Archive of Our Own

Robin Arellano was Finney’s best friend. Scratch that, Robin was Finney’s only friend. That didn’t make him any less of his best, though. 

Finney Blake + Robin Arrellano was what was written in the chicken scratch handwriting at the top of the paper between them. Robin’s pencil came to a halt after the o and he sighed, glancing over the sheet. Finney watched him, already knowing what he was thinking. 

“This is the stupidest-” Yeap. That was exactly it, “thing I have ever done. Who the hell needs to know this shit anyways?” 

“It’s just math, Robin.” Finney replied, taking the sheet from his hands. 

“It’s bullshit, that’s what it is.” Robin huffed, and Finney laughed, shrugging, “Well, maybe if you didn’t sleep during class-”

“Screw off, Finn.”

“Just a thought,” he muttered, smirk playing at the corners of his lips.  

“But it’s really not that bad, I swear,” he said, louder this time, “you just have to distribute the x, and then do the equation normally.”

“Oh,” Robin breathed, snatching the sheet back, “Let me try it then.”

Robin’s brow furrowed as he looked at it, trying to work out the problem, which Finney was a little concerned he didn’t know how to do, considering it was review for the test coming up next week. 

His bandana was red today, bold against his tan skin. Other than that, he wore his usual beater and jeans, a brown belt keeping them from slipping. His hair caught the fluorescent light from above and created a shiny halo on his head, and the freckles scattered scarcely across his face glowed. 

Finney’s looked at them a million times, wishing he could count them. He guesses he has time now as Robin’s pencil scratches against the grainy paper. One under his eye, another on his nose, more on his cheeks, 1, 2, 3, 

“4!” Robin exclaimes, making Finney jolt a little, “x equals 4, right?” 

“Uh,” he blanks, caught off guard, leaning over to look at his work, “Yeah? Yeah.” 

Robin chuckles next to him, “Come on Finn, I thought you were supposed to be the one that’s good at this.” 

Finney looks up at him and almost chokes on his spit, realizing he’s so close he could probably count his eyelashes along with his freckles. He leans away as casually as he can, which of course meant he jerked hastily in the opposite direction. 

“Well shit, what’s got you so jumpy today?” Robin jests, poking him in the arm. 

Finney swats at him, mumbling, “Nothing, dickhead.” 

“Mhm, sure.” Robin replies, before looking away from Finney and back at that goddamn worksheet, “Help me with the rest of this, will ya’?” 

Finney does, and they get about half of the way through the problems before the bell rings and has them shucking books and loose papers into their bags. 

“Meet me to finish it tonight?” Finney asks as Robin slings his bag over his shoulder. He refuses to wear it on both, claiming it makes him ‘look cooler’ to wear it on just one. 

“Yeah, sure. Tu casa o la mia?” 

With the little Spanish background Finney had, he wrinkled his nose, not even opting to try. He could string a few of those words together, but overall, he never ended up being right. “English, please?” He asked. 

Robin rolled his eyes, “Your house or mine, dumbass.” 

“Don’t dumbass me, dumbass. And we can do mine tonight, it’s Thursday, so I can ask Gwen to take care of dad.” 

“Ok, sounds good to me.” Robin patted his shoulder twice, and then started out the door to his last class of the day. Finney’s was science, which was on a completely different side of the school than Robin’s, so they always met at this one craggily tree by the front after school. Knowing that was enough for him not to be mad at Robin that he always books it when the bell rings in math. 

He trudged out the door and down the hallway. In 6th grade, he thought that the 8th graders had it all, that they could walk the hallways without a fear in the world. But here Finney is, 2 years later, keeping his head down and his sneakers in sight. Even the oldest in the school, he didn’t have the luxury of not caring. 

Luckily for him, he ducks into his science classroom without a scrape, and slumps into his seat. Donna was already there, smelling like her usual flowery self, and sending him a close lipped smile. He smiled back and took out his homework from the night before, looking forward to his one good class of the day. 

Later, after the doors had emptied the formidable rush of middle schoolers eager to get home, Finney made his way over to the craggily tree 10 yards from the hoard of students. Robin was already waiting there, leaning against the fraying bark with his arms crossed.

When he caught sight of Finney, his face spread into a smile that evoked a warm feeling in Finney’s stomach. He shoved the feeling down and nodded in greeting. They automatically turned together and started the route to Finney’s house, Gwen joining them not 3 steps from the tree. 

“Hey Finney!” She chittered, before looking past him, “Oh, hey Robin!”

“What’s up, Gwen?” Robin asks, far too familiar with this exact exchange. The three of them walk home together quite a lot now, and Robin’s becoming a bigger part in not just Finney’s life, but Gwen’s too. His sister often rants about how he’d better be nice to Robin so he sticks around.

“Nothing, Mr.Stevenson was giving us a hard time again, he assigned so much work today.” She said, shaking her head.

Robin hums, “Who’s that again? Your English teacher?” 

“Yeah,” Gwen sighs, “he sucks.”

“Seems like it,” Finney scoffs, kicking a rock along the sidewalk. It goes on like that until they get home, easy conversation flowing between them, and by the time they open the door and file into the Blake house, Finney’s backpack is weighing him down and Robin’s switched shoulders only a million times. 

They crept inside and Gwen went to find their father while the two boys slipped up the steps. Inside Finney’s room with the door safely shut, Robin throws his bag on the ground and flops on the bed with a groan. Finney chuckles to himself at his antics, sitting in his desk chair across from the bed. 

He reaches into his bag to start taking out their unfinished worksheet, but Robin sees the movement and immediately protests, “Woah, woah, hold your horses, querido. We just got here, give me a second before you shove math down my throat.” 

“Fine.” Finney relents quickly, “10 minutes and we start. You act like the world is ending whenever it comes to math.”

Robin gives him a halfhearted middle finger and sighs at the ceiling, “That’s because it is.” 

He twists onto his stomach to look at him, trilling, “How was science with Donna? ” 

His voice is meant to sound teasing, but every time he talks about her, he always seems to have a sharp edge to his words. Like he doesn’t like her or something, which Finney doesn’t understand because he thinks that she’s just fine. 

“It was normal.” He answers shortly. 

“What did you talk about?” 

Finney stares at him, eyebrows furrowed, “…Science?” 

“Ha ha.” Robin deadpans, “C’mon, what did you really talk about?” 

“We talked about science. I don’t know what you want from me.” 

Robin rolls back onto his back, “Don’t lie to me, Finn. I know you like her.” 

Finney’s eyes almost pop out of his head, completely unprepared for such an accusation. “ What? ” He exclaims, “No I don’t!” 

“Obviously you do, man, I don’t think I ever see you stutter as much as when you’re with her.” 

He doesn’t stutter. He never stutters. 

“That’s- that’s bullshit!” 

Damn everything. 

Robin cackles and Finney feels his cheeks getting hot, crossing his arms and looking away. Of course, the jackass just laughs even harder, chortling, “Awww, you’re blushing!” 

“Fuck you, I am not.” He scoffs. 

“Woah ho, sensitive, are ya’? Got something to hide?” 

Finney resists the urge to strangle him with the very pillow he’s sprawled across, shooting back, “Nope. You’re delusional.” 

“And you’re green. We can make stuff up all night, Finn.” 

Finney kind of wanted to sock him in the nose and knock that tilted grin off his lips, but it’s common knowledge that that’s a fight he would lose immediately, so he just opts to huff, muttering, “I hate you.” 

“No you don’t, bud.” 

After that, they passed their time in silence until Robin finally groaned and told Finney to ‘take out the cause of his doom.’ They sat side by side, pressed together shoulder to knee against the bed, working out how to find x time and time again. Robin keeps telling him that x is missing, presumed dead, but they always somehow find him.

Robin’s muttering in Spanish while he focuses, something that Finney's caught him doing countless times. “Estúpida tarea de matemáticas, ni siquiera puedo- cómo demonios- ” 

He’d taken Spanish one term in 6th grade and promptly dropped it. The results? Finney has no idea what Robin is saying half the time. And half the time he doesn’t even ask for a translation; he knows it’s just Robin being Robin. 

It’s actually one of the things he loves about him, like the way he rolls his r’s, or like how tough he is, or how his mouth quirks up when he reads something funny in a comic book Finney loans him, or even how bad he is at math so that they can study together. 

He knows he really shouldn’t like that last one, that he should hope Robin could get better at it so he could do good in the class, but he values their time together like this too much not too. Eventually, the sheet is filled out and Robin claims he pretty much understands the topic, so they put it away and Finney walks Robin to the door. 

“Thanks for the help today, Finn,” Robin says, standing on the stoop and hiking his bag higher on his shoulder. 

“Any time, Robin.” Finney replies, leaning on the door frame, “Are you sure you understand it?” Maybe he’s just hoping he can bargain some more time with him, but Robin doesn’t have to know that. He knows he’ll see him tomorrow, but he can’t help wishing they had more time now . 

“Yeah,” Robin says, “you really cleared it up. Thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

Robin smiles and turns, “I’ll see you at school, Finn.” 

Finney nods, “Yeah. School.” 

Robin walks off, and Finney turns back inside, almost catching a mouthful of hair as he collides straight into a brick wall. A short brick wall. Gwen stands in front of him, rubbing her head, “Watch where you’re going, ass.” 

“Well excuse me for not seeing you creeping behind me.” He replies, pushing past her into the kitchen. 

Gwen shuts the door and follows him, continuing, “How was your study session?” 

“It was fine, why.” He eyes her, rooting around the fridge for something to eat. There was definitely a reason she was asking, she only ever asked when she had one. 

“Oh, no reason, I just…” she tries to nonchalantly look in the pantry for a snack, but Finney knows it’s all for show, “I heard you talking. About Donna.” 

“Gwen,” Finney groans, “I told you to stop eavesdropping!” 

She shrugs guiltily, “It was interesting.” 

“Well don’t be interested then!” He quips, trying to get past her again up the stairs. 

“Wait, Finney!” She calls after him, as quietly as she can to not wake their sleeping father. 

“What?” He hisses, itching to get away from this conversation. 

“Do you?” 

“Do I what?” 

“Like her?” She smirks, “Do you like Donna? I won’t tell if you do.” 

“No!” He whisper-shouts, “No, I don’t!” 

Her smile drops and she suddenly looks serious again; it was one of the things that Finney never understood about her, how fast she can change demeanors. He guesses it has something to do with the amount of times she’s had to do it when their dad walked in the room. 

“Do you… like someone else?” She asks, rubbing the hem of her shirt up and down, the flicking catching Finney’s attention. Up and down, up and down. 

“Who else would I even-”

“What about Robin?” 

The room goes so quiet you could hear a pin drop, the wind whistling outside being the only thing audible as Finney’s stomach did a somersault. His grip tightens on his crackers, the wrapper crinkling. “I’m not a fag, Gwen.” 

She frowns, “I just-”

“Just don’t. ” 

He turns on his heel and stalks up the stairs, heart racing in his chest. He feels his sister’s eyes on him until he finally gets out of sight, beelining for his bedroom. Shutting the door and leaning against it, he presses a hand to the center of his rib cage, feeling the quick beats. 

He feels tears prick his eyes, his breath coming out in angry short puffs. Before he even realizes it, he’s chucking the crackers at his bed as hard as he can, watching them bounce on his sheets. The sheets where Robin just was, not 5 minutes ago. Robin, who Finney wants to punch once again for making him feel these things. Robin, who wore a red bandana today, and apparently left it on his bed. 

He sniffles, and looks at it, how the bright red contrasts the muted blue of his covers. He doesn’t recall Robin taking it off, but then again he was pretty consumed with trying to erase all the pencil marks of their wrong work, so he can’t say he was really that observant. 

He shuffles over to his bed and sits on the edge of it, gingerly picking up the strip of fabric. Finney rubs his thumb over the white pattern, his anger softening. Why does everyone always assume he likes Robin? It was fucking annoying. Sure, he’s wondered if his lips were really as soft as they looked, but that’s what everyone thinks about their best friends, right? It wasn’t like he liked him because of it.

It was like with Bruce; he’d been so entranced by the way his lips formed around the word ‘mint’ that he forgot how to work his own into a reply. Maybe that’s just what Finney did when he esteemed someone. He’d done it to Donna too, wondering what lipgloss she used to make her lips that shiney, but he hadn’t had many similar thoughts about her like that in a while now. 

He placed the bandanna on his night stand, so he could give it to Robin tomorrow, and fell back onto his bed, cringing when he landed right on his crackers. 

The next morning, Finney wakes not to the alarm clock next to his bed blaring in his ear, but Gwen shaking him awake. 

“-nney! Finney! Wake up! We’re going to be late for school!” 

Finney bolts up in bed, eyes wide, he frantically looks at his clock, swearing under his breath when he sees it reads 7:50, not 7:30. Throwing his covers off, he stumbles to his closet, rifling through his mess of clothes for an outfit. 

Gwen sighs, walking out and imploring, “Hurry!” 

“I’m trying, ” Finney shoots back, before his leg gets stuck in his pant leg and he topples to the ground with a stressed, “ Goddamnit- ”

To whatever miracle that helped him get out the door in approximately 4 minutes, thank you. Somehow, Finney arrived at school a minute before the day started, panting and with unbrushed hair, and shoves open the door of his history class right as the bell rings. 

“Well, that was quite an entrance, Mr.Blake.” His teacher drawls, looking at him expectantly for an excuse to his almost-tardiness. 

“I,” he swallows, “woke up late.” 

She chuckles, “I can see that,” and gestures for him to sit down. He does so embarrassedly, too mindful of the 20 other sets of eyes on him. 

He makes it through most of the day without spontaneously combusting, realizing that he had forgotten things he needed for multiple classes. 

Gwen had taken his last pencil this morning too, so his missing supplies included something to write with. He had to borrow one from Vance Hopper. Vance Hopper. He’d been the only one with an extra. Finney almost shit himself taking it out of his hand. 

So, when rallying up the points, his day was not going well. When the bell rings in science finally signaling the end of the day, he’s almost out the doors when he feels someone tap on his shoulder. Tensing, he turns, fully expecting an insult and perhaps a fist to the face, but is instead met with a nervous looking girl. 

“Oh,” he exhales, “hey Donna.”

“Hey.” She says. Behind her, two of her friends Finney sees her with all the time giggle. “I just- um,” she cuts herself off, face turning pinker by the second, “I…”

“Yeah?”

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out for a second, before she rocks back onto her heels, rushing, “I’m going to need to talk to you Monday after school.” 

“O…k?” Finney mumbled dumbly, wearily watching her friends groan. She nods and purses her lips, and Finney scratches his neck awkwardly, “I’ll see you then?” 

“Yeah.” She replies curtly, obviously frustrated with something. 

“Alright,” Finney says hesitantly, offering a quick wave and turning to go meet Robin at their tree. 

As he’s walking away he hears Donna’s friends exclaiming, “You chicken!” And “I can’t believe you!” 

He hears Donna’s voice defend, “I’ll ask him on Monday, I swear!” 

He steps outside, the crisp fall air hitting him and cooling him down. He looks at all of the colorful leaves on the ground and suddenly feels giddy, a smile creeping onto his lips. He’s supposed to meet Robin for a movie tonight at his house; some horror the other picked out claiming it would make Finney ‘cry like a baby.’ Although nights like those always ended with them both clinging to each other in fear.

Looking up, he notices a large group of kids, all standing in a circle near their tree. That’s never good. His smile melts off his face and he hurries up to where he can see the back of Gwen’s backpack in them. 

He puts a hand on her shoulder, asking, “What’s happening?” 

He can hear the sound of a fist hitting flesh once, but even on his tip-toes he can’t see over everyone. 

Gwen looks worried, “It’s-”

“ Hijo de puta, fucking take it back!” 

He would recognize that voice anywhere. 

Heart rate spiking, he pushes his way to the front of the crowd mumbling, “Shit, shit, shit, shit.” When he reaches the inner circle, his suspicions are made true and he lets out a shrill, “Robin!” 

There’s a kid already lying on the ground, clutching what looks like a broken nose, and another one in Robin’s grasp, weakly trying to fight back as Robin throws another two punches at him. He’s muttering what must be countless profanities in Spanish under his breath, and Finney darts up to him. 

“Robin, dude! Stop!” He yells, trying to grab at Robin’s arm, but he just shakes him off hastily, ignoring him. “Robin! Fucking cut it out!” 

“Fuck off , Finn.” He hisses through clenched teeth. 

“Shit man, I think you’ve done enough damage,” he says, anxious to get Robin off the kid starting to get caked in blood. 

“You’re just mad I’m right ,” the blonde dumbass snarls through bloodied teeth, which was the absolute fucking worst thing to say in his position. 

Robin downright growls, and winds back his fist, and starts sending even harder punches. Finney frantically grabs at him again, but gets shaken off again, so he goes for the kill, ducking his head and tackling his best friend to the ground by the waist. Robin grunts with the collision, and again when they crash to the ground, and Finney raises himself up above him as he blinks at the sky. 

“I’m s-”

His efforts to speak are proven worthless when the guy that was talking shit moves to begin getting up, and Robin immediately pushes past him and starts for him again. Finney scrambles after him, snatching his wrist. 

“Don’t.” He snaps, and for once Robin freezes. He looks back at Finney, brow furrowed and breath coming out harshly. His eyes are full of rage. Finney swallows. “Don’t.” He says again. 

Robin looks back at the kid, seething, “If you ever talk about him like that again, I’ll send you fucking crying to your mom with more than a little blood. You hear me?”

He grimaces and nods, and Robin spits on him for good measure. 

By now, Finney notices the teachers that are trying to push to the front of the huge crowd, and he grabs Robin’s arm again exclaiming, “Run!” 

Robin obediently scoops up his backpack from where it was lying, and they take off, ignoring the teachers yelling at them to stop. Feet pounding on the ground, they make it all the way to Robin’s house, it being the closer one, before they stop.

Finney heaves, resting his hands on his knees to try and catch his breath. Robin leans on the side of his house, arms on his head.

“What,” Finney wheezes, “the fuck was that?” 

Robin lets his arms down, looking away, “A shit head getting what he goddamn deserved.” 

Finney opens his mouth to retort, maybe call him a jackass, but stops short when he takes in Robin’s state. He’s sweaty, knuckles bloody, and there’s a purple bruise blooming on his cheek. 

“He got you?” 

“What?” Robin raises a hand to his cheek, pressing on the spot lightly, “Oh, yeah. He threw one before I could even finish calling him names. That’s like, cheating.” 

“Cheating, huh?” He laughs, shucking his bag off his shoulders. Robin sniggers, pushing himself off the house. “Go wipe that blood off your knuckles, pendejo.” 

Finney pushes him inside his house as he says over his shoulder, “You know that’s not how you pronounce it, it’s not a hard J-”

The house was quiet when they barreled into it, “Hey, where’s your family?” 

Robin leaves his bag in the middle of the floor and goes to fill up a glass of water, “Mamá and my uncle are out for dinner tonight.” 

“At 3:30?” 

“There’s a show they’re going to too. Some kind of ballet bullshit, I don’t know.” 

“Oh,” he acklowlages, looking around the empty home. He’d been there enough times to know where the bathroom is, but not enough to know where the spoons are. 

Robin hisses as he runs water over his knuckles, and Finney shuffles next to him to look. The cuts definitely aren’t as bad as when he fought Moose, but they weren’t as insignificant as a one punch and done deal would be. He doesn’t cry. Robin never cries. Finney looks at the bruise on his face. 

“You got anything for that?” He asks, pointing. 

“Uh, yeah. There’s some peas in the freezer.” Robin replies, nodding over his shoulder at where they are. 

Finney goes off to get them, and when he returns, Robin’s leaning with his back against the sink, trying to wrap his knuckles with a bandage. He was failing miserably. 

“You’d think after all the fights you’ve been in you would be good at that by now,” Finney says, walking up to him and placing the peas on the counter next to the sink. Robin starts to retort, but Finney beats him to it, “Just give me it.” 

He huffs and hands the bandage over, letting Finney take the bad one off and reapply another. Robin always rushed though putting them on and it made them terrible. Finney tries not to think about the weight of Robin’s hand in his as he moves on to the other, tries not to think about how his skin is rough against his own.

“There.” He says, bandages now adorning Robin’s hands. Although, he has to know. And there’s no time like the present, so he continues, “What was the fight about?” 

“Um,” Robin hesitates, eyes flickering between Finney’s, “Well that kid’s new in town, and he heard some stuff from Matty and Buzz, and he was call’n you names. Was calling you a fag and shit like that.” 

Of course. Finney the fag. He almost leaves it at that and drops the topic, but then he remembers the look of rage in Robin’s eyes. Normally he just tells the guys that pick on Finney to just knock it off, or throws maybe one punch at most. What he did to this new kid was… unique. 

“People have said stuff like that before, why was this time different?” 

Robin crosses his arms, brow furrowed as he stares at the floor. “He said… he said you didn’t deserve to live. That someone should just get on with it and kill you.”

“Robin, you know I don’t-”

“He said some stuff about me too. Us.” Robin flexes his hand, fingers balling into a tight fist. “Had to make sure he doesn’t even think about that shit anymore. You’re too special to me, Finn, I-” His voice cracks, and he closes his eyes frustratedly. 

Finney stares at him, brow creased. He doesn’t even know what he’s doing until his arms are wrapped around Robin’s frame, tightly entrapping his shoulders. Robin freezes for a second, before he’s wrapping his own strong arms around Finney in return. His hair smells like clove and tobacco, a scent Finney’s come to associate him with. His face flushes where it is above Robin’s shoulder. 

“Do you want to stay the night?” Robin asks, quietly, as if they haven’t done it a dozen times before. 

“Sure,” Finney replies, just as quietly, as if he hasn’t answered the same way every time. 

They pull away and study each other for a moment. Finney could probably choke on how thick the awkwardness is between them. But then Robin clears his throat and says, “Let’s go,” leading them up the stairs. 

In his room, he talks about the test in math that they took, and how he actually knew most of the answers for once, and about how there was a fly that landed right on Moose’s lip in his English class today, which ‘how the hell did the dipshit not notice it?’ And the moon is shining outside and Finney’s just finished staring at the ceiling while complaining about his bike breaking when Robin suddenly perks up. 

“Hey, we never watched that movie!” He bubbles, already standing up, “Come on!” 

They race down the stairs and Robin puts in the movie, plopping down next to him with a bowl of popcorn. Finney tries to reach in to grab some but Robin swats at his hand, like he always does; however Finney knows that he’ll eventually give in and share. 

The movie itself isn’t that scary, sure there are a few jump scares that get them, and sometimes the gore makes Finney cringe, but overall it wasn’t as bad as Robin hyped it up to be. He basically spends most of the movie trying not to overheat thinking about every point of contact they two boys had, which was a large amount of points. Robin was glued to his side, hugging Finney’s arm in a grip so tight he wondered if he would have bruises. 

As the credits roll on the screen, Finney yawns, covering his mouth so Robin doesn’t fish hook him, and blinks tiredly at the black and white screen. Robin immediately echos his yawn, and stretches out with his arms above his head. He misses the warmth, but the little sliver of tan skin he sees when Robin’s shirt lifts up is almost just as good. Almost. 

Robin stands up and Finney follows him down the hallway, watching him poke his head into a bedroom, “Mamá, ¿dónde están el futón y las sábanas?” Robin questions quietly, speaking into the dark room. Finney hadn’t even noticed that his family had gotten back.

His mother answers in a thick Spanish accent that Finney can’t make any sense of whatsoever, and Robin thanks her, shutting the door quietly. They go upstairs and Robin recruits Finney to help him set up the futon next to his bed, a task that takes far longer than it should, but soon enough the futon is ready to go. 

He collapses onto it, sighing happily. Robin turns off the light and clambers over him in a way that creates the most amount of jabs to Finney’s ribs and the most limbs stepped on as possible. 

But despite how tired he is, once the room is quiet, Finney can’t seem to fall asleep. Robin’s already ahead of him, snoring softly. The futon is comfortable, and the blankets feel nice, but his mind is running miles around a never ending track. He never listened to the mumbo-jumbo of his brain; see how long it takes to run to that tree, it says. You don’t really have many friends, do you, it says. Robin’s pretty, it says. 

An interesting word to describe the rough edged boy sleeping on the bed above him, but it was one that kept resurfacing. Whenever he looked at him longer than 3 seconds, his attention was drawn to the subtle muscles he sported, the silky quality of his hair, the sharp brown of his eyebrows. 

Of all the words in the English dictionary, and probably the Spanish one too, ‘pretty’ was the only one that could ever capture everything that was Robin Arellano. 

It confuses Finney, because he thought that pretty was something that was reserved for girls. Donna was pretty. Her friend Patty was pretty. But Robin was pretty too? It just didn’t make sense. He eyed Robin’s hand where it was hanging off the bed. Finney didn’t even have to be able to see to know that his face was squished against the pillow as he laid on his stomach, it was how he always slept. 

He remembers the weight of his hand still, the texture of the bandage rubbing against his fingertips as he smoothed it down, and has the sudden urge to feel it again. He sits up on his elbows, peeking over the edge of the bed. Sure enough, Robin’s squashed against the pillow, sleeping away. It should be fine, right? If he’s gentle?

He sinks back down, letting out a breath. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous, it wasn’t like Robin’s was going to wake up. Finney tentatively reaches his hand out and carefully traces the outline of the back of Robin’s hand, grazing lightly over it to test the waters. He doesn’t stir, so he continues, trailing down one finger and up the underside of it, eventually reaching his palm. It’s cold, and he absentmindedly wraps his own around it. 

Suddenly, the hand is jerked away, and a sleepy, “The fuck are you doing?” Is slurred from above. Finney freezes, immediately chanting profanities in his head. Robin pokes his head over the edge of the bed, “Finn?” 

“I, uh- had a nightmare,” he lies through his teeth. He sounds like a pussy, but being a pussy is better than being kicked out. 

Robin groans, rolling back onto his back, “Why the hell does that concern me?” 

Finney rolls his eyes in return, figuring that if he actually had had a nightmare, this would be some pretty shitty treatment. “You’re a dick,” he says. 

Another groan emerges from the bed, “Ugh, fine,” Robin says, “Get up here, querido.” 

Oh, he didn’t expect that. “A-are you sure?” 

“Yes, dumbass.” Robin replies, eyes already shut again. 

“Don’t call me a dumbass, jerk,” Finney shoots as he climbs over Robin onto the other side of the bed. 

“Dumbass,” Robin mumbles. 

Finney punches his shoulder and he yelps. 

When Finney wakes up to the sound of voices downstairs, he’s also being shoved away. 

“God, you fuck’n sprawl everywhere when you sleep,” Robin grumbles, pushing Finney the rest of the way off of him. “You can starfish everywhere in your bed, but not mine.” 

“Oh shove off, you like it.” Finney mumbles, still sleep drunk. Robin hesitates for a quarter second, something that if Finney wasn’t on the brink of falling back asleep, he would have noticed. But he quickly regains himself, standing up with a faint brushing of pink on his cheeks and faces himself away from Finney.

“Let’s go eat, Finn.” 

The idea of food drags Finney out of bed, and he wipes at his eyes as they walk down the stairs. In the kitchen, Robin’s mom and uncle are sitting at the table, chatting and eating eggs and toast. Finney’s stomach grumbles.

“¿Hiciste alguno para nosotros?” Robin asks, and maybe Finney’s just really hungry, but he’s pretty sure he’s asking about the food. 

“Ah, Lo siento bebé, no. Pensamos que aún no estarías despierto.” She replies, and Robin says something back, and goes over to the cupboard, pulling out cereal. 

“This is all we got, they forgot to make us some.” He says, and Finney shrugs, grabbing a bowl. 

They eat in relative silence, listening to Robin’s family talk. Finney would join in, if he had any clue what they were saying. Mrs.Arellano only speaks Spanish. 

Eventually, Robin nudges him, “What do you want to do today querid- Finn?” he glances at his mom, who raises an eyebrow at him. Was that thing he called him a bad word? Que…querdoe? Maybe it meant dumbass or something. 

“Uh, I don’t care. I probably don’t have to go back until noon, so we have the whole morning.” He says, finishing the last of his cereal. 

They end up playing board games the whole time and almost strangling each other more than once. Robin doesn’t call him that thing the rest of the morning. When noon comes, Finney’s in the kitchen where Robin’s mom insisted on making him a sandwich before he left. He leans against the counter as she bustles around the kitchen. Robin’s in the bathroom, leaving them translation-less and quiet. 

Finney’s been thinking about that Spanish word Robin always calls him a lot this morning, and he finds himself itching to figure out what it is. If it’s dumbass like he suspects, he wants to learn it so he can use it against him too, like a double negative. 

He’s also been eyeing the yellow book on the counter labeled ‘Spanish to English Dictionary.’ Mrs.Arellano was using it earlier when she refused Robin’s offer of help to speak to Finney about the sandwich. 

He needs to get it before Robin gets back, or he’ll be questioned to no extent, so he crosses the room to grab it. When he has the thick book in his hand, he turns to Robin’s mother, pointing at himself and then the book, “Can I take this?” He asks.

“Permanente?” She questions. 

“No, no.” He clarifies, running his fingers nervously on the edges. 

“Si. Usted puede tomarlo.” She says with a warm smile. Si was one of the few words Robin actually knows in Spanish, so he knew that she was saying he could. 

“Gracias.” He tries, and her smile grows as she walks over and hands Finney the sandwich. She pulls him into a quick hug and Robin chooses that moment to walk out of the bathroom. 

“Well what’s going on in here?” He asks slyly, crossing his arms. 

“Uh, nothing.” Finney says, “She just really was glad I took the sandwich?” 

Robin looks confused, glancing at his mom, but then decides to forget it and shrugs. He looks up to the clock on the wall, “You have to go Finn?”  

He follows his gaze, and sure enough it was noon already, “Uh, yeah.” 

Finney hugs the book to his chest and Robin walks him to the door, and before he knows it he’s at his house. 

He greets his father, tells him the book is for his Spanish project when he asks, knowing he would be too lazy to ever check, and finds himself in his room, sitting on the floor. The book lies in front of him, and he wonders if he could even find this one word in it with how hearty it is. 

He flips to the Q section; Que, Quebranto, Quedado, no. He skips farther ahead, Queja, Quemado, querido. Querido, that sounded right. He reads further to the right, seeing the translation is… darling? Wait, there’s no way. He rereads it again and again, but the word is right there in bold black text: darling. 

He never thought in a million years that Robin would call him that. Darling? Where did that even come from? Nothing he ever called him in english came even remotely close to that. It was always some insult that included a swear word, because Robin always talks like a sixth grader who just learned what the word ‘fuck’ meant. Robin says he knew what fuck meant before that. Finney shuts the book, falling backwards to lay on the floor. 

Darling. Darling. He feels a smile tug at the corner of his lips and a fluttery feeling settles in his chest. 

Darling was something that a husband called his wife. It was something that a boyfriend called his girlfriend. It was something that Robin called him. He’s honestly not surprised that he likes it. He likes it like he likes counting Robin’s freckles, like he likes the way he smells, like he likes how tough he appears to be. 

He likes it because he likes Robin. 

The next day, Gwen comes into his room and begs him to come outside to play 4 times. He counts. The fourth time she realizes she’s not getting absolutely anywhere, so she leaves him alone. Finney couldn’t be more grateful. 

He has far too much on his mind, Sunday morning and afternoon and night filled with nothing but Robin. He likes him. He likes Robin the way he liked Donna all that time ago. He’s fulfilled every mean comment thrown at him. And he doesn’t even care that much. 

Sure, it makes anger burn in his chest that Moose can call him a fag and not be wrong, but the heat to that anger deminishes when he remembers that Robin calls him darling. He thinks it might be his new favorite word. 

However, the revelation of his new crush keeps him tucked away in his room, brow furrowed. He likes him. 

Monday morning, he trudges to school with bags under his eyes and a buzzing in his head. History is boring, PE just about kills him, and english is nothing compared to his anticipation for math. He’s going to talk to Robin while they work. He’s made up his mind. 

As he walks in, Robin frowns at him. As sits down next to him, he remarks, “Dude, what’s up with you? You look fucking dead.” 

“I just couldn’t sleep.” Finney replies, careful not to let his cheeks heat up under his intense gaze. 

Robin scoffs, “First you oversleep, and now you can’t sleep, what’s next? You have a nightmare from a not even scary movie? Oh wait,” he laughs, “That already happened, huh, Finn.”

“Would you just shut the fuck up,” he grumbles, failing at his no-red-cheeks task and crossing his arms. 

“If I shut up, who would tell you you have your diary entry out and not your math homework?” 

“Wh-” Finney pretty much blows smoke out of his ears when he looks down, “It’s my goddamn english paper, asshole.” 

“Hm, looks a lot like a diary entry to me- is that my name? What are you writing about me in your diary, Finn?” Robin gasps dramatically, reaching for the paper. 

Finn snatches it away and shoves it in his bag before he can get it even though he’s telling the truth. He doesn’t want to spend 10 minutes listening to Robin read it out loud just to embarrass him. “It’s the stupid author's name, don’t flatter yourself.” 

“Huh. Seems suspicious to me.” He muses, and Finney rolls his eyes. 

Today, Mr.Paviki’s teaching is boring enough today that Finney rests his head on the desk. And then before he realizes it, he’s being given a wet willy and shooting up, squirming away from it. Damn it, he fell asleep. He swears he only closed his eyes to blink!

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Finney stresses, packing up as quickly as he can as Robin slings his bag over his shoulder and stands up. 

He shrugs, “You looked tired, thought you needed your rest.” 

“Oh, bullshit,” he mutters, standing up. 

“I’ll fill you in tomorrow,” Robin replies, tightening the bandana on the back of his head. It reminds Finney of the one in his bag, that he remembered to pack so he could give it to him. He slides his bag off his shoulders and sets it on the desk, rooting through it for the red piece of cloth. 

But when his fingers close around it and he looks back to where Robin was standing, he finds he’s not standing there at all anymore, seeing the last of him disappear out the door. Damn, he’s really falling flat on the things he planned to do today. He shoves the bandana back into his bag and sighs, starting to his next class. 

In science, Donna is antsy today, shifting in her seat and picking at her nails. Finney assumes it’s because of the thing she has to talk to him about today, but he can’t be sure. Although it is very rare that her usual calm, collected, badass demeanor is broken. 

The teacher drones on for 45 minutes, until eventually the bell rings and Finney stands to go. He turns to Donna, who is taking considerably long packing her things up, “Should I wait for you here? You needed to talk to me right?” He offers. 

“Uh, I’ll meet you outside.” She says, glancing up at him and then back to her bag quickly. 

“Sure,” he replies, and shuffles out of the room. 

Outside, he stands by the doors and looks over to Robin’s and his craggily tree where he’s standing. He catches the other boy’s eye and holds up a finger, trying to mouth to him to wait for him. But Robin’s eyebrows furrow, and he starts walking towards him. However, before he can get there, Donna steps in front of him. She takes a breath and starts talking. 

“Ok, so, Finney.” She says, “I- I like you.” Finney’s stomach is in his toes in seconds, “A lot,” She continues, blushing a little. Finney looks over her shoulder at Robin, who is definitely in ear shot now, and is frozen in place, staring at the pair. “And I was wondering if you would want to be my boyfriend? I figured that you’d never ask me, so I thought that I would ask you.” 

Why does she have to ask that right now? When Robin is clearly hearing all of this?  He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, unsure what to say. 

“If you don’t want to, that’s… fine, I guess.” She says, posture sinking. 

He sighs, “W-well, Donna, you’re great. I’m just, um, I like someone else right now.” He glances back up over her, but all he can see is Robin’s back as he speed-walks away. Shit. 

Donna follows his gaze, double shit. 

She looks back at him, mouth hanging slightly open in surprise. “You like-”

“No!” Finney rushes, “No, I don’t.” 

Donna purses her lips, eyes running between Finney’s. “I won’t tell anyone, I swear. Your secret’s safe.” 

Finney’s really bad at hiding this, apparently. There was no use in trying to convince her otherwise now, he knew she wouldn’t forget it. But he also had a suspicion that she was being truthful about not telling anyone too. “Thank you,” he breathes. 

She shrugs, “It’s the least I can do. Thanks for being nice about saying no. I’ll see you tomorrow, Finney.” 

He watches her walk off, hair bobbing as she goes, and once his brain catches up, he sprints in the other direction. Once Robin comes into view, which only takes a few seconds because his short legs never took him far, he shouts to him. 

“Robin!” He calls, “Hey, wait!” 

Robin slows slightly, but doesn’t stop. When Finney catches up to him, he huffs, “Hey, I asked for you to wait for me back there, man!” 

His eyebrows are still furrowed as he watches the ground pass underneath them. He completely ignores Finney’s statement, simmering, “You and Donna dating now?” 

“Uh, no,” 

“That’s great.” He deadpans, once again ignoring him, “Happy for you.” 

“No, Robin, we’re not-”

“First girlfriends are pretty cool. Not that I would know, but I assume-”

“Robin, we’re not fucking dating!” Finney explodes, immediately feeling guilty and raining it back in, “We’re, uh, not dating. I don’t like her.” 

“What?” Robin pipes, finally looking at him, “I thought you did? Why the fuck not?” 

They’ve stopped walking by now, standing in front of a random house a few blocks from school. 

Finney groans, “I just don’t. I mean, I did at one point, but not anymore. She’s not- she’s just not-”

“Use your words, Finn.” Robin teases, shocking Finney at his sudden change in attitude. 

However, that shock leads to the quiet, “You,” that’s whispered from his lips. 

After that, several things happen at once. Robin’s eyes widen. Finney stops breathing. A car drives by. Robin swallows. Finney tenses. The momentary silence between them is unbearable and seems to last years, although it was probably only really a second or two. 

“She’s just not me?” Is what Robin ends up croaking. Finney’s words render useless on his tongue, and he wonders if he might start sprinting again in the next minute if he doesn’t get punched. 

He stressidly looks away, his grip on his backpack straps growing tighter. “Look, I- I can just forget it, and you can stop talking to me, and I swear I won’t tell anyone, and you don’t have to get in fights defending me anymore, and-”

“Querido…” Robin breathes, and his voice is so full of sincerity and relief that Finney almost chokes on it. Nothing comes after it. 

“I know what that means now.” He mutters to fill the quiet, still refusing to meet his eyes, “Read it in the dictionary your mom let me take.” 

All of the sudden, Robin’s hand is wrapping around his wrist and he’s being tugged down the alley between the two houses they are standing in front of. 

“ Hey- ” he starts, but before he can get anymore out, he’s being pushed against the siding of the house and Robin’s lips are on his. 

Holy fuck. Robin’s arm is right next to his head, and his other hand is on the side of his face, cold against the heat rapidly crawling up his face. He can’t even press back before Robin is pulling away. 

“You fucking jerk. ” He hisses, “I wanted to be the one to say it first.” 

Finney’s still stunned, staring at Robin. “Say what?” He says, because he can’t seem to cook up anything even semi-smart to say. 

“That I like you.” Robin says, a stupid smirk laying tilted on his lips. It’s confident and sweet, and so, so hot. Finney can’t stand watching it for a moment more. He grabs a fistful of his collar and drags him in again. 

This time, it’s so much better. The slide of their lips together was sweet like honey and not at all perfect. Their teeth clink together and neither of them have any idea what they're doing, but Finney wouldn’t trade it for the world. Robin’s lips really are as soft as they look.

Robin grunts into his mouth when he accidentally grabs his hair too hard, and it sends butterflies swarming into his stomach as he mutters, “Sorry,” against his mouth. Robin doesn’t answer, just goes back to kissing him, and Finney understands completely. 

Inside the house they’re leaning against, there’s a loud clang, and they jump, looking up to the nearest window. They can’t see anyone in it, but the crack it’s been opened provides a front seat to the colorful cursing that follows the loud noise. They both realize that they’re quite literally kissing against a stranger's house at the same time, and step away from each other hastily. 

Finney clears his throat and Robin brushes invisible dust off his clothes, and once they make eye contact, he smiles. 

“Come on, yeah?” He says, nodding over his shoulder back to the sidewalk. 

“Yeah,” Finney breathes, following him out. 

Once they’re walking in time with each other on the pavement, Finney shoves his hands in his pockets and starts, “So…” 

Robin chuckles, bumping his shoulder, “Finney, you talk too much.” 

Finney scoffs and bumps him back, muttering, “Fuck off, man.” 

Robin laughs through his nose, “Whatever you say, buddy.” 

What to do, what to do. 

The two shirts lay on Finney’s bed, staring at him. He just can’t decide between them, and his time is winding down. Robin’s coming over soon so they can bike to watch a new movie at the drive-in, and for the life of him he just can’t decide. 

“What the hell are you doing?” 

Finney jolts, turning around to see Gwen wandering into his room, taking in his half dressed state. He goes back to the shirts, saying, “Trying to pick something to wear.” 

“Hm,” she returns, “You should wear that one,” she points to the plain gray one with long sleeves. 

He shrugs and tugs it on, walking to the bathroom to check how it looked. Gwen came and stood in the doorway as he fixed his hair. He knew it would be fruitless soon, considering he would be biking in the wind for 15 minutes right after, but he tried at least. 

“Hanging out with Robin?” Gwen asks, crossing her arms as she watches him. 

He glances at her, “Uh, yeah.” 

They haven’t talked about it since Finney’s outburst in the kitchen a week or two ago, but he’s sure she’s noticed Robin around more often, noticed the door shut longer when he is. He thinks she wants to talk to him about it, but she hasn’t yet, hesitant to bring it up again. She’s always giving him this look, like she knows something. The one she’s giving him now. 

“What?” He laughs, patting his hair down once more. 

“Just, Robin’s your best friend, isn’t he?” 

Finney picks up on the underlying implication, it’s probably the closest that they’ll get to talking about it for a while, and he looks at her through the mirror. She doesn’t look disgusted, just… interested. She needs to learn to be less interested. But he guesses if she could have stopped, she would have by now, so he just replies, “Yeah. He is.” 

Gwen smiles at him, breathing, “Ok. Cool,” and Finney can’t help but smile back. 

Just then, the doorbell rings, and they hear their dad groan downstairs. Finney grabs a piece of cloth off his dresser and stuffs it into his pocket, running down the stairs. Robin’s standing outside, where his father has just opened the door. He smiles wider and pushes past his dad, saying, “Bye!” 

“Hey, be back at-”

“Yeap, 10, got it!” He shouts, hopping onto his bike. His father waves him off and shuts the door, and Robin and him start into the night. 

When their pedal bikes have been discarded in the grass to the left of them, and the blanket has been painstakingly spread out, and the movie is playing on the large screen, Finney finally remembers what he’d put in his pocket. 

“Oh!” He exclaims, grabbing it, “I forgot, but you left your bandana at my house a while ago, sorry it took so long for me to give it back.” 

Robin looks at the red bandana in his hands, and then up to Finney, and back to the bandana. “You know what?” He says, “You keep it.” 

“What? I can’t just-”

Robin takes it from his hand, and starts tying it around Finney’s arm, “It’s fine, I have like a million at my house. Plus,” he finishes, pulling the knot tight, and looks him up and down, “You look good in it, querido.” 

Finney laughs, teasing through his smile, “God, you fuck’n sap.” 

“ Hey now- ”

“Sap! You’re a goddamn sap!” He cries. 

“You fucking piece of-” Robin tackles him, sending them both rolling on the ground, laughing so loud the movie was probably inaudiable to everyone else at the drive in. They wrestle until Finney pins Robin down, and he squirms under him. But Finney holds him solidly enough that he can’t get away, and Robin finally admits defeat, going flaux and complaining about how Finney definitely cheated somehow. Which is bullshit, because you can’t cheat in wrestling. Finney slides off him, laughing at his insistent grumbling. 

They don’t even pay attention to the movie at all after that, but watching Robin make a pile of grass on the blanket between them and smack him every time he insults it seems much more important at the moment. They cringe when the couple kisses on the screen together, as if they weren’t just making out three seconds ago, and they’re talking about anything and everything, from arcade games to school work. It’s bliss. 

Robin Arrellano is the best boyfriend. Well, he’s been Finney’s only boyfriend, so he doesn’t have much to compare to, but he was still definitely the best. 

You know, Finney Blake + Robin Arrellano is starting to have a nice ring to it.