fruitcoops

[fruitcoops]

You have been killing it with the fluff and I love it

Thank you! I realized after writing everything that it was just a big fluff fest, which I suppose isn't so bad for good summer vibes :)

[fruitcoops]

Another year, another set of great prompts! Thanks again to @oknutzy-week-2025 for getting all this together and making it possible. O'Knutzy Week is a summer highlight every single year. I hope everyone had as much fun as I did!

[fruitcoops]

Diving In

I really can't help myself when it comes to AUs. Summer Olympics Cubs (which are perhaps a slice of a larger AU in the works) to round out the 2025 board! Thanks to @lumosinlove for the lads and @oknutzy-week-2025 for the fest <3 It's such a treat for my busy brain!

Prompt E4: Song of the Summer

How to tell a cute guy your boyfriend is allowed to kiss him and also you want to as well. Finn didn’t want to know what Google would come up with in answer to that. It was an interesting thought, though, made better when he caught green eyes staring and quirked a brow. The pool hid none of the dusk-pink that colored tan shoulders. It wasn’t like Logan would pull away if Leo went for it. Oh, he’d feel terrible unless they were explicitly clear (Finn wanted to do many explicit things with him) but that wasn’t hard.

Hi, Logan, he thought. Got anyone waiting for you in the Great White North?

Leo slid through the water like an otter, all strong cords of muscle from their rigid training regimen. He moved as if propelled by an unseen spirit, so smooth and coordinated it didn’t look real in certain lights. Logan might have glanced Finn’s way once, but he had hardly been able to turn his gaze from Leo in fifteen minutes. Finn didn’t blame him. Three years of partnership, a life spent in and out of the pool, and Leo was still the best swimmer he had ever seen. Graceful to an impossible degree. Razor perfect in his dives.

Matching him was Finn’s greatest challenge and greatest reward. Leo pushed him to be better, stronger, to a degree that made Finn marvel he’d ever even seen the bronze medal on his shelf without Leo’s dedication. He wanted gold, now, and not just for himself. Leo had already earned it. He wanted to win. Finn would get it for him.

He was smiling for Logan, like sunlight dappling the water. Swimming beside Leo made anyone look a fool, but Logan held his own with strong pulls of his shoulders and thighs to tread near the wall while they talked. Finn had never seen two people more ecstatic about a shared language. He didn’t want to learn if it meant losing the roll of their voices over his ears.

“Right, Harz?”

“Sorry, what?”

“We’re in slot three next week.” Leo’s eyes were heavy with subtext. “There shouldn’t be any interference with Logan’s competitions if he wants to come watch.”

“Yeah, for sure,” Finn agreed without hesitation. He kicked a bit of water at Logan with a grin. “We need a cheerleader.”

“It’s not cheerleading,” Logan warned. The heat in his voice made Finn’s stomach swoop pleasantly.

"You'd cheer for us, though, right?”

“Depends.” Logan kicked off the wall with one foot. “Are you coming to see me beat your boys on Thursday?”

“You can count on it.”

Finn’s heart beat and bled out of his control. It was a longstanding fault, but it had brought him the best thing in his life, tipping him head over heels for Leo’s smile from the first day. Logan hadn’t given them a full one yet. They’d only caught glimpses, ducked-down things that Finn wanted to kiss until the real thing broke through. It was dangerous to let himself want so much when they had so little time, but the Village made it seem so simple. Long-distance meant nothing while Logan still lived ten minutes from their door.

Leo would be more careful. He knew Finn’s heart and kept it safe, but only because Finn offered him the same in return. Logan’s chalk-callused hands steadied him on rings and bars and pommels—no matter how hard he swung himself through the air, they never let him fall. He could hold them. Finn knew it. Sometimes the best things came after a moment of free-fall.

Splashes and shouts from the distance swimmers in the main pool drowned out whatever song of the summer had been deemed most motivational this year and muffled Logan’s approach. The water had blackened Logan’s eyelashes to thick ink when he tugged on Finn’s ankle. “You’re missing out.”

“Nah, I got the best view in the house.”

Logan’s gaze darted to the mottled grout under his elbows. Water twisted his hair into loose curls the color of dark chocolate. If Finn got his way, he would spend the next hour and a half before training watching rivulets of water slither down Logan’s neck and into the dark hair on his chest.

“Quoi?”

“Nothing.” Nothing you get to know yet. Finn grinned down at him. “I just like hanging out with you two.”

Logan flicked his shin, but dipped the lower half of his face under the water. Leo did that when he didn’t want Finn to know he was smiling at some bad joke or another. Oh, Finn hoped they had that in common.

“We’re going to dinner around seven tonight, if you want to come,” Leo offered. He came to the edge on Logan’s other side, an inch or two closer than most would call ‘friendly’. Finn watched Logan’s cheeks redden.

“Where?’

“Just the cafeteria. Why, did you have somewhere in mind?”

Smooth, Butter. “Non, I—” Logan paused, disarmed. “I know some good places around here, sure, but…wherever you were thinking is fine.”

“You do?”

“I have family in Nice. We came to Marseille sometimes in the summer, too.”

“Summers in the south of France.” Finn whistled lowly, swinging his legs in the water. “Wow. And here I thought New York would be impressive.”

“How come you don’t compete for France, then?” Leo asked. He pushed himself out of the pool before Logan could answer; Finn watched the words die on Logan’s tongue. He wasn’t wearing his competition gear, but his more casual swim trunks didn’t cover much more. Anyone with a pulse would be tripped up by Leo’s bare back and legs.

To his credit, Logan made a valiant recovery. “I’ve lived in Canada my whole life.”

“Quebec?”

“Rimouski, yeah. By the lake.”

Leo made a quiet sound of understanding. “You swim like you grew up with it.”

Surprise brightened Logan’s eyes. “Merci.”

“Fishing?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Me, too.” Finn could have laughed at how easily Leo held Logan’s attention, and how excited Logan seemed to be the next one wrapped around his little finger. Finn had no qualms about sharing that place. Leo had big hands.

“Maybe we’ll try a different spot for dinner on Friday.” Finn dropped a quick wink when Logan tore his gaze from Leo to look back at him and was rewarded by Logan’s hand nearly slipping off the pool edge. “A Tremzy special. Our treat, to celebrate the end of your Games.”

There. Right there, a half-step out of Finn’s reach, but clearer than he had seen it yet. A smile. “D’accord,” Logan said. “That sounds good, yeah. I’ll find something fun.”

The curtain he kept up in front of himself was growing more transparent every day. Finn wanted to yank it down with both hands and pull him into the light. He stood and stole Leo’s towel to dry his lower legs, then bent and offered Logan a hand. It would be easier for Logan to push himself out, especially with back muscles like those, but Finn could dream.

Logan took his hand.

A pull, a push, and Logan was on dry land, dripping from the ends of his curls to the puddle of water growing at his feet. Green swim trunks, so dark they were almost black when they were wet, clung to him.

Finn risked a squeeze. Logan answered with one of his own before letting go, and grabbed the towel out of his hand to drop over his head and dry his hair. Oh my god, Leo mouthed behind him.

The towel hit Finn’s chest with a wet thump. The corners of Logan’s mouth tilted up in one of his small, secret smiles. “See you at seven.”

Logan wanted them. Leo wanted Logan. Finn wanted them both tucked under a blanket on the balcony, and also in his apartment, and also in the pool at every opportunity possible.

Finn waited until Logan was a safe distance away before he began to whistle Oh, Canada, oh-so-quietly under his breath, forcing Leo to muffle his laugh in his towel. “I’m feeling a sudden craving for maple syrup. You?”

Leo’s curls sprang to life under a pass of his hand. “We are so fucked.”

“I want a gold medal,” Finn mused, spinning his goggles around one finger. “And I really think we can fit three of them in the apartment.”

[fruitcoops]

Smokey Bear (Cub)

It's not really a fest without some firefighter/ EMT AU, is it? The Cubs have appeared here before in Kindling & Embers, but Coops have a few other installments of their own :) Characters belong to @lumosinlove and fest prompts are from @oknutzy-week-2025! One more day!

Prompt C5: Mountains

“You’re not allowed to get mad.”

Three weeks fighting a raging wildfire, half of which Finn had followed solely on the nightly news because Logan’s satellite phone broke, and that’s what he came up with?

“For real,” Logan said, looking between them.

“I—okay, fine, I pinky swear.” Leo glanced at Finn as if he had the slightest clue what was happening. “Are we allowed to hug you now, or…?”

Logan reached into his left coat pocket and pulled out a cat.

Finn attempted to speak, and failed.

“It’s a baby,” Logan warned, as if it wasn’t obviously the smallest kitten Finn had ever seen.

Leo nodded slowly. “Gotcha.”

Finn knew what was going to happen the moment Logan reached for his other pocket. The second kitten was black and only a touch bigger than the first, wiggling its way toward Logan’s sleeve with the softest, most put-upon squeak in the world.

“Oh, give me one,” Leo breathed, holding both hands out like he was receiving a sacrament of some kind.

Logan handed the second over with more caution than Finn had seen him use for liquid nitrogen tanks. “We found them on the last day,” he explained. “When we were heading back. No sign of a nest or the mom. They were on the outer rim and the smoke was bad enough to scare everything else away.”

Finn watched the little orange puffball uncurl and dig tiny paws into the edge of his coat. “How old?”

“A few weeks, maybe.” He knew that look. Logan was using every bit of his green-eyed magic right now. “We’ve been feeding them with a syringe.”

“You’ve been feeding them with a syringe,” Leo corrected as he stroked the pad of his thumb down the kitten’s back. “I know you. There’s no way you let anyone near your pocket cats. Aw, you poor little baby, you’re still wobbly.”

Finn reached one leg out to gently kick at Logan’s ankle. “Why are you looking at me like I’m going to tell you we can’t keep them?”

Bliss split Logan’s expression wide open. “For real?”

“What—” Had everyone lost their minds in the last month? Had Finn? He had, but not like this. “Yes, of course, can I give you a hug because I missed you like crazy yet?”

It took two seconds for Logan to have both kittens on the rug and his entire body plastered to Finn’s. “This was a very dramatic and stressful way to tell us you wanted cats,” Leo murmured into Logan’s smoky hair. Laughter shook the three of them like a pinpoint earthquake, rippling from one to the next.

Finn kept his eyes shut and his forehead crushed to the bend of Logan’s neck, nestling him close. Leo had teased them for their turtledove tendencies two nights before Logan was called out to Vermont. They had folded him in with them between one breath and the next. The memory kept Finn up for a week.

Logan’s clothes would reek of sour woodsmoke for a few washes yet. If they spent long enough in the shower, under steam and newly-repaired water pressure, Finn was pretty sure they could work him clean. He needed Logan to smell like himself again, like the safety of their home.

 “Missed you,” he whispered. Logan’s face was still soft when he nuzzled his own against it, even after so long in the field. “Love you.”

Logan’s murmured answer cooled him to his core.

“I know your work is so important,” Leo began, as if he ever had to apologize for missing Logan. “I know you’re saving lives, I really do. But this one scared the shit out of me.”

He felt Logan’s groan of sympathy vibrating in his bones. “Crisse, I felt so bad when the phone broke. So bad. I’m so sorry.”

Fingers bumped Finn’s neck when Leo covered Logan’s mouth. “We’re just glad you’re safe. All of you.”

“I couldn’t give them to a shelter.”

“I know, honey.”

“They’re too little, still.”

“You are the best thing they could have found.”

“I quit.”

Finn felt every last bit of tension fall out of his body like a string had been cut. The breath pushed from his lungs with a small sound and Logan took all his weight without flinching. “Thank fuck.”

Leo took in a shuddering breath. “Are you serious?”

“Oh, thank you,” Finn mumbled again, peppering kisses to the bit of Logan’s neck he could reach without lifting his head. “Thank you so much, that is everything I wanted to hear.”

“I’ll be part of a ground unit,” Logan continued, but his hand found the back of Finn’s head in a light pulse. “No further than county limits. Houses and city parks only.”

Finn didn’t hear Leo’s response. He heard a quiet kiss, though, and that was good enough. “The kids are escaping.”

“I don’t think my hands will be free for another few minutes,” Logan laughed.

“No,” Finn agreed. “They will not.”

“We’ll make a run by the pet store before dinner. Look at you and your good timing.”

“I can back as soon as I could.”

“Oh, Lo.” Another kiss, somewhere above him. “I know you did.”

Finn didn’t want to turn the news on for another month, at least. He wanted nothing to do with wildfire reports or damage control. Their little life, new additions included, would be the sole recipient of his attention until his legs recovered from wearing a groove into the floor behind the couch. “Do they have names?” he asked after a few more minutes of pure distilled Logan.

“Not yet.”

“Do you have ideas?”

“Been a little busy, rouge.”

Finn squeezed him around the chest. Real, and sturdy, and his. “You are so kind. The world is so lucky to have you. Thank you for quitting your job.”

A kiss found the shell of his ear. Logan’s grip hadn’t eased up, either. Finn would wake up to this in the morning, and the one after that, and after that. There was no countdown clock to the next call. They could have opposite shifts for months, and Finn would still be happier knowing Logan was within the lines drawn on a local map instead of lost in the mountains somewhere with only his crew and a pair of kittens for company.

His hair was satin-soft under Finn’s fingertips. “I’m excited about the cats,” he said, in case Logan still wasn’t sure. “Honest.”

“I know.”

“I’m more excited you’re home.”

“You have no idea, mon amour.” He was playing with the neckline of Finn’s shirt. The kind of tugging that came with rolling the fabric between the pads of his fingertips, not the pull of twisting it in nervous swirls. Logan nosed along his neck until chapped lips found space on his neck for a kiss. “Mon beau, mon choupinet.”

“You’ll French for me now that you’re back, right?”

“For and with,” Logan confirmed.

Logan had plenty of fire of his own. In Finn’s humble opinion, he didn’t need to chase anyone else’s anymore.

“We’re calling this one Smokey.”

Finn turned his head and cracked one eye open. Leo had both cats, now, and held the black one up like a prize fish. Logan sighed heavily. “Seriously? Cliché, much?”

“I love him,” Leo countered. “You were gone for three weeks. I literally watched to make sure you weren’t dead on the news. I’m naming the cat whatever I want.”

“That’s fair. Thoughts on the other one?” His chest shifted. “Harz?”

Finn hummed. “It’s orange?”

“Oui.”

Logan’s jacket smelled like him around the collar, after everything. Finn soaked it in for a long moment while he thought. “Orange Juice.”

“Yes.” Leo sounded thrilled. Finn smiled to himself. “That’s the spirit.”

“Esquire,” Finn added.

“Fuck yeah. Last name Pocket, so we don’t argue.”

“Woah, no,” Logan immediately argued. “I picked them up. I kept them alive. I scheduled their vet appointment. They should get my last name.”

God, Finn couldn’t wait for him to stay.

[fruitcoops]

Sugar Boy

Tremzy, that sweet tooth needs a license. More fluff for day 5, because fests are for fun and I love it when these three get a little break from their regularly-scheduled suffering. Characters belong to @lumosinlove, fest prompts are from @oknutzy-week-2025 :)

Prompt A4: Summer

Summers at home were a rare treat Leo was learning to savor more each year. Travel without a strict schedule had been fun for the first few seasons; they could go anywhere they wanted, free of game obligations and nutritional advice. He refused to think about recommended daily calories when French butter was involved. Seeing the world with his favorite people was nothing short of unbelievable, and Leo held it in both hands with care. Italy, Spain, Wales, Austria, Brazil…it didn’t feel real. They had tried to fit as much as they could between trips to see family and training camp, but they always came home and Leo always ended up wondering why they had ever left.

The house helped. Always a project to be done here or there, a sense of long-lasting permanence Leo was unaccustomed to. This, flipping an omelet while Finn sorted their photos from Tulum for the photo album in the breakfast nook ten feet to his right. This, chopping an extra bit of green onion while the birds discussed all manner of things outside the open window above the sink.

They had forgotten the can of paint on the porch last night. It was a pale, pretty blue, and growing smooth as Logan applied a second coat to seal it. The rain wasn’t supposed to come for another two days and Leo had wanted to set up the porch swing before it arrived. If worst came to worst, they’d wait until next week. He had no plans at all.

“Harz?”

“Mhm.” Finn set aside a stack of pictures and crossed the room to take his omelet with a kiss for Leo’s cheek. “Thank you, baby, this looks amazing.”

“Well, see how it tastes.”

Finn fixed him with a look of teasing disbelief. “Come on.”

“I used bacon grease instead of butter,” Leo admitted. “And the green onions are fresh out of the garden.”

“God, I love you.”

“You better.”

His pans were just where he wanted them, and just what he needed for any dish. It was ridiculous, but there were times that they would be halfway across the world and all he wanted was his skillet for a late-night grilled sandwich. Did it make him spoiled to be glad they weren’t going abroad this summer? It felt silly to think.

“You both got so tan,” Finn muttered, back in his nook. “Do I look like a ghost all the time?”

“No, sweetheart, only when there’s sun out.”

“Ha-ha.”

Leo grinned, leaning out the window above the sink. “Lo! Breakfast!”

“Merci!” came a shout from the porch. Logan had apparently decided laying flat on his belly with a paintbrush was the best way to do things this morning. His attention to detail was devastatingly sweet.

Speaking of…

Leo turned the stove off and slid Logan’s omelet onto a plate beside his own, reaching for their shelf of mugs. Finn had started the coffee when he came downstairs that morning in his usual routine, but he always made a fresh half-pot if they had a later breakfast. The container for the cream was a little light when he took it from the fridge. Leo weighed the merits of stopping by the grocery store in the afternoon versus waiting for the farmer’s market on the weekend while he shuffled his various bits of cookware out of the way.

Logan Coffee Sugar. A relic of their old apartment all three had been passionate about keeping. I don’t want to go drag the whole bag out every time I have coffee, Logan had argued. You are so fucking cute, Finn and Leo had agreed. It was nothing but an old glass jar with a duct-tape label across the front, but it was Leo’s favorite thing in the entire kitchen.

(That was a lie. His alligator-shaped casserole dish won by a landslide. Thank you, Finn.)

Logan Coffee Sugar was a very, very close second, though. And he did have to admit, it was a convenient and creative solution to the secondary problems that arose when Logan originally used a salt shaker for the same purpose. Logan’s chief complaint was that it took too long to get the appropriate amount, while Leo was more concerned about accidentally seasoning his dinner with cavities. Thus, the honey jar was freed from the junk cabinet and enlisted for a new purpose.

He set the lid aside and eyeballed two heaping spoonfuls into the nearest mug. A dash of coffee to dissolve it, cream to temper the heat, and then more coffee to fill the remaining space. He poured himself a cup as well before moving to the nook; Finn shifted the album and photographs over before he made it two steps, lifting his legs to make room for Leo on the bench seat.

“Good morning,” Finn said happily. “We’ve been on some really cool trips.”

Leo hummed his agreement around a bite of omelet. “What’d you find?”

“Nothing you haven’t already seen,” Finn said, though he was already moving his coffee to spread a few pictures out. “Remember that part of the wall? And here’s your shark buddy, I found our snorkeling pictures in my backpack.”

The front door creaked open and closed with a heavy thud, followed by the familiar clomping and jangling of Logan coming home. Leo pressed his smile into the side of his mug. “We’re looking at pictures from Tulum, cher. Breakfast and coffee are by the stove.”

Logan gave an audible sigh. “Parfait, you’re a godsend.”

“Done with the porch?”

“Just about. We can’t leave through the front for another couple hours, sorry.” Logan settled across from them and stretched his legs out until his ankles found Leo’s, already craning his neck to see the photos. “Qu’est-ce que c’est?”

“That one’s the castle, and Finn found the underwater camera stuff in his bag.” Leo tapped the edge of a picture from the top of the ruins. Glittering water bloomed below, surrounded by shades of green a camera couldn’t hope to catch accurately. “This one’s from the ruins.”

“Mm, I remember.” Logan blew on his coffee before taking a sip. “This is fantastic, wow. Have you put the book together?”

“Thought we’d do it together,” Finn explained. “I got the photos sorted by days, though, and then the snorkel ones are separate.”

“Good thing you painted up to the door,” Leo noted. Can’t leave for a few hours, his heart trilled. The back door would remain shut, too, if he had his way.

Logan caught him immediately, darting a grin across the table. “Oh, was someone excited to stay home?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Uh-huh.”

It was so unfair that he blushed that easily for them. He was a homeowner, for fuck’s sake. Wasn’t that supposed to grant him emotional stability or something? Leo took a pointed bite of his omelet before speaking again. “I love going on vacation.”

“Never said you didn’t.”

Logan was wiggling his foot up the leg of Leo’s pants. “And sometimes I also like a bit of downtime.”

“Translation, with love,” Finn began, still flipping through the photographs. “You’re an incurable homebody with an abiding love of your home base, and truly you would flourish as a hobbit in another life.”

“Oh, look,” Logan said, pointing to their plates. “It’s second breakfast and everything.”

“I like traveling,” Leo insisted. Arguing any of the other points would be both futile and false.

“You can love traveling and also be visibly gleeful about literally being painted into the house,” Logan laughed. He caught Leo’s hand across the table and kissed the back. “Merci beaucoup, soleil. This is delicious. Did you use the onion from the garden?”

He noticed. Of course he did. Leo’s cheeks hurt from containing his smile. “I did, yeah.”

“It adds something.” Logan collected their plates and forks and brought them to the sink, but returned in mere moments to nestle himself against Finn’s other side and open the photo album. “D’accord, where do we start?”

[fruitcoops]

Beneath the Milky Twilight

O'Knutzy Week Day 4! Celebrating our halfway point with some famous Finn kisses (trademarked by L. Knut and L. Tremblay). Thanks to @lumosinlove for Cub details and @oknutzy-week-2025 for the prompts!

Prompt D5: Spring || Prompt A3: Dystopian

TW for making out

The edge of Finn’s book dug into Logan’s back, and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It was where he began and ended, paper spine to bone, a bright point of pain to keep him grounded on the earth when spring-rain kisses tried to sweep him into the deep below.

Finn tilted his head half an inch to drag a kiss over the corner of his mouth, the hollow of his cheek. Teeth teased the curve of his jaw before Finn returned to where he was wanted most in a burst of kisses like crystal sugar. He wouldn’t let Logan push for more. Wouldn’t let him past a swipe of tongue, even when Logan made a low, frustrated sound. He made up for it in volume and a firm hand holding Logan’s face still.

“Don’t you—” Finn broke off when Logan nipped his lower lip to make it bloom rose. “—wanna know what I’m reading?”

“Something dystopian,” Logan guessed, nudging his nose to the cold point of Finn’s before planting a lighter kiss to where he was starting to swell. “Tragic and painful.”

Finn’s smile was as sweet as his mouth. “Maybe. I could tell you about it.”

His face must have done something sour and needy and altogether quite hilarious, if the way Finn threw his head back to laugh said anything. Logan took the chance to get at his neck and the soft places under his chin, where Finn’s pulse was calm despite how fast Logan’s own was beating. He managed to leave half a dozen kisses and two faint marks on a paper-pale throat before Finn brought him up again, and over, and folded Logan beneath himself in a smooth twist of his hips. The book landed on the coffee table with a dull sound.

Logan couldn’t help the noise that broke in his mouth. His anchor was gone; it was him and Finn and the couch, alone in the black hole opening up beneath him. Finn’s full weight kept him down, helped along when Logan hooked his fingers in Finn’s belt loops and pulled. He didn’t need their clothes off but he needed more. He needed to be bitten and kissed until he couldn’t breathe. He wanted Finn to hold his chin like a porcelain vise, delicate and unyielding.

“Finn—please—”

It fizzled out between them in the space of five tiny pecks to the peaks of Logan’s upper lip. He chased Finn’s mouth and came up empty. Again. Perpetually. An attempt to nip him found empty air as Finn dodged to kiss his cheekbone instead. Logan could feel him laughing, still. The happy hitching things that made Finn’s belly shiver. He had watched that laugh melt whipped cream down the sides of his waist before when Leo had enough of his strawberry thievery.

Kiss-kiss-kiss so fast Logan could hardly keep up. Another sound slipped out, louder and wordless in his open mouth. It was the first time in his life he had Finn’s slender hips nestled with his own and couldn’t even think long enough to get half-hard.

Finn left him in a rush, scattering Logan’s thoughts like a cold breeze. Logan wished he could do anything but stare up at him, struck dumb and gaping like a fish. Finn’s smile was impish. His thumb swept over the bottom of Logan’s lip. It was more sensitive than he thought. “Bone-joor.”

“Hnm.”

Biceps. Flexed biceps, right on either side of his fucking face. Gravity brought the front of Finn’s hair down by his eyes in a heavy auburn curtain. It brushed Logan’s forehead when he leaned down to bump their noses. “Aren’t you cute.”

Logan could only lick his lips and try to remember how to swallow. He understood why Leo had had cartoon hearts pouring off him when he got off the ferris wheel with Finn last week. His face had been pink-splotched and warm to the touch when Logan pretended to check him for a fever, having stayed on the ground to win them a stuffed animal himself. He caught Leo staring at Finn at various intervals throughout the rest of their day. Just staring, without any explanation to be found.

This was a plenty good explanation, Logan thought. Finn slid his hands gently down to take Logan’s wrists and pin them next to his ears. He met no resistance. Was there a good way to tell Finn he’d take whatever was given to him right now? It felt as if someone had reached into the messy wiring of Logan’s brain and simply switched off a few lobes. Low power mode activated. Tremblay #4 would be out of commission for an undetermined period of time.

Breath rushed out of him when Finn bent his head—and stopped. Logan took a stuttering gasp in, warmed by the faintest touch of Finn’s lips to his own, not even a millimeter away but not on him. He kicked one leg, purely vexed, beyond capacity to be any kind of truly annoyed. Did Finn want him to beg? He would.

Finn closed the distance on an off-beat of Logan’s heart, with a kiss so hard the couch shifted below him. At last. Logan groaned into his mouth and matched him pressure-for-pressure, hoping against hope Finn would feel the please, please, please of it all and not pull away. But he wasn’t listening (probably, definitely, on purpose) and Logan felt the shift where their hips were flush first.

He darted up in a last act of desperation. His nose sparked at the impact with Finn’s cheek and he paid it no mind, too focused on the measure of Finn’s lip trapped once more between his front teeth.

They stared at each other for a long moment. Logan tried not to blink.

“I need that,” Finn said, though it came out muffled. It was uncharacteristic, but Logan bared his teeth in response and didn’t let go. His neck was starting to hurt at this angle. Finn’s laugh huffed across his skin. “Hi, Knutty.”

“Gimme what I want.”

“You crawled into my lap. I’m trying.”

Logan released him and let his head fall back to the couch cushions. “Pulling away,” he complained, winding a leg around the back of Finn’s thigh. “It’s brutal.”

“Brutal,” Finn repeated. “Right.”

If Logan had his wrists, Finn would already be under him. The principle of it all kept him from leveraging Finn over just like this. He could. Finn knew it, too. Holding his hands down was little more than a show. Deep brown eyes skipped across his face and made Logan’s skin prickle pleasantly at the attention. The weight on his wrists grounded him like the book had, except Finn would never bruise him like that.

Finn took a long breath in and let it out slow. “You’re so gorgeous.”

Logan smiled. Finn’s whole face softened. The next kiss lingered, resting quietly. Butterflies careened through Logan’s stomach in a freshman-year flurry. Finn’s kisses were a luxury more treasured than gold or silk or saffron, to him and to those lucky few others who had ever been allowed to indulge. Hockey or not, Logan was the richest man alive.

He loved watching Finn gift them to Leo, too. As with every other thing that allowed him to slide under Logan’s skin from their first night, Leo got it. He understood how precious it was to be Finn’s and to have him in return. Fast goodbyes and long hellos had equal value; Finn was a drop-dead excellent kisser and some of the very best ones were also the most casual. Logan closed his eyes for another long one. All the oxygen on Earth could run out and he would breathe these instead without issue.

“You’re so lovey right now,” Finn whispered into his cheek. He liked that spot. It had a beauty mark, and for reasons lost on him they were both obsessed with it.

Logan squeezed his thigh around Finn. “I love you.”

“I know, you’re just all squishy and teddy bear.” Finn loosed his wrists and laid his head on the pillow beside Logan. “Love you, too. Everything okay?”

The return of his hands was all the permission Logan needed to roll them over. He took Finn’s face in cupped palms and tilted it up for a proper kiss that made a soft sound when they parted. “You’re cute when you read. Like a librarian. Tell me about your book.”

The kisses were dewdrops, then a sudden storm, and they were nothing next to the way Finn’s eyes lit up.

[fruitcoops]

Iron Chef

Sometimes, a dearly beloved hobby becomes the bane of one's existence. Home remedies include snacks, a break, and a partner who tries so, so hard for you. Sorry Peanut. Characters belong to @lumosinlove, fest prompts from @oknutzy-week-2025!

Prompt B5: Workout || Prompt D1: Flat Tire

Something was off. Logan set his keys in the bowl with a halting sort of care. The living room looked fine. A tentative sniff didn’t reveal smoke or gas from the stove, or anything else untoward. “Soleil?” he called.

No answer. Worrying, but not a reason for panic. Logan doubled back to put his shoes properly on the rack. Leo could be at the store. Maybe even out for a walk, or coffee, regardless of the fact that he didn’t like caffeine after lunch. He could be napping, but it wasn’t the kind of quiet Logan associated with long, comfortable afternoons at home. It was stiff and charged as a static-thick sheet.

“Leo?” he tried again, poking his head into the kitchen. Empty. Dishes in the sink, still. Crumbs littered the counter and ground their way into the grout. Logan grimaced and added it to his mental list of chores.

There was a noise from the other room, the one they had converted into a den when it became clear nobody was going to use the third bedroom. “Hi. Sorry, hi, I’m in here.”

Logan dropped his phone and wallet onto the countertop and did his best to nonchalantly hustle down the short hall. The door was ajar. He hesitated at the doorknob and settled for a knock instead. “Le?” he asked quietly. “Can I come in?”

“Yeah.” His voice was rough. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I’m decent.”

“Not worried about that.” Permission was permission, but Logan opened the door slow enough that Leo could change his mind. No protest came.

Leo was sitting on the floor, crosslegged, with a cookbook open in front of him. He sniffed when Logan entered, nose twitching to the side. “Julia Child.”

“Who?”

“She makes—it’s…” He waved one hand at the pages, wiping his nose with the other. Logan watched him shake his head and look to the ceiling as if it had answers. “God, sorry, I’m a mess.”

“No,” Logan said. “No, not at all. Can I…?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course.”

Leo’s cheeks were pink. His crystal-blue eyes were too bright from the beginnings of tears, stubbornly held back as Logan took a seat on the floor across from him. He didn’t pull away when Logan took one hand in both of his own. Leo’s palm was clammy.

“Hey.” He ducked his head to try and catch Leo’s eyes. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Leo gestured at the cookbook again, like it explained everything. “There’s a billion recipes in this thing. They’re literally foolproof. She wrote it so any shmuck in America could make real French food because she loved it so much. It’s—you can feel it when you read, she just loves food and cooking and—and her family, and everything.”

Logan rubbed his thumb along the inside of Leo’s wrist. “Okay.”

“I hate it all.”

“Oh.”

“It all sounds awful.” He blinked fast. A single tear escaped, making it all the way to the corner of his eye before it was banished on his shirtsleeve. “I love this book and everything sounds fucking vile.”

“That’s alright,” Logan said quickly, sweeping his thumb under Leo’s eye. His expression had gone a bit vacant as he stared down at the book. “Le, it’s fine. You don’t have to make anything at all.”

Leo’s lower lip wobbled hard. Logan’s stomach bottomed out. “I was gonna find some things to test for Finn’s birthday and it was gonna be so good because I love Julia and I love cooking but it’s not working ‘n it’s terrible.”

The last word cracked hard. Leo ran harsh hands over the sides of his neck a few times and let out a trembling breath. His next few inhales were short and sharp, dutiful in their attempts to keep back the flood. Logan closed the book carefully. “Have you been in here all morning?”

“Mostly, yeah.” Leo groaned and finally looked back at him, but only seemed more upset. “Shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t even ask how your workout went. How’s Cap, was it fun?”

“Leo.”

“No, I want to know.” Leo straightened up a bit and nodded, sniffling. He gave Logan’s knee a pat. “Tell me everything.”

“It was a workout,” Logan answered. He held Leo’s gaze a moment longer than was usually comfortable. Something gave way, and Leo’s jaw went tight to leash it. “It was fine. What happened?”

The tip of his nose went red to match the high of his cheeks. His mouth turned down at the sides in a picture-perfect frown, his eyes went glassy again, and Logan barely had time to collect him in his arms before the first sob broke past Leo’s diligently fortified walls. “I’m a fucking mess,” he managed between uneven breaths.

“No,” Logan soothed, running his hand up and down Leo’s hitching back. “No, you’re not a mess.”

“I’m crying over a book for no reason.”

Logan made a soft sound and held him tighter. “There’s a reason.”

“Yeah,” Leo confessed miserably.

“Want to talk about it?”

Leo shook his head in the bend of Logan’s shoulder. His hands were twisted tight in Logan’s shirt, as if Logan would ever leave. “Birthdays matter to me,” he whispered after a time.

Logan laid his palm flat over the back of his neck.

“They make people feel special. I want…god, Logan, it matters to me that you two feel special, it matters so much. My mom and I pick recipes out of this thing all the time, and I just—I’m really only good at a couple things and I can’t even get this one right.”

“No.” What a horrifying thought. Logan squeezed him tight. “No, Le, that’s not true. You’re good at so many things. You’re smart, you’re funny, you beat Finn’s grandmother at cards, you—nobody else I know can walk on their hands.”

He rested their foreheads together, but kept his hand at Leo’s nape.

“You’re multilingual,” he continued, only tripping a little on the syllables. It almost made Leo smile. "You can make friends with anyone. You can play baseball and football better than half the team, probably more. Finn’s birthday will be special because you’re there, not because of any food you do or don’t make.”

Leo was quiet for a long moment. He was blotchy and salty and somehow still the prettiest thing Logan had ever seen.

“You’re also handsome when you cry, which—” Logan cut himself off with a tsk, but Leo laughed for real that time. A good warmth heated his cheeks and Logan brushed the last bit of tears away. “So unfair. Lá. You’re wonderful. You’re not a mess, but I love you either way.”

Logan had learned not to mind it when Leo looked at him like a puck skidding loose. His throat bobbed. “I don’t know what to do when you say things like that,” he finally said. “But thank you.”

Logan whisked a hand between them. “Don’t. You can thank me when I make you popcorn.”

“What?”

“Up, up, allez. You haven’t eaten anything since, what, a muffin for breakfast? It’s past noon.” It was small wonder he felt so terrible. Leo let him pull him to his feet and into the living room, where Logan deposited him on the armchair by the window and pulled the blinds up to let the sun in. “Sit.”

“I…”

“Stay there,” he ordered as he headed for the kitchen. Popcorn, salt, paprika. In Leo’s world, sadness required crunchy, salty remedies.

Leo was just where Logan left him when he returned with a bowl of seasoned popcorn, Gatorade, and a kiss for the top of his head and each cheek. “Thanks,” Leo whispered into his shoulder.

“Eat. Drink. We’ll think about dinner later.”

They were alike in many ways, Leo and himself. For one, they found coddling to be the pinnacle of embarrassment. Logan was the last person to judge; allowing others the space to offer care was a skill in which all three of them scored low marks. Logan thought of it as a very contained and self-sufficient group project on frequent occasion.

He made himself useful while Leo recovered. Loudly, visibly useful, away from the kitchen door so Leo knew he wasn’t lurking. He got the dishwasher loaded, the sink cleared, and the countertops scrubbed shiny before a body pressed against his back and arms came around him.

“Hi.”

“Bonjour.”

His shoulder was the perfect height for Logan to lay his head back. Leo’s eyes were still faintly red-rimmed. He radiated more heat than usual, but he smiled when Logan lifted his heels and set them back down on the tops of Leo’s socked feet. “Do you feel better?”

“Oui. Thanks for cleaning.”

“Easy enough.” The bones of Leo’s wrist were so fine for such a large person. He reminded Logan of a willow tree, flexible and strong.

“Did you rinse after the gym? You smell good.”

“Ouais.” He smiled when Leo buried his nose in his hair. “Hmm. What are we having?”

Leo went still. “Oh. Uh, I don’t…I mean, I hadn’t really decided.”

“No, no.” Logan reached back and brought Leo’s head around with a nudge to his jaw. He raised his eyebrows. “What do you want to eat? Right now. More than anything.”

“Gumbo. With cornbread.”

Exactly as he predicted. “Teach me.”

Leo chest stuttered to a halt. “What?”

“Any shmuck in America, ouais? I’m a shmuck. Currently in America. Teach me how.” Logan ran his second knuckle in a straight line from the hinge below Leo’s ear to the notch or his chin. “I want to learn. I’ll put music on. Who needs cookbooks, eh?”

Leo was quiet for a few seconds, then made a funny little growling sound and held Logan so tight he laughed. He released him with a firm slap to the ass. “Go get a cutting board.”

He washed the vegetables; Leo showed him how to sharpen the knives, plural, because cutting vegetables required a different one than cutting meat. He lit a candle while Leo retrieved onions from the fridge, one-third of a ‘trinity’ Logan had never heard of but had smelled a thousand times in their home. Leo worked his knife around the top of the green peppers with expert precision until the seed center popped free, only to move behind Logan and adjust his wrists so he could slice the good part into thin sticks. They were wildly uneven at first. He was slow in his newness. Leo made no comments about it.

They dragged out the heavy-bottomed pot Leo used for everything he cared about and Logan watched him swirl flour and oil until it was a rich golden-brown, into which he poured their mountain of vegetables and worked them around until every (awkward) cube was coated. Steam billowed up, crisp and tangy with the pepper and onion. Logan was quicker with mincing the garlic cloves while Leo measured chicken broth into a side bowl. He gave the vegetables an occasional mix to let them release their moisture. Logan refused to call it ‘sweating’—he had a nicer time listening to Leo’s jazz and watching the roux thicken it into a creamy mess without that connotation.

The first thirty minutes were a busy-handed race that culminated in bay leaves and seasoning that had no measurements. Leo gave him an apologetic and fond look when Logan finally caved to ask how many teaspoons he was supposed to use, when memorizing Leo’s movements grew impossible with the number of spice jars involved.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said through a smile and a kiss to his forehead. “I’m a terrible teacher.”

Logan frowned, swatting him with a dishtowel. “You’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Well, I’ve never done it before.”

“Really?”

“Mhm.” Leo squinted down at the pot. “Have you ever boned raw chicken?”

“What the fuck?”

“No,” Leo said quickly, and grabbed his shoulders when Logan reeled back. He was laughing, for reasons Logan couldn’t fathom. “No, no, I’m sure you did some crazy shit in college, but—no, have you ever taken the bones out of a piece of chicken? That’s what I was asking. Removing the bones.”

“Tabarnak, Leo.” Logan pressed a hand over his heart and tried to find his breath. “God. No. I haven’t.”

“Good. On both counts,” Leo added after a second’s pause.

Logan whacked him with the towel again. “Disgusting.”

“I’m sorry, that’s such a horrifying thought,” Leo snickered. “I mean, frat life and everything—”

“Leo.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Leo left a brief burst of kisses on his jaw. “I’m sorry. You’re being so patient with me. We were having such a sweet moment. Okay, I got this chicken for something else, so it still has the bone and skin, right?”

“D’accord.”

“It’s on the label if you’re ever worried,” Leo added, pulling two packages of chicken over. “The thighs are best for gumbo because they have more fat. You can use breasts in a pinch, but they get dry easier.”

Logan pressed his lips together as hard as he could.

“Say it, or I will.”

”You do tend to prefer thighs to breasts.”

They shared a crisp high-five before Leo cracked the seal of both containers. “Cutting board, flat knife. That’s all you need. Take a piece like this and find the edge of the skin along the top. If we leave this on, it’ll get weird in the broth.”

“Weird?”

“Do you like boiled skin?” Logan wrinkled his nose. “Exactly. I might fry this later so it gets crispy. It’s good in pasta. Okay, big rule: once you touch the chicken, you don’t touch anything else. We’re sterilizing the counters when we’re done, too. Raw chicken equals salmonella, I don’t care how fresh it is.”

“No raw chicken,” Logan repeated. “Got it.”

“The skin is only connected to the flesh by a little bit of connective tissue,” Leo explained. “Stop making that face, you beat living people up for money. If you hold that thicker edge, and pull this way…”

Like magic, the skin began separating from the meat under Leo’s careful guidance. With only a few tugs and a single flash of his knife, it had been removed in one perfect piece. Logan shook his head. “You should be a professional.”

“Hush.” But he was pleased. Logan could tell. “Your turn. It’s okay if it’s not perfect right away.”

Logan shot him a playful glare. “I haven’t even started.”

“That’s why I gave you two.”

It was a challenge, now. Leo knew what he was doing. Logan did his best to mimic him, gripping the thicker edge and pulling as gently as he could so it didn’t rip.

“It’s dead, Lo, you don’t have to be nice.”

“I don’t want it to tear!”

“It won’t. Make me proud. Commit to the chicken.”

“I take it back, your teaching skills need work.”

“Feel free to give Finn a performance review when he gets home.”

“What, is he the boss?” Logan laughed. A bit more force behind his pull did, in fact, start to work. “He wouldn’t even want to touch this.”

“Way too slimy,” Leo agreed. “It’s why he was us to be so brave for him.”

Us. Like Logan got to be part of the cooking crew. “I like it when you say that.”

“What?”

“When you call yourself brave.” He cast a quick look at Leo between pulls. “It’s true.”

“Commit to the chicken, Ten.”

The rest of the peeling went without issue and with much giggling, but Leo made him get serious again when it was time for the bones. Logan watched him in utter fascination as he coaxed his knife along the curve of the bone and seemed to roll it out with no effort, joints and all.

Logan looked down at his own, then up at Leo. “I’m going to butcher this thing. Show me again.”

Leo went slower, made his movements more dramatic, and not for one second did it feel like he was making fun of Logan. In fact, he seemed eager every time he checked back to make sure Logan was following. Even when Logan struggled through his own uneven cuts, he made no comments about the fair bit of meat still remaining on the bone. He got a good work! and a just like that, yeah. Leo was kind enough to start the last one for him. It wasn’t so hard after that.

Cutting the meat into large cubes was easier than the vegetables; Leo complimented his consistent sizing and meant it. They went right into the boiling broth with everything else to cook for the next several hours. “Almost done,” Leo noted once their cutting boards and knives were in the dishwasher. “If it’s too spicy, I’ll add some lemon and honey. But last official step: andouille.”

“French?”

“Cajun, so, in a way.” Leo took a familiar package out of the fridge and set it on the counter. “I always have some.”

“I know. I see it in there all the time.”

Leo blinked. “Oh. Well, it’s delicious. Do you really pay attention to what I keep in there?”

Logan frowned. “I live here. I eat things. I know what you like.”

Leo took a new knife down from the magnetic strip stuck to the side of the cabinet, shaking his head. “Yeah, I—sorry, that still gets me sometimes.”

“What?”

Leo didn’t answer until four links of sausage had been cut into half-moons and tossed into the stew as well. He rinsed his hands in the sink and twisted the dishtowel in his fingers, and finally passed it back to Logan with a half-smile. “You pay really close attention to me.” He scuffed a knuckle against Logan’s cheekbone. “And you prove it. It matters to you.”

“Can I feed that man to an alligator?”

Leo barked a laugh.

“Please?” Logan pressed, catching him around the waist when he turned to replace the pot’s lid. “Please. It would make me feel better.”

“I won’t stop you,” Leo conceded. Logan took his weight easily when he leaned back. “But I can’t condone it either.”

“I prefer begging forgiveness than permission.”

“Woof woof.”

“Ouais, always.” Logan pushed up on his toes to kiss the nape of Leo’s neck and drag his teeth under his ear. “For you.”

“And Finn.”

“Finn doesn’t need that from me.”

“I don’t need it, either,” Leo pointed out.

As if. Logan rested his chin on Leo’s shoulder and held him tight. “You’re my goalie. It’s my job to protect you.”

“Hmm.” His heart was beating fast under Logan’s palm. They swayed until the song played out and slid into the next. “We’ll save the cornbread for thirty minutes before we eat. Heard from Finn?”

“Olli got a flat tire, says he’ll be home around six.”

“We have so much time,” Leo sighed, turning in his arms to drape his wrists over Logan’s shoulders and press their foreheads together. Logan loved breathing the same air as him. “What are we going to do?” Leo whispered.

“Teach me to cook more?”

Leo grinned against his mouth, drawing kisses from Logan with the kind of confidence that made him so spectacular in the kitchen. “Non, I don’t think so.”

[fruitcoops]

O'Dear

Day two! A little bit of pre-O'Knutzy Finn, at his most Sad Baby Deer despite his best efforts to be otherwise. Luckily he's got a good herd around him. Thank you to @lumosinlove for your characters and @oknutzy-week-2025 for the fest!

Prompt B1: Winter

TW mild illness

Wind sheared around the corner of the house and dug fine claws into the gaps in old wood. Finn could feel it on his face, trailing along his sweaty forehead in a cold, cold line. He blinked against the gray light seeping in through his window. Like concrete. Or metal. Or something flat, with no blue in it at all, just a solid block of color across the whole sky. The street below would have color, but his head was too heavy to lift. He balled the covers up tighter in his fists and drew them to his chin.

A dark green awning with white letters for the deli on the corner; yellow and red marking places straight down where nobody was allowed to put their cars. Neon signs that cast rainbows on his ceiling at night. The woman in the next building over wore a green coat in the winter, but it wasn’t like the deli. More like peas. Ha, Finn thought. Pea-green peacoat. Alex thought peacoat was the funniest word in the world.

Mr. K’s restaurant had a blue sign out front with spiky black letters and a pegasus his wife painted. All the houses across the street were brown, like theirs, but the curtains changed color now and then when people moved away. Finn liked the cream-colored ones the best. If he closed his eyes and concentrated, he might be able to smell if the café down the street had started putting their bread out.

He gave it a shot—no dice. Perhaps sticking his nose out of the blankets would work better.

A light knock interrupted him, followed by the creak of the door opening. “Finn, it’s almost seven-fifteen.”

“ ‘m stuffy.”

“What?”

“I’m stuffy,” Finn repeated, shuffling around until his mouth was free, too. The wind cooled his whole face, now.

“You’re stuffy?” His dad frowned. “Since when?”

“Since now.”

Dad didn’t have his glasses on; he was going into the office today. His hand was warm and careful when he laid it across Finn’s forehead. “You’re a little warm. How’s your tummy?”

Finn thought for a moment. He was more tired than anything else. His face felt puffy and his body weighed down. “Meh.”

“Does it hurt to swallow?”

“Kinda.”

The corners of his dad’s mouth turned down slightly. “Were you feeling sick last night?”

Finn shook his head.

“Hop up and try to have some breakfast. We’ll see how you’re feeling after that, okay?”

A disappointing answer. Staying in bed and picturing their block sounded much better.

“Come on, kid, you gotta give it a shot.”

And so Finn dragged himself out of bed, all the way past the bathroom and into the kitchen, but made sure his dad saw how much of a trial it was the entire time. The wood floor was sticky with the cold weather. Alex was already talking by the time he got there.

“My project is on Neptune,” he was saying to their mother between bites of oatmeal. Or, less between, and more around. “It’s one of the grey ones.”

“It’s blue.”

Alex scrunched his nose at him without missing a beat. “It’s grey.”

“NASA says it’s blue.”

“NASA uses filters on their cameras ‘cause they’re 4 million miles away, space boy.”

A hand came to rest on top of Finn’s head, ruffling his hair gently. “Finn’s not feeling well today. Stuffy nose, the works.”

His mother hummed, scraping the last of her oatmeal onto her spoon. “Not too sick to duke it out at 7:24 in the morning, I see. Thanks for putting the coffee on, hon.”

“Dad says I have to try breakfast first,” Finn informed her.

“He’s right.”

“I don’t—” Pressure rushed to the front of his face. Half a second after he got his elbow up, his nose exploded harder than a jet engine.

“Eugh,” was the collective response of his entire family.

--

Someone knocked on the bathroom door while he was in the middle of brushing his teeth and trying to get his wet hair to stand straight up in the middle. “Huh?” he called.

“Dad’s taking you to Grandma’s in fifteen, okay?”

Yes. Finn pumped his fist. “Is Al meeting me there after school?”

“Oh, nuh-uh,” his mother laughed. “If you’re too sick for school, you’re too sick for hockey. Alex can get to the piers just fine.”

“How come I can’t ever go by myself, then?”

“Because he’s twelve and you’re not.”

Finn scowled at himself in the mirror and rinsed his mouth. So unfair. He could walk to Chelsea Piers in his sleep. Who knew? Maybe playing hockey would jostle the last of the gunk out of him and make him better. But with that logic, there was no way he was going to go to grandma’s instead of getting dropped off late at school. First period started in ten minutes—he’d never make it. He’d never live it down if he showed up late with the sniffles as an excuse.

Most of the time, Grandma came to their house if anyone was sick. But Finn apparently looked well enough to make the subway trip, tucked next to his dad in his winter coat with a backpack full of books and schoolwork if he felt up to it. His beanie was itching his forehead. Finn liked the 6. They took it to the art museum if they weren’t going to Grandma’s. He still felt like he was moving through a world of gelatin, but he figured they could go in the afternoon if he felt better.

He sneezed again when they got to their stop, this time in a series of fast ones that made his eyes water and itch. It got him a sympathetic noise as his dad passed the pack of tissues back to him. Finn was rarely trusted not to lose the things he put in his pockets, which he couldn’t really argue.

He got tired in the time it took to walk from the subway stop to her building. Winter wasn’t any fun: too windy, too cold, and full of too many tourists who didn’t know how to walk right. It made his nose run too fast to catch, and every inhale dried his mouth until his lips felt tight. He spent the last three blocks hiding his face from the chill in his dad’s scarf and answering any questions in single syllables.

The doorbell echoed inside as Finn was set down onto the doormat’s faded letters. He had only just taken his backpack from his dad when the door opened, spilling warmth across his face. “Good morning, you two,” his grandma said. The back of her hand was soft when she brushed it down his cheek. “Oh, you poor thing, you’re all pink. I’ll get some tea going. Do you want some, Ramsey?”

“Always, but I gotta get to work.” His hand was big and solid on the back of Finn’s head. Finn wished they’d stop talking so he could go inside and lay down already.

“Well, you give me that, then.” Grandma took the backpack from him and ushered Finn inside. “And give me a call when you’re done, but not a minute before.”

Finn tuned out their goodbyes for the most part, giving a dutiful wave when he was told to be good and call if he needed anything. There was a new puzzle on the dining room table. Grandpa had fixed the glass lamp by his favorite armchair at last. Best of all, Finn’s favorite blanket was already waiting on the couch.

“Alright,” his grandma began briskly once the door was shut. “Tea. Shoes off, comfy clothes on, Bob’s on in ten minutes.”

“I’m already in my comfy clothes,” Finn said proudly.

“Ah!” She took his coat and hung it on the rack before pinching his chin between her thumb and first finger, gentle and affectionate. “My smart boy. Get a wiggle on, then, you know the drill.”

Finding the remote was always a challenge, but Finn knew its usual haunts. It was in the china hutch this time, probably left there when grandpa was listening to the game. It’s like playing hide and seek with myself, was the exasperated excuse. Fifty years and I’m still keeping myself on my toes. He made it back to the couch by the time the kettle whistled and burrowed deep into his half with the blanket pulled him. After a moment’s thought, he shuffled around until the cotton-soft edge could reach the other cushion, too.

“How are we looking?”

“Infomercial for bad knives,” he answered.

“Good, I have time for a cookie.”

Finn struggled upright in his cocoon. “There’s cookies?”

Grandma’s eyebrow arched up. “Not for sick kids, there aren’t.”

“I’m not that sick.”

“Your mother says you detonated a snot bomb in the kitchen, and I wouldn’t trust you to lift a penny right now.”

She wasn’t wrong. Finn fought back an involuntary shiver and cuddled deeper into the blanket. “It’s just a cold.”

“Mhm.”

Trumpets saved him; rippling orange and yellow took the place of a pulsing 1-800 number like they had a thousand times before, framing a crowd of the luckiest people in the world.

“Here it comes, from the Bob Barker studio at CBS in Hollywood—”

“Can you believe they’re thinking of replacing him?” Grandma shook her head with a scoff. “Whoever’s running the place doesn’t know a darn thing.”

“Totally,” Finn agreed.

“If it’s not Bob, then who the hell is it, you know?” She took a pointed sip of her tea while tugging the loose blanket over her lap. “I’m looking for a boxed set so we can keep watching when he’s done. You can’t find anything more reliable than a good VHS player. The discs are fine until you get butterfingers.”

It was important information. Nobody knew more about TV than his grandma; she could name any actor from any show she’d ever seen. If her advice was anything to go by, a radio and a VHS were what made a house a home. Finn wanted a blue one when he got his own place. It would be fun to have an old-fashioned radio like they did, too. He’d leave one or the other on all the time, just like them, and nobody would ever be worried that they were coming back to an empty house.

He held his tea under his nose while they called down the newest batch of contestants. By the time they reached the mystery item, it was starting to drip again. He felt worse the more he woke up, but this part wasn’t so bad at all. Grandma didn’t seem to mind letting him stay quieter than usual to rest his raspy throat. She had enough jokes for the both of them.

Finn must have fallen asleep at some point, because he opened his eyes to Burt Reynolds on TV and his grandmother in the other room. She had the phone to her ear, but she smiled and gave a little wave when she saw him looking back. “I’m home today, yes. One of the boys got sick, so I’m keeping an eye on him while Haley and Ramsey are at work. No, he’s out helping Charlie until five. Not a stomach bug, I don’t think, but a nasty cold. Low fever and everything. Yeah. Oh, you don’t have to do that. You are too sweet. Are you sure?”

She turned back toward the kitchen with her hand on her hip.

“Only if you have extra,” she said at last. “I can come pick it up any time. You’re—Nneka, you are too good to us. Are you sure I can’t be helpful?”

The TV guide had been left open on the table. Finn stretched one arm out of his blanket bundle and pulled it to the edge of the table, then shifted himself to the edge of the couch for a better view. He tried to blink the sleep out of his eyes and was met with blurriness that could only be chased away by the heel of his hand. He knew CBS played divorce court and the news between their shows. If Grandma was watching Magnum PI, she must have ventured out to a different channel.

Finn scanned his options, but nobody was showing cartoons yet. His head didn’t have any space for news channels around the pressure in his nose and ears. It would’ve been nice if they were playing I Love Lucy, though Magnum was an okay runner-up. He liked the old cars and mustaches.

Cool fingers combed through the front of his hair. She smelled like apple cider from her candles. “How’re you feeling, baby?”

“A little better.” Finn cleared his throat around the grit and tilted his head up. The throw pillow took the weight off his aching neck and shoulders. “Grandpa’s gone ‘til five?”

“Yeah, Charlie needed a hand with some things. Your folks will probably pick you up around five -thirty, so you’ll see him.”

“Oh, good.” She pulled the edge of the blanket back up over his shoulder where it had slipped. Finn felt his eyelids try to shut again and blinked a few times to wake them up. “Who’re you talking to?”

“Mrs. Egonu offered to bring some soup for you.”

“That’s nice.”

“It is. I’m going to go pick it up in a few. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Finn pushed his forehead into the flat of her palm and nodded.

“Gonna be okay with Magnum?”

“Mhm.”

“Days starts after if you want to watch with me.”

“I always do,” he said, affronted by the very idea that he wouldn’t.

“Alright.” She was smiling. He could hear it. “Sleep tight, I’ll be home in five minutes.”

Finn let himself drift in the space between the TV buzz and the flutter of gauzy ivory curtains above the radiator. The day had grown no brighter since the sun came up, still steel-grey with bursts of wind that peeled signs off corkboards and plywood storefront covers. It was a good day to be sick. He watched a candle burn in its cloudy jar, light flickering off marbled glass and melting the wax to an orange pool. The cuckoo clock ticked in the kitchen.

Mrs. Egonu’s soup was his favorite thing, he thought. Peppery and spicy and easy on his stomach—or maybe it just bullied any stomachaches away. She lived two doors down and in the summer he could smell her whole spice cabinet through the open windows. She wore billowy dresses in patterns and colors Finn had never seen anywhere else in his life, and was altogether one of the most interesting people he had ever met. Plus, she was one of Grandma’s best friends. It didn’t get better than that.

He managed to sit up and fit the folding tray across his lap just in time for Days to begin. Grandma ladled them each a bowl before settling down next to him once more and cracking open a new box of tissues. “If it’s too spicy, you don’t have to finish it all,” she reminded him.

“Don’t worry, I can’t really taste anything right now,” Finn assured her.

But he could taste the pepper, or at least feel the tingle of it across his tongue and down his throat, all the way until it warmed his belly from the inside out. Steam curled across his face in waves and his stiff knuckles loosened up as he wrapped them around the sides of the bowl. If he was extra good, she might let him take some home. Alex was going to be so jealous.

They finished Days of Our Lives in mostly silence, channel-surfed until they found a re-run of Family Feud, and made it all the way to three o’clock before Grandma started giving him the kind of sideways look that meant he would be coerced into napping again. His attempts to convince her he was feeling well enough for the museum failed outright. With some bargaining, though, he talked her down into staying awake through General Hospital if he promised to go to sleep after that.

He made it 25 minutes. When he woke, the sun was setting, the dishes had been cleared, and he had new company on the couch. “Rags are up two.”

“Hi, Grandpa,” he mumbled.

“How’s the head, champ?”

“Ugh.”

“Well, we’ll just have to get you a new one.”

“Noooo,” Finn protested pitifully.

“You’re not attached to this one, are you?” His grandpa leaned back with a frown. “Hey, honey, we gotta pick up a new noggin for the kid at the store tomorrow!”

“Got it!” Grandma answered from their bedroom.

He gave Finn and his blanket ball a reassuring pat. “See? Don’t you worry about it.”

Finn buried his smile in the blanket and stretched his legs out until his ankles were tucked behind his grandpa’s back. His knees were sore after being curled up for so long, even after the five laps around the living room he had had to walk after lunch.

“Your dad’s coming to get you in half an hour.”

“Mm.” Finn could stay here forever.

“Got everything you need?”

“Can I have a sleepover?”

“If it were up to me, sure.” Finn could feel every one of his deep, slow breaths. There was a knowing look in his dark eyes when Finn turned to look at him. “Can’t skip two days of school in a row, though, can you?”

“I got some of my stuff in my bag.”

“Hockey gear, too? One helluva bag.”

Finn pulled a face and burrowed down. “No.”

“Next time,” Grandpa assured him. “When you’re feeling better and you two are out of school, how’s that?”

He supposed that was alright for now. “Grandpa?”

“Hmm?”

“I’m feeling better. If I can’t have a sleepover, can I stay for Jeopardy?”

“Finn Callahan, you could bargain your way out of a murder charge.”

[fruitcoops]

Draft Day

Happy O'Knutzy Week 2025!! We're starting strong with some PWHL Cubs in honor of the PWHL draft last week. Some crazy nonsense went down with New York (what the hell guys) but it was very inspiring for fanfic purposes.

Check out Thunder Road and If I Make It to the Morning for more genderbent/ PWHL O'Knutzy (and others!). I have an unending soft spot for them. Characters belong to @lumosinlove and fest is through @oknutzy-week-2025 :)

Prompt E3: Oh, Look, a Puppy!

“Oh, look!” Leo startled at the sound of Finn’s voice. The ice in Finn’s coffee rattled as she gestured across the parking lot. “A puppy. Cute, huh?”

Leo blinked. “Oh. Yeah.”

“I love it when their ears are all floppy like that. Just a baby,” Finn cooed. She waved her free hand at the pair; Leo caught a glimpse of bright teal in the gap between her tank top and her arm and pressed her latte to her warming face. Letting Finn talk her into a morning gym session was just one of many slippery slopes Leo had been navigating since her draft. As it stood, she wasn’t navigating so much as she was belly-sliding face-first down every slope she found.

And really, Leo should be better about this. Finn wore teal every day, lined with gold that made her vibrant and unreal. It was as normal as her early morning jogs and coffee mugs all over the apartment. Leo should be more bothered by her mismatched athletic sets, or by Finn leaving her keys everywhere but the bowl. She should be stressing about the impending trade deadline and three new expansion teams, not watching a shaggy puppy meander through the lot. In fact, there were a lot of things Leo should be, and she couldn’t find it in herself to care about very many of them.

“You excited?”

“Huh?”

Finn jerked her chin toward their phones, left face-up in case of emergency. She appeared unfazed by Leo's uncharacteristic absentmindedness. “I keep thinking we should go home and clean up, but I’ll sweat through anything I put on.”

Leo’s laugh was weak to her own ears. “Yeah, no kidding. Not sure I could go anywhere without freaking out right now.”

Finn took her straw between pearl-white teeth. Leo had worried more than a few grooves into her own over the last twenty minutes. Half a drink gone, and her mouth was still dry as sand.

‘Protection’ was a tenuous word in hockey. Sure, she and Finn hadn’t been dumped into Gryffindor, Slytherin, or San Francisco the moment the expansion happened, but that was no guarantee of safety. Forget stability—Leo would be hard-pressed to find a hockey player anywhere who didn’t feel like they were balanced on the world’s smallest pin. So, yes, New York ‘protected’ the both of them. It made them no promises on draft day.

A glow caught the corner of Leo’s eye and she nearly toppled her coffee in the simultaneous rush to their phones. “Toronto takes first pick out of U Mich,” Finn said at the same time she read it. “No trade announcements yet.”

“Here we go,” Leo murmured as the headlines rolled out. Toronto, then Ottawa. New York was set for fifth; they had a strong season, but Minnesota ran them into the ground in round two. It would be strange to face them next year without Black at the head.

Finn sighed bubbles into her coldbrew. Leo could tell by the ticking of her jaw that she wasn’t drinking, just gnawing on the dark plastic in her restless way. Hometown hero, media called her. New York would be loath to give her up. Then again, excellence on the ice meant nothing this early in the—

“Ottawa got a Badger.”

—league’s lifespan. Black was the best Leo had ever seen, and she’d been on three teams in four years. The Victoire got three picks out of Minnesota for her and god only knew the cost of the champagne bottles Gryffindor’s admin popped when her name was drawn in their favor for the expansion, followed fast by Potter. Leo was—

Finn shot up like she’d been burned. The table rattled, teetered into Leo’s lap; she caught it without thinking.

Her phone was humming, relentless.

She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to know anything at all.

Leo’s throat clicked when she forced herself to swallow. Condensation squeaked under her fingers. The ping of a hundred messages pierced the growing numbness of her hearing. “Finn.”

“Gryffindor.”

Four hours from New York. “For what?”

“Third. Next year’s second.”

Finn raked a hand through her hair. Leo could see it shaking, pale against rich auburn. It came to rest at the back of her head and Leo could see in the strain of Finn’s wrist that she was holding tight. She was frozen to her seat, tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth. “Who?”

Silence. Finn’s lip wavered, and Leo watched in real time as she forced herself to steady it. Teal filled the glimpse of her phone screen. New York stepped up to the podium.

“Okay.” The road was so quiet. The table’s metal rim dug into Leo’s fingers. “Alright. It’s four hours. I’ll—I’ll pick up my car, or something.”

“You have a car?” Finn asked, hoarse.

Leo couldn’t feel her feet. “A Jeep. Blue.”

Finn set her phone face-down on the table and braced both hands on the back of her chair, rocking backward into a stretch that pushed the air from her lungs in a harsh gust. Her bangs fell forward and shielded her eyes, set loose from her ponytail by agitated hands. A soft whisper of shit forced Leo’s throat shut. She didn’t want to cry. Not here, in full view of the nearby park, and certainly not now, only three picks along.

Three picks. Was it supposed to be flattering that she was worth a first-round spot? She had been third overall last year, too. Remarkable, they called her. Remarkably high pick for a goalie.

Finn straightened. Her face was flushed like she had just finished at the bench press. Leo had spotted her this morning—an hour ago, when she finally glanced down at her watch. They should have gone home before this, sweat and all. She wanted…she didn’t know what she wanted. Leo wasn’t sure when the apartment had become home.

She sniffed, swift and perfunctory. “I should call my mom.”

Finn licked her lips as if to speak, but only nodded. There was something on her face Leo hadn’t seen before. In another life, she would have the capacity to name it. Her phone fell quiet with the click of a button.

12 missed calls. Expected. She should answer those at some point.

Montréal took the fourth pick, New York the fifth, and sixth and tenth to Slytherin, who traded a second-round slot to Boston. It was unsurprising to see Slytherin building a team away from lower picks. Leo did her homework, and their budding administration gave her a sick, unshakeable feeling. They spoke about the draft class with only mild interest and treated the free agent pool as if they had somehow…failed, in a way Leo couldn’t put her finger on. They were only ever referred to like a homogenous pool of bodies to fill space. It was a poor impression for a new team, in her opinion.

A trade was not what she wanted in any way. It was immeasurably better than going to Slytherin.

Finn watched the news come in as if she were in a war between vacancy and complete focus. Dead air hung between them, but Leo wouldn’t call it uncomfortable. Lost, maybe. Uncertain, definitely.

“I don’t have to go right away.” Was that stupid to say? It felt stupid. Finn never made her feel like that. Leo coughed. “I just—I can stay for your birthday, if you want.”

A tiny crease formed between Finn’s brows. It was almost the confusion she wore for a Poirot plot twist, one of many interests they shared. Leo took another sip of her coffee and held her doe-soft gaze.

“I just mean,” she started again, fighting down the fear that clamored in her chest. “I’m not in a rush.”

“Oh.”

Minnesota gave way to San Francisco’s first pick.

“That’s really nice of you, Knutty,” Finn said quietly.

Leo nudged her under the table. “Well. You know. I try.”

“You okay?”

Yes. No. Just fine. If I crawl under this table, will you carry me home? Leo let cream and sugar melt on her tongue. “I will be,” she concluded. “In a bit, I think.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I like it here.” A flock of pigeons was taking up four parking spots nearby without the dog to chase them off. Two blocks down, the subway clattered beneath the sidewalk. Leo tilted her head back and forth. “It’s a nice city.”

Finn nodded, picking at the label of her coffee. “It is.”

“It’s lucky to have you.” I was lucky to have you. Risky, she was getting risky.

But Finn just laughed, a half-soundless thing that had no humor in it at all. “You’ve got a lot of goodbyes going on for someone who’s staying a while.”

Leo shrugged one shoulder. “It’s worth saying.”

That seemed to hit a nerve. Finn’s lips went tight at the corners, her eyes falling down to the thick mesh of the table. The first round ended with little commotion. An ad break began.

“I’m—” Finn stopped herself short with a hard blink, tipping her head back toward the sky with an expression like she couldn’t believe herself. Her cheek puckered; she was biting the inside. Finally, she shook her head and turned back to Leo. “I really liked living with you,” she said bluntly. “It’s been wonderful. You have been wonderful. You are one thousand percent allowed to stay for my birthday, you fucking angel.”

Risky didn’t even begin to cover the smile that broke across Leo’s face, no matter how fast she smothered it in her latte. It didn’t matter that Finn could have said that to any good roommate. She said it to Leo. “Alright, I will.”

“Good.”

“You can help me pick out a place in Gryffindor if you want.”

Finn was nodding before her offer was even done. “Yes, please, I have good taste in apartments.”

“I might not even have a roommate,” Leo said as she swept away a pile of notifications. The tremor in her hand was easing. “I mean, shit, what’s the point when it’s all so…?”

“Malleable?” Finn offered. “Fluid? Massively unstable? With the predictability of a jellyfish?”

“Exactly.”

“I hated living alone.”

“Well, you would.”

“Hey.”

Leo smiled to herself and refreshed the page. “Oh, Gryffindor’s doing more trades—”

She didn’t mean to scream. Her palm was just too slow to contain it, though it left her face smarting from impact. Finn was staring, wide-eyed, as still as Leo had ever seen her.

Leo smacked the table with her free hand. Then again, and again, in a series of metallic clangs because she couldn’t fucking speak Finn check your—“Phone,” she gasped, shoving it into Finn’s empty hands.

This time, teal on the screen wasn’t a death sentence for her heart. Finn’s shout had the pigeons scattering. Black coffee pooled around their feet as Leo met her halfway out of her seat and spun, spun, spun.

“Oh, thank god,” Leo choked out. “I didn’t want to live alone.”

Finn was laughing against her shoulder. Wordless, bubbly, and so out of her control that Leo felt it shaking through her entire body where she held Finn probably too tight, two inches off the ground. She was clean sweat and rosemary from a cheddar biscuit. A teal top and purple leggings for no reason. She was swinging her legs, toes bumping Leo’s shins.

The tremors remained when she set Finn down gingerly. Neither of them let go. “What did they get you for?”

“I don’t even know,” Finn answered in a whisper.

The giggles began then, and didn’t stop until Leo could take a breath that didn’t quaver. “Sorry, I’m crushing you.”

“No.” Finn turned her head and laid the breadth of her cheek on Leo’s shoulder. For air? For balance? She was still trembling a little. “You’re not. My back feels so good right now.”

Leo could hear the touch of tears in their laughter, but it was nothing like before. Clearing the air, not deafening them. She unwound herself from Finn slowly, in case either of them wobbled, and reached for her phone.

And promptly almost dropped it.

“Logan to Gryffindor.”

Finn sat in her chair so hard it nearly tipped over. A slightly hysterical guffaw punched out of her and made the croissant-laden women behind them jump; Leo watched her stare at the parking lot, mouth open, then drop her face in her hands and slide down until they were dragging through her hair for the second time that morning. “What is happening?” Finn groaned into her elbows, both hands twisted in the back of her loose tank top.

“I…” Leo trailed off with a shrug nobody saw, pressing a palm to her forehead. She was hot like she’d run a mile flat-out. Sweaty all over again. Halfway sure she was hallucinating. The draft news was coming in too fast to handle. Ten unanswered texts from her mother.

Gryffindor to Montréal and Toronto to Slytherin and Slytherin to San Francisco to Ottawa to Slytherin and Boston to Gryffindor. Black and Potter in the expansion. Leo for a first-round pick followed fast by Finn. And now Logan, pulled out of Montréal after a controversial trade. Draft picks weren’t flying off the shelves—they were being horse-traded. Free agents, open contracts, and the kind of sheer dumb expansion luck that should be put down in a history book.

It wasn’t a draft at all, she realized. It was a shell game, and Gryffindor was about to clinch it before they were halfway through.

“They’re winning,” Leo said aloud, scanning the column of upcoming picks. Names big enough to interest certain managers, but nothing that would compare to a core. “Fuck me, Finn, they’re winning the whole thing.”

“I don’t know what you’re saying to me right now,” came Finn’s shot and breathless answer.

“Gryffindor.” Leo reached over to push her forehead up with one finger, until Finn was blinking in the sun like a sleepy cat.

“Gryffindor,” Finn repeated. “Where you are going. And I am going, apparently.”

“For a two and a three this year,” Leo informed her.

“And Logan is going. Logan Tremblay. Tremblay Logan. Who slept on our couch.”

“Oui.”

“I love your enthusiasm that we’re going to win it—”

“No, no,” Leo interjected. Three more picks, and she would be proven right. “Not the Cup, Harz. They're winning the draft.”

The crease in Finn’s brow returned. “You’re gonna have to give this one to me, Nut, this noodle is cooked.”

Leo held up one finger. “They start with me. Easy and predictable. Regular drafted rookie goalie. Who gives a shit.”

Finn frowned. “I do.”

“No, I—thank you, but think of it in a draft sense.”

“Got it.”

“Goalie,” Leo continued. “Round one, basic trade conditions. No first-round pick because they already have Black and Potter, the last thing they need is another personality. New York is their bestie. Three and five overall, and a pick next year? They owe Gryffindor. They’re new. They feel bad. Second round, they hand you over for two more picks this year. It’s a good class, Finn, but why are you worth more than two high-drafted rookies to a brand new team?”

Finn pulled her hands down her face and wrapped them around the nape of her neck. “Is it because I’m really good at hockey?”

“No. Well, yes, you’re extraordinary, but not for this. Why you?”

She could see the answer in Finn’s eyes. They both knew. She’d say it if Finn didn’t want to.

“Logan.”

“Yes, and,” Leo emphasized, tightening her grip on her coffee. “You’re a member of the first draft class. Gryffindor has Black and Potter from the initial build, then you, then me. They can get anyone from free agency, and I promise you they’ll have someone from every year by the time this is done.”

“What did they trade for her?”

“Fourth this year, then conditional for the next two.” Leo raised her eyebrows. “And I gotta say, their conditions are on the ground. It’s essentially guaranteed.”

Finn dropped her chin into her palm. She was upright now. Thinking. “So why…?”

“Oops. Our future drafts are fucked but we don’t understand it. We’re just a baby team who got cocky about our heavy-hitters.”

“But they aren’t.” Finn was looking at her as if Leo were the news feed. As if she held all the answers, and it was up to Finn to figure out every passcode. Her short fingernails gave a dull tap on the table. “They haven’t been cocky about Black and Potter. Like, sure, they’re stellar together, but Slytherin is headhunting for literally everyone else in the league.”

“Mhm.”

“You think Gryffindor is going to rely on free agents? They have three drafts left.”

“Four.”

“How?”

“They’re not playing to get good players and win the Cup, they’re playing to build a team that has already won.” Leo held her eyes. Finn would understand. She always did. “Goalie. Check. Paired and reliable offensive line. Check times two. Coverage from every year. Check. They don’t need to draft defense when they’ve got fifty undrafted defensive players with a bone to pick.”

Leo watched the switch flip. “Slytherin.”

“Shot themselves in the foot the minute they started talking shit.”

“Gryffindor racked up an extra pick they don’t want.” Pink bled into Finn’s neck and up to her ears.

“Four picks,” Leo corrected. In her lap, her phone came alive with approximately eight billion notifications. “Four fresh, beautiful, uncontestable draft picks.”

Finn’s eyes scanned her face like she was reading a play. “They need a winning line. They’re stocking up on crazy firepower and overloading cheap free agents. They need someone who can handle the newbies and the vets at the same time.”

“Someone’s been crumbling for two months. You could make an argument for nine, though.”

“Minnesota can’t afford to keep her.”

“Not when they could have four drafts to commit to the rebuild instead.”

Finn closed her eyes. “They’re taking Lupin and nobody else.”

“Oh, Harz.” Leo caught her own reflection in the screen when she turned her phone to face Finn. Her grin was sharklike. “They just did.”

GRY trades four 2025 draft picks for Remus Lupin of MIN.

New Strategy? Gryffindor fumbles in 2025 draft.

Collecting The Full Set

Consequences of Expansion Draft Bite Minnesota Frost.

Expanded Gryffindor women’s team roars onto the scene.

Xpwhlxl0ver: hey Gryffindor quick question what the fuck. hey like actually what the fuck are u doing. what is going ON in the house of commons

Finn scrolled for a full minute before leaning back. She held up five fingers. “Black. Potter. Lupin. You. Me.”

“Logan,” Leo added. “And whoever else they’re planning on grabbing this summer and next year.”

Finn shook her head. “They’re handing Gryffindor the Cup.”

“They were counting on a new team’s bulk draft, not a scalpel. And after this, they’ll want to watch Gryffindor grind Slytherin’s face into the ice for poaching.”

“Slytherin can’t make bids that anyone will take after Gryffindor gave four picks to Minnesota,” Finn said in disbelief. “I need these people to plan my entire life. I also think we should go out tonight and get hammered because my brain is on fucking fire.”

“We can also stay in and get hammered and watch Grey’s re-runs.”

A happy huff of breath made Leo’s chest fizz. Finn reached across the table and grabbed both of her hands, giving them a squeeze. “I am so glad we live together.”

[fruitcoops]

🎶✨five more days✨🎶 and I couldn’t be more hyped!!! Putting the finishing touches on over the next few days, just because I like reading them so much and can’t wait to share!

Here is the bingo board for O’Knutzy Week 2025!

O’Knutzy Week 2025 will be July 7th through the 13th! You can write as many things as you would like from this list and please remember to tag this blog and @lumosinlove and tag it! I am so excited to read and see what everyone creates!

[fruitcoops]

Hiii! I have been LOVING your fics (and there’s so many!! (SCORE!!!!)💕💕

I was wondering if we could see the conversation between Nat and Kasey after Remus leaves the PT room? Whether it’s in the room or when they go home, the hurt/comfort potential😩

Heartache and bittersweetness go hand in hand with Thursday afternoons sometimes. Cheers! Characters belong to @lumosinlove :)

TW for canon injury symptoms (Kasey) and extremely mild Vaincre spoilers

“It’s not okay.” But that’s not all, is it? That’s not the end of it. Kasey swallows, hard, hard enough to make his throat hurt like the rest of him. His left ear is still buzzing from impact. The words are tearing a hole in his chest. Just sitting there, ripping him open. Natalie is quiet beside him. Her hand in his is firm. “It’s…”

He can’t. He won’t.

“And it’s never going to be.” Kasey can hear the pain in his own voice. Seismic tremors rattling his gut until the hunger flees. Natalie squeezes his hand. He takes a sharp breath in and lets it out fast. “It’s never going to be,” he repeats. “It’s just not.”

Her fingertips knead his knuckles, then bring them to her mouth. The kiss is soft and sticky with gloss. It lingers. He’s frozen to the table. “I love you,” she says against his skin. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Me, too.” He blinks fast. His family is in the box, somewhere. They’ll leave early again. It’s tradition at this point. He doesn’t want to cry here, in the quiet recovery room. It’s theirs as long as they need it, according to Remus, but it’s not—he wants to be home. He wants to stand under the running shower until he comes back to his body, but quite frankly he’s not sure if he’ll be able to stand that long. Remus will knock in a few minutes. Then they’ll go. Heat slips down toward his ear. Kasey runs a harsh hand down his face and pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut until they’re dry.

Natalie sighs. Thin paper crinkles under the weight of her head coming to rest beside him.

“It fucking hurts,” Kasey manages, hoarse and coarse.

“I know, baby,” she whispers. Another kiss finds his thumb. “God, I know, it’s so unfair.”

“I’m doing everything right.” It’s weak. He feels weak. “I’m in here three fucking days a week just fucking working on it and I do everything at home, you know I do.”

Natalie sniffs. It’s a quiet thing. “You do.”

“I do every fucking thing.” His vocal cords strain like he’s sick. There’s a block of ice on his ribs, pressing down without pause. “I do it all right and I’m still here. I don’t want this.”

Natalie, as always, gives him time. How many times has he stayed here, rescheduling a coffee date or calling to say he’ll be home later than expected because Remus is a fucking saint and works with him for hours on end? How many times has she seen him wince when he gets into bed? Their fridge is covered in pages of exercises stuck high with magnets from across the world. Written and printed and hand-edited by a hand of endless patience. Remus must be tired of him. Months of work and so little to show for it now.

Kasey turns his head to the side and she meets him there with her forehead pressed flush to the slope of his nose. She smells like vanilla and bay rum and the family box’s pilled carpet. “I want one more year,” he tells her. “One more.”

“Okay.”

“And if I can make it…” The thought seizes him by the heart and squeezes. “If it’s good, I’ll stay.”

She brushes the tip of her nose against his cheek. “Okay.”

Kasey swallows again. It’s not getting easier. “If it’s bad, I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”

Her free hand cups his jaw in gentle warmth. The pad of her thumb fits just right behind the hinge, running over the small space under his ear. The buzzing dulls. Natalie kisses his forehead for one second, two. “You are doing so well,” she says, fierce and quiet. “So fucking well. I am so proud of you. And whatever you decide to do, I’m going to be right here, and I’m still going to be proud of you.”

Six years, and he’s still not sure what to do with kindness that could buckle the world. She’s still wearing his jersey, like she always does, even when he isn’t playing. The machinations of the universe work in ways he cannot understand. And in some ways, he hopes he never does. It is cruel and harsh and so painful it leaves him breathless, and yet he is allowed the privilege of Natalie Darcy. She loved him when he was a tangled mess, when half his heart laid on the floor of a New York airport. She loved him when he was on top of the world, and she loves him here.

She’s here. In the dark and quiet, while ice slowly numbs his leg and her hand warms his face. Kasey closes his eyes.

--

He knows by the prickling on his neck that Alex is reading him. Dark eyes would dart away the moment he looked up, but Kasey has been around this block for going on ten years. Alex is quick and clever and approximately as subtle as a train when it comes to staring. There’s a gravity to him that he can’t put away, and he has always—always—used it to flip through Kasey’s pages like a worn-out magazine.

“Hi, Alex.”

“Hello.” There’s a smile in it. Alex wants him to know he’s looking, then.

“Can I help you?”

Alex makes a humming noise. “You can just stay there looking cute. Need anything?”

“Nope.”

“Nat and I made lemonade earlier.”

“Cool.”

A significant pause follows. “Alright.”

Usually, Kasey likes these games. Alex, poking at his edges and fiddling with each lever and keyhole until he puzzles out every halfhearted defense and is let in. It worked the day they met and every single one since. It’s enriching for the both of them. It’s also very good practice for Kasey to actually let his inner monologue out and for Alex to not let his brain go chasing after assumptions.

Today is…hard. He woke up stiff from hip to ankle and immediately tweaked his knee when he turned over to get blood flowing back into his foot. He’s been so good lately, and the thigh is still angry. So angry, in fact, that he’s not sure he can do his ankle circles without feeling it flare through his calf.

Alex’s footfalls are soft on the approach. Kasey’s flare of annoyance is ridiculous, unfounded, and uncontrollable—but it’s there, and he drags a palm up and down his face a few times to try and clear it off his face. It’s not Alex’s fault. It’s nobody’s, really, even though it’s a much nicer world to live in when he can pin the blame and pain on someone or something.

Alex bypasses the edge of the couch before Kasey can even begin moving to make room, and settles on the windowsill with his chin on his folded knees. Kasey holds his gaze. His world has held many rewards for being unyielding.

“Want me to drive you to Lupin’s?”

Yes, the annoyance was silly and misplaced. Kasey exhales through his nose and lays his head on the cushioned arm; in the space of a breath, Alex’s fingertips are running through the ends of his hair. “No,” he says, miserable and petulant.

“You’re gonna be okay getting there?”

No. Alex has plans this afternoon, a movie with some old friends. Playing chauffeur is an interruption he doesn’t need. Kasey’s calf snarls at the thought of pressing the brake pedal. He sighs again, just for the effect and release. “I’ll call him. He can come here.”

The thought of imposing makes Kasey want to chew through the couch cushions despite Remus’ voice in his head telling him to call any time, it’s no trouble for me to do a house call. The cover looks terribly appetizing when he glances over at his phone.

Alex stretches to scritch above his ear. It feels good enough to make Kasey’s heart hurt. “That’s nice of him. I’ll pick up around the kitchen, what time is your appointment?”

Hardly a bat of an eyelash at his neediness. “You don’t need to do that.”

“Nah, I made lunch. Left a total mess.” He closes his eyes as Alex twists the front locks off his face. “It’s good for me to have a deadline that’s not, like, the minute I have to leave, you know? I always end up leaving a pot or something in the sink.”

“You do,” Kasey mumbles. His head is getting heavy.

“Gonna take a nap first?”

“Mmm.” It sounds nice. He can hardly feel the ache like this. An experimental wiggle of his toes sends a thin line of pain up to his hamstring and he scowls, pushing harder into Alex’s hand. “How are we feeling about at-home amputation?”

“Hmm. Generally negative.”

“D’you think Nat will be on board?”

“Definitely not. She likes this couch.”

Kasey wrinkles his nose and presses it into soft fabric, where it’s warm and scratchy and dark enough to make his vision sparkle. Alex’s sympathetic noise helps more than it should. “Appointment’s from three to four.”

Alex clucks his tongue. “Bummer, I’ll just miss it. Say hi to him for me, though.”

He’s genuine in a way Kasey cannot understand. There are no defenses up in those big brown eyes, only worry and affection in heavy pours. Alex pouts his lower lip out at him and Kasey huffs despite himself.

“Poor baby.”

“I am.” He is.

Alex leans across the short distance between them and lands a hard kiss to the top of his head. He smells like cinnamon and whiskey this close. “Mwah. Healed.”

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“Any interest in being the Lions’ PT? I hear a spot opened up.”

“Ooo, do I get a sexy hockey player out of it?”

Kasey snorts. “I think they’re doing their best to cancel those benefits.”

“Damn. Maybe I’m more suited to at-home care.”

It’s such a pretty day outside. He wants to go. The drive to Cap’s house is stunning this time of year, and there shouldn’t be traffic this late in the day. If he can make it around the block for coffee, he'll reconsider calling Remus.

Kasey buries his face in the cushion again with a frustrated groan. “This sucks.”

A hand returns to rub at the base of his skull. How Alex knew he had a headache building there is a mystery, but Kasey will take the wins where he can. They’re few and far between on days like this. The angle is such that he can kiss the inside of Alex’s forearm when he turns his head. The few freckles he has there are faint from months out of Florida; Kasey takes one gently between his teeth and Alex’s laugh shudders against the couch.

The phone rings three or four times before Remus picks up. “Hey, Bliz, what’s up?”

“Shit’s fucked.”

“Yeah,” comes the sympathetic answer. “Want me to come over?”

“Unless I can figure out how to sit without…sitting.”

“Oof, sorry, no ideas there. Three still works?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Kasey’s going to call the Pope next and get him canonized.

“ ‘Course, it’s no trouble at all.”

He’s glad they’re past the point of you know you can always call Layla and I’m really not allowed to use the same facilities as before. Even those reminders had felt half-hearted. He liked Layla plenty, but she hadn’t seen him through the trenches. She hadn’t held his leg with careful steadiness as it spasmed after an overtime game, or sat with him on the floor for twenty minutes just to talk through the muck. Kasey would go to her for anything but this, and Remus knows him well enough to know that.

“Alright,” he says. “See you then?”

“I’ll be there.”

He catches Alex’s eye from across the kitchen and fights a smile. “Alex says hi, by the way.”

Remus’ laugh crackles over the line. “Hi, Alex.”

He says hi, Kasey mouths. Alex pumps his fist before turning back to the sink. “Nat misses you, too.”

“Aw, she’s still in Rome, right?”

“Three more days,” Kasey sighs. “I’ve been replaced by pasta and flatbread.”

“I’ll keep you in my thoughts.”

“Are you going to electrocute me again today?”

“Only if you deserve it.”

Kasey grins down at a loose thread on his hoodie. “Kiss Cap for me before you go.”

“You know he looks forward to it.”

It’s a running bit, one of his favorite things to come out of Remus’ series of life overhauls. In a small, secret way, Kasey is grateful they haven’t lost that in the chaos of a long year. Those two are his in a way few others are. He keeps them in a pocket of their own now, stitched together like the one by his heart that holds Natalie and Alex. Safe and secure, away from prying eyes. He supposes they don’t need his protection, but he gives it anyway. Too much time spent watching their backs for anything else.

It'll be a long two hours until Remus arrives. Alex is almost done with their cast-iron pan. If Kasey looks pathetic enough, he might just be able to talk him into a latte for being so brave.

[fruitcoops]

I love everything you write in the sweater weather universe so much!! I'm so glad to hear you have brain worms about it because I'm always dying for more coops content <3

Brother (gender neutral) the worms are here and they are ALWAYS fixed on Coops. Five years down the line, would I ever give you less than my most favored sufferers?

[fruitcoops]

Constant Vigilance

Is anyone else still going nuts over the most recent Vaincre update? The brainworms have been throwing a rave in my head for like...four days. Be prepared for a ridiculous amount of fanfiction now that I'm not fighting the AO3 author curse demons at every turn <3 Character credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for Vaincre spoilers!

Alastor Moody’s mailbox was not a popular place to be, if you happened to be anything but a member of the ever-rotating cast of junk mail that was promptly set ablaze in a tin bucket kept to the side of a creaky porch. Even those were rare, considering any company unfortunate enough to have included a point of contact was sure to receive an undesirable phone call within twenty minutes of discovery. Alastor was proud to note he had not been sent one unwanted credit card in close to five years.

Thus, Thursday morning was an anomaly of the highest degree. The envelope was crisp, the card inside slightly too small for the space. Hand-packed, then. No plastic crinkled when he fished it out. Smooth paper and an inked address only, with a stamp (also hand-placed) in the upper corner. No extraneous stickers declaring falsehoods like ‘past due’ or ‘emergency notice’. The tin bucket gained three new victims, but the letter accompanied Alastor into the house unharmed.

The letter itself, however interesting, was not entirely unexpected. Alastor had received a phone call a week prior from one of the few individuals with access to his landline. Brief and clear, as he always appreciated. His request for a paper trail, it appeared, had been fulfilled.

A familiar scrawl greeted him; the kid’s handwriting had not improved in the year he’d been away, but he had clearly tried to make it nice. Cordially invited. Professional and appropriate, with little in the way of flowery fluff that would detract from the important details. A room and seat are reserved for you, but please reach out if you’d like to bring additional guests so we can make arrangements accordingly. Finally, with a paragraph of its own and a slight ink-bleed of hesitation:

Thank you for your continued friendship and support. We wouldn’t be here without you.

Sincerely,

Remus Lupin

And a half-step lower, in the hasty writing of someone who could never be left out for long,

& Sirius Black

P.S. Thanks for the ankle

Alastor turned to a fresh page on the nearest legal pad. Important details only, and nothing incriminating. WI Vacation and a date—at last, an actual date—with the address below. Hell would freeze over before he stayed in a cabin with half a team of wobbly puppies clamoring for bachelor party hedonism and sappy speeches on friendship and eternal love. Lupin would be getting a very clear text about that. However, an exception could be made if there was no good location for his tent on-site.

Alastor slipped the letter back into its too-big envelope and made his way to the kitchen closet’s false wall panel, past dusty aprons and a few extra cans of beans. Padded cling-paper silenced the impact of the fireproof box resting on the pasta shelf; the lock and secondary latch opened easily.

It was just like Remus Lupin to send him something as cheeky as an official invitation when he asked for written details. Alastor had already agreed to be there. Lupin had not even asked for an RSVP. Cordially invited. It was like he thought Alastor was going to show the thing off with all that evidence in full view.

The envelope fit nicely next to his passport and Kenna’s birth certificate. The box closed without protest and slid snug into the wall once more, but he would need a new one soon. God forbid he was invited to a baby shower or another graduation. Perhaps the floorboard by his nightstand—he could move his vintage machete to the headboard compartment without issue.

With that taken care of, Alastor turned to the calendar hanging from a nail in the wall and flipped to July. Lupin had been honest on the phone: the date on the legal pad matched all prior information. Alastor tore the page free and pinned it to July’s upper corner with a fresh thumbtack, where it would be hidden by June for another week. You’re welcome to stay as long as you like, the letter had offered. He scrutinized his social calendar.

Arriving a day or two early couldn’t hurt. Those two would need some common sense on the premises. Planning a wedding was nothing to scoff at, and if anyone could find a way to burn down a venue without proper supervision, it would inevitably be them. The Potters had done an acceptable job, but he trusted Lily Evans with event coordination a good measure more. Yes, perhaps staying in the cabin would be a smarter move. Alastor let June fend off July once more and headed for the landline.

[fruitcoops]

Oh I loved that. Bet they start looking for houses the next day

Oh, I'm sure. Truly they need one.

[fruitcoops]

you’re back!!! fic was great!!!!!! out of curiousity what scene is this in chapter 15? i can’t remember lol

Hi! It was in reference to the part where Leo zones out thinking about the time Finn flipped him on his belly. It's not a full smut scene but a reference to something fabulous!

[fruitcoops]

Something Wild

Mr. "He looks at you like he wants to eat you". Mr. "Flavor". Mr. "That one time after a win". Are you two aware you live in an apartment building. Finn, honey, you of all people. AKA the aftermath of that one scene in chapter 15. Character credit and Vaincre credit belong to @lumosinlove!

M-rated, roughly. TW for Vaincre spoilers and mentioned prior smut.

Finn was having quite a lovely afternoon, simply put. Leo was going out with Kasey later, but they had time for Finn to take him to breakfast and a walk along the river. It was a pretty enough morning that they didn’t have to drive. They spent a happy half-hour taking up sidewalk space on the way there, Finn’s arm tucked around the slope of Leo’s shoulders. The gold-and-black of his hoodie made his eyes look like crystal waters; he told him as much while their biscuits and coffee settled in the morning breeze, and Leo returned the favor by quite handily taking him to bed soon after.

In the interest of honesty, Finn had been both surprised and delighted that Leo was still up for it, all things considered. Last night considered. Breakfast had been an afterglow extension in many ways. He was pretty sure Leo was thanking him for more than a walk and nice words.

But Leo was in the bathroom now, probably still fucking with his hair and scrunching his nose in the way that made him look so gently displeased. Bliz, downtown, yadda yadda…Finn was glad for his day of no plans and an ever-growing book list. Maybe today was the day he could actually make a dent in the thing. If he ignored the three paperbacks haunting the side table by their front door.

Finn sighed and tilted his head back against the arm of the couch. He couldn’t even remember the titles anymore, and they were too far away to make out even when he squinted. They had just looked so good and yellowed when he ran his thumb down the foredge. That must have been a week ago, now. Two? Definitely two, if he had planned on bringing them as roadie readers.

Logan would rib him with malice and joy if he saw how cramped the TBR shelf of Finn’s bedside table had become. But he couldn’t just leave those poor, abandoned paperbacks by the door. Maybe he could move them to the shelf with the others. He might be able to squeeze one in the main section, and the rest could stack on top if he moved the pretty hardcover from Christmas two years ago to the table itself…

Or maybe he would merely pick up his half-dead Agatha Christie from the ‘ALREADY READ—DO NOT TOUCH’ shelf and call it a day. The painter’s tape label in his own messy scrawl mocked him as he heaved himself up and pulled the book free.

Truly, nobody suffered like Finn did.

“You’re sighing a lot in there,” Leo called.

“Books,” Finn answered by way of explanation. Leo made a noise of agreement; he heard the clatter of a toothbrush and the squeak of their sink faucet.

And a knock at the door.

“Can you get that?”

“Uh, yeah.” Finn paused, halfway to sitting. He wasn’t expecting a package. You come to me, on my nothing-but-novels day, half-cheeked on the couch…

The woman on the other side indeed held no package, only a slight nervous expression that brightened when he opened the door. She gave a small wave. “Hi!”

“Hey, how are you?”

“I’m good, I’m good, are you—” Her eyes narrowed a touch, like she was guessing a prize at the fair. “Are you Finn?”

Leo was going to hate that their address had been leaked. “In the flesh,” he said cheerfully. More flies with honey than vinegar, and all that. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”

“Oh, no, I know,” she said quickly. “I’m Jen. Your downstairs neighbor. My apartment’s right below yours, you’ve probably heard me moving around.”

“Oh, that’s—”

Are you Finn? Downstairs neighbor. Right below. Heard me moving.

Last night.

“Oh my god.”

“It’s okay!” Jen said hurriedly as he closed his eyes and let his forehead come its final resting place of the doorframe. His face was on fucking fire, he could feel it. “Seriously, no worries or judgement or anything.”

Finn straightened and dragged a hand down his face. A quick glance over his shoulder told him Leo was still in the bathroom. Thank God for his endless toothbrushing routine. Keeping his hand over his mouth seemed like an appropriate move when he looked back at Jen. “I…am so sorry. Jesus.”

“Really, it’s okay,” she repeated. Finn’s ears were going to rocket off his head and into the stratosphere. “I just wanted to—just so you knew. It’s really not a big deal, just for reference…”

Oh, God. Fuck. Finn’s biscuit made a strong effort to burn through his stomach. “Does it—” He didn’t want to know. He didn’t want to know. “Is it, like, often? I’m so fucking sorry, oh my God.”

“Not at all!” Jen still seemed flustered, but far less nervous. Finn supposed his internal death was probably showing on his face, if anything remained but pure tomato red.

“I’m so sorry.” Twice didn’t seem like enough.

“It’s really not that bad, I just figured I’d come up and say something since my parents are visiting next weekend.”

“I’m so sorry,” Finn whispered against his will.

Jen laughed. Forgiveness? Jeering? She was entitled to do both. “Really, it’s not a problem. Not a frequent issue, I promise.”

Finn bit his tongue against another apology. “Mhm.”

Jen started to speak again, then hesitated. “Can I ask something?”

“I think you’re legally allowed to run me over with your car at this point.”

She only laughed again, like Finn wouldn’t absolutely let her do that before the embarrassment finished burning him alive. “Not at all. I was wondering what your partner’s name is? We’re neighbors, thought it might be nice to know just in case.”

“Leo.” Also known to you as Le, butter, Knutty, peanut, just-like-that, sit-on-my-lap, keep-fucking-going, good-boy-come-any-time-you-want-is-that-how-you-like-it, and it’s-okay-baby-anything-you-want. “Yeah, Leo, he’s—and also Logan is here sometimes, he lived with us before but it was a whole—” Well, you probably remember when someone stopped shouting French through your ceiling. Finn gestured lamely. “Work thing. He’ll be around for holidays. We’ll keep it down, I promise.”

“Oh, okay, perfect.” Jen just smiled, offering a wave. “It was nice to meet you, Finn.”

“Yeah, you too.” He couldn’t help one more, “I’m so sorry, again.”

“It’s really no problem, I figured you didn’t know.” She shrugged. “Apartment living, am I right?”

Finn laughed, though it was weak. “What can you do?”

A peppy ‘see you around!’ was the only absolution he was given. He waited until she made it to the elevator before closing the door and pressing his forehead to the cold wood, then sliding, slowly, in agony, to his knees. And then to the floor itself.

Time passed. Soft footsteps made their way closer. “Hello,” Leo said above him, bemused. “I wasn’t aware we got a new welcome mat.”

Hi Jen. So sorry again for fucking the back wheels off my boyfriend. He really needed it and, quickly frankly, so did I. You see, this year has been epically terrible, and I really needed to grab his gorgeous hips and flip him like a golden pancake so I could drag him onto his knees and backward into my lap. Yeah, he loved it. Yeah, no, sorry, I didn’t tell him to scream my name but I certainly didn’t stop him. Please enjoy this gift basket. It was nice to officially meet you.

Love and shame,

Finn O’Hara

P.S. For the love of god, do not start watching hockey for the next ten to fifteen years.

“Finn?”

“I met our neighbor.”

“Joel?”

“Jen.”

Leo paused. “Is she new?”

“Mm-mm.”

“Shit, I don’t think I know her.”

Finn’s laugh was hysterical to his own ears. “She knows you.”

“Are you okay?”

Leo’s forehead was crinkled with worry when Finn rolled onto his back. He pinched the bridge of his nose against the bright lights, then folded his hands across his belly and blinked up at Leo. “She knew my name. I’ve never met her.”

The worry gave way to irritation, then a rush of genuine distress. “Fuck, did our address get out or something?”

“Nope. She’s our neighbor.” Finn raised his eyebrows. “Our lovely downstairs neighbor.”

For someone who had never lived in an apartment before, Leo put it together damn fast. His hands clapped over his mouth with an audible sound. “No.”

“Yes.”

“Oh no.”

“You’re not very civic-minded.”

“I didn’t—” Leo’s face flushed from his neck to his hairline. He jabbed a finger down at Finn. “You don’t get to make fun of me after everything you’ve done.”

“I have lived here for four years and never once got anything like that, you even beat out Logan—”

“If you hadn’t—!” Leo cut himself off there. His cheek folded like he was biting it hard.

This misery was more fun when he wasn’t alone in it. Finn grinned up at him. “If I hadn’t what?”

Leo scowled, hard and proper. “Oh, you know what you did.”

“I didn’t hear any complaints.” Don’t do it, don’t. “And neither did Jen, apparently.”

Leo’s groan belonged in the history books. His eye-roll was pristine, and the nudge of his foot like Finn was a misbehaving cat was everything Finn needed to feel even a little bit better. “I’m leaving,” he announced, struggling to open the door around Finn’s lax body as he stepped over him. “And Kasey is never hearing about this, and—and I owe Jen a goddamn fruit basket, fuck me.”

“That’s how we got in this mess.”

“And I’m sleeping in the guest room tonight!” Leo added. The door closed with a prompt thud.

Finn waited.

The door opened just a crack. Leo reached around to tap lightly on the inside. “Okay, I love you, bye, be good, I’ll be home at eight-ish but I’ll text if we’re still out.”

“Bye,” Finn called through his laughter. “Love you, too, my beautiful beautiful banshee.”

Leo’s finger pointed blindly at him. He had astonishing accuracy. “You’re a jackass, Finn O’Hara. A dog.”

If Finn barked at him, just once, then it was nobody’s business but their own (and, of course, Jen’s.)

[fruitcoops]

Hattie with a puppy gives MAJOR GoodBoyOllie vibes -aj

Oml I hadn’t heard of them before but I’m officially on the train