jojo said with a kind smile. He pointed to the snacks. “As a treat, have some chips, or maybe a cookie or three — those little ones over there are pretty good, they’re nice and soft.”
“Looks like they’re a hit with everyone else too, so if you want one, you probably shouldn’t sit on it.”
Albert had smoothly joined the conversation, accidentally startling Finch and leaving him to wonder how much Albert overheard of his rambling. He didn’t care to dwell on it.
Finch gladly took one of the cookies that Jojo suggested and took half a step backwards to let Albert and Jojo introduce themselves. Apparently, Race had been making rounds to check on the guests and, without preamble, draped himself over Albert with a million questions about his “super brightened” mood. Needless to say, he’d interrupted a barely-started greeting between Albert and Jojo, who now got a second try after Race left.
The three of them talked while snacking, and Finch made sure to finish his water. He divided his attention to do some cursory people-watching of the other guests, merely curious of the ones he still didn’t know. He picked up on a couple of relationships, and discerned who he assumed were more siblings, a dark-haired brother and sister duo. Just as he was about to switch his focus, there was a party-wide call to regroup in the living room.
It was time to play UNO Party and drink some wine.
The second part was clearly optional, and besides, Spot and Race didn’t even own enough wine glasses for all the guests to have one. As decisions were being made about who wanted wine, Finch did another internal check with himself. He knew that the wine would have more alcohol content in it than the three beers he had before. After having some snacks and downing a bottle of water, his buzz was still persisting, and his mental and physical faculties weren’t all that fucked. Ultimately, he decided that he’d be okay with one glass of wine. He didn’t mind taking a few more steps away from being sober if it made this second game even more enjoyable.
In hindsight, he should’ve more seriously considered that the wine would hit harder.
But to be fair, it took him a while to notice when a solid two-thirds of the people around him were going down the same route, all similar levels of bright-eyed and loud and reactive.
Everyone had circled closely around the coffee table, split between sitting on the furniture and the floor again; Finch managed to sit on the sofa this time, with Albert pressed against his side so they could fit more people in beside them. Then drinks were carefully poured, rules were explained just in case, cards were passed out, and the game finally kicked off.
It had all the usual UNO antics. Tentative alliances were made to team up on another player who was dangerously close to winning, and they were often followed by cruel betrayals. Fans of cards were unwillingly collected, and the dread of having to — or the irritation of being forced to — draw more cards was palpable.
Such as one interaction between those siblings Finch saw, David and Sarah, and the pretty redhead named Katherine that sat between him and them.
“I’d apologize for what I’m about to do, but I wouldn’t mean it,” David said to his sister, smug as all hell as he placed down a +2 card, leaving a lone card in his hand. “UNO.”
“Wow, thanks,” Sarah muttered through gritted teeth and grabbed two cards, further increasing her already sizable hand. Around the room, some people snickered while others sympathized on her behalf.
Play continued to Katherine, who leaned close to Sarah, and Finch overheard her whisper: “If I use a reverse, can you retaliate?” With a nod from Sarah, Katherine slid forward a reverse and announced, “Get his ass.”
Her move paired with Sarah’s swift use of a +4 card created a reaction so uproarious, one would think it was the greatest play they’d seen all night. Finch was right there with everyone else, even going as far as clinking his glass with the two women in a toast to their impressive teamwork.
During a later round, Finch found himself in a classic UNO scenario with Albert where they trapped each other in “reverse card limbo”. Finch started it under the pretense of letting Albert take another turn, which was upended by Albert throwing the same move back at him. They did it three more times, more insistent than the last, until Albert admitted he only had two reverse cards and placed down something else.
“That’s what I thought,” Finch said with no small amount of satisfaction ringing in his voice. It was clear to see that they’d also put on an entertaining display for the party, and once people moved on, Albert got Finch’s attention.
“You know, that was a neat trick for both of us to get rid of some cards.” Albert waved his cards pointedly, indicating that he only had four left; Finch checked his own hand and realized he had the same amount.
“Let’s pretend that was all part of my master plan,” Finch replied conspiratorially, tipping his head in Albert’s direction and waving vaguely through the air. He enjoyed the sound of Albert’s chuckle, the way he smiled with it, and became temporarily transfixed by just how close they were.
But he moved back before he did anything rash — or at least before his drunken mind convinced him it’d be a good idea.
The game was a welcomed distraction, but in no time at all, another round ended and everyone agreed that it was an acceptable note to end on. In the aftermath, Finch was left staring down an empty wine glass.
Fuck.
In the funny, spinning haze of his mind, the thought was more surprised and giggly than anything remotely concerned. Why would it, when he felt so light?
He was perfectly content to stay on the couch, warm and comfy beside Albert, who wasn’t in a hurry to get up, either. Katherine, Sarah, and David all got up, freeing up space on Finch’s left, but he only adjusted so Albert wasn’t quite so squished against the side of the couch. As the living room gradually emptied, he wasn’t paying attention to anyone in particular — well, he was admiring how pretty Albert looked with his head resting on his hand — but he picked up on snippets of discussions. Questions about who wanted to play Monopoly, and about whether someone wanted to leave soon.
Leaving the party had yet to cross Finch’s mind. He didn’t even know what time it was.
“How late is it?” he voiced. Luckily, Albert had put his phone on the side table, so he could check the time much faster than it would’ve taken for Finch to wrestle his own phone from his jeans pocket.
“Just past ten,” Albert said simply.
“I think some of the guys are leaving soon,” Finch explained, unprompted. He tried to point in Jack, Charlie, and David’s direction. “I bet they’re leaving first.”
Albert squinted in the same direction, and after a second or two, he understood who Finch was talking about. “Hm, maybe. But I bet that your college friends are going to leave first.”
Finch shook his head and regretted it when he got kind of dizzy. Still, he countered Albert. “No, Buttons and Jo drive other people home when they can’t, so your guess is shit.”
“Fine. Then I’ll say… Hotshot, Smalls, and Sniper will be the first ones to go. Niamh is always taking care of her girlfriends.”
The name Niamh went over Finch’s head, but it didn’t really matter. He pushed himself to sit up, turning his body towards Albert and fixing him with a smile that undercut his attempt at seriousness.
“I think I’m right, and your guesses — both of them — are totally wrong.”
“Yeah?” Albert straightened up too, brows raised, and Finch doubled down with an affirmative hum. “And what if I claimed that I’ll leave, and actually go do it right now? I’d auto-win.”
He struck a chord within Finch. Suddenly and unexpectedly, the idea of separation made him upset and confused and his immediate response just slipped right out of his mouth.
“But I don’t want you to leave yet.”
Despite whatever vaguely pathetic or overly sentimental tone he’d used, the words reignited that connection, that ever-tantalizing spark that they’d been fostering all evening. The tension was potent now, giving way to that unspoken want for more.
Emboldened, Finch suggested, “Let’s go somewhere more private.”
“Lead the way,” Albert agreed.
In his eagerness, Finch stood up too fast and staggered — dumb fucked up balance, he mentally cursed, then determined that going upstairs was definitely out of the question — but Albert was there in a flash to help steady him. The physical contact left him distracted by a series of daydreams about what they were about to do, so while avoiding other partygoers, he let his feet lead them to a random room.
They shut the door as quickly and as quietly as they could in their haste, and the immediate plunge into darkness left Finch blinking as his eyes adjusted. Apparently Albert knew which room they were in as he strode across the room to turn on a floor lamp at a low brightness setting; it illuminated the pristine-looking bed in the spare bedroom.
Finch’s heart sank. Entirely blunt, he said, “I’m so not trying to fuck you, by the way. I don’t do sex.”
Albert had started to walk back over but froze, eyes widening in what Finch could only hope was just surprise. It took him a few painful seconds to respond.
“I don’t do sex either.”
Wait.
“Seriously…?” Finch was confused again when Albert nodded. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”
“Why would I lie about something like this?” Albert asked, imploring.
“To… make me feel better about not wanting to fuck,” Finch slowly echoed his own words like it should’ve been obvious. If Albert was lying — it doesn’t really seem like he is — it was a nice way to hide his disappointment.
Albert studied his face, then chose his next words carefully.
“I told you the truth. I’ve been ace for over a decade, and that hasn’t magically changed tonight,” he assured.
Of course Finch believed him. Finch wanted him more than ever.
“I knew you were perfect,” he said in a breathless sort of laugh, grinning from ear to ear. “Get over here and kiss me.”
Albert was more than happy to oblige. He closed the gap between them and wasted no time in surging forward to connect their lips. Finch’s hands naturally landed on Albert’s jaw and shoulder, holding him closer, whereas Albert grabbed his hip and waist and lightly pushed him to walk backwards. The alcohol in Finch’s system reasserted itself to put him back on cloud nine, but it also made him unsteady again, so he nearly tripped over his own and Albert’s feet in the process.
“I got you,” Albert murmured between kisses, and Finch felt his back press against the bedroom wall.
He was exactly where he wanted to be.
He’d never felt more fucking overenjoyed in his life to not have to deal with another person’s expectations of having sex just because they had some kind of romantic connection. Not to mention that his validation as an asexual was through the goddamn roof when Albert used the same label to affirm that he didn’t want to have sex — it was probably for a different reason than Finch, but regardless, they were on the exact same page and Finch was loving every second of it.
Their drunken makeout session was messy and heated, and soon enough, they had to draw back to breathe. Even though Albert was backlit by the lamp’s glow, Finch savored the bright intensity in his green eyes, getting that glimpse into their depths with the current proximity. Both of Finch’s hands had drifted to Albert’s arms so he could really appreciate how defined they were, but he raised one hand now to Albert’s chin instead.
He tipped it up ever so slightly and stole another, far more brief, kiss. He moved from Albert’s lips, across his stubbled jawline, and down to the elegant lines of his neck, leaving a trail of kisses behind. The way Albert just melted against Finch, savoring the gentler attention, solidified something in his mind.
Finch had never clicked so acutely with a stranger right off the bat, and he’d definitely never made out with anyone so deeply and intimately without the attached expectation of more — but here Albert was.
If this was how it would always be with him, then Finch made the decision that he was done looking for somebody else. He found the person he wanted to stay with, and for however long they were going to hide behind closed doors, he hoped to convey this newly developed affection to Albert in any way he could.
A Couple Hours Later
Finch woke up bleary-eyed and unsure of his surroundings. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but before that was…
Oh, right: he and Albert moved to the bed to be more comfortable while making out, and looking around now, his cheeks grew impossibly warm as he remembered — in remarkable detail, by the way; being drunk thankfully never affected his memory — how things escalated from there.
He’d encouraged Albert to undo the buttons of his shirt after feeling drifting hands slip under the bottom hem. Albert continued to tease the whole affair by going unbelievably slow, and Finch had never felt more goddamn impatient in his life. Then, to make it fair and to be nice, Albert removed his sleeveless hoodie without the same theatrics, giving Finch the same unimpeded view of and access to his unfairly attractive torso that he’d given him. Eventually, they’d both dozed off before getting redressed.
Finch shifted around to lay on his back, Albert’s arms wrapped around him still. He checked the time on his phone — 2:17 in the morning — and was surprised that no one had come in to wake them up and send them home.
“Albert,” he whispered before trying again, a little louder. “Al, wake up.”
“Hm?” Half-asleep and just as cute as he was awake.
“We probably should’ve left a couple hours ago,” Finch said. Smiling at something they playfully fought about earlier in the night, he added, “I bet we’re the last ones here.”
“Do you want to leave? Because we won’t be kicked out if you’d rather… you know.”
“No. I want to stay with you.” Finch’s smile grew when Albert pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. “Although… I am craving some coffee, which means we’d have to get out of bed.”
Albert pushed himself to lean up just enough so they could look at each other properly. “You’re in luck: I can make a mean cup of coffee. And this is a promise to how good it’ll be.”
He kissed Finch’s lips before moving to stand up, and with a giddy feeling in his chest, Finch followed him a moment later.
Sitting at the kitchen island at 2am and nursing a delicious cup of coffee while talking to Albert about everything and nothing was not how Finch thought this dinner party would go, but he couldn’t be happier with how it turned out.