Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

There was a man standing outside the big black van, crouched low so he could peer into the driver side mirror. He cursed faintly while dipping his big fingers into a pan of white greasepaint and even from the curb Finney could see the contents where meager and dried up. The man scrubbed his fingertips along his jaw - trying to force the dregs of greasepaint to spread. It wasn’t working very well, the fine layer of white across his already fair skin was faintly cracking and not very smooth but Finney imagined there wasn’t much this guy could do about it. The man dragged his fingers down his throat, dipping down the collar of his sweater.

As he took a step off the curb Finney noticed the curving letters emblazoned across the side of the van: Abracadabra. There was a birthday party at the house a few doors down, some classmate of Gwen's he didn’t even know the name of, but he’d agreed to come because Gwen would be leaving for camp soon and had begged him for weeks about hanging out one last time. Finney remembered her excitedly telling him about the magician that was coming, the kind that did ‘for real magic’ with rabbits and doves and mice. He eyed the man’s clothes; vaguely theatrical in all blacks outside of the vivid crimson turtleneck underneath his dress-shirt. Shiny red buttons gleamed on his lapels and Finney noticed the matching black top hat precariously balanced atop the van.

The man, magician, stared critically at the now empty pan of greasepaint he’d scrapped clean then frustratedly tossed it through the open window of his van. He stared at his own streaky white hand, stained with paint, and Finney realized just as the magician did that he’d have nothing to wipe the paint off on. Not outside of his black trousers, black shirt, or black van.

“Here.” Finney said, thoughtlessly trotting alongside the van and already reaching out for his wrist. Right above the gleam of a silver watchband.

The man startled when Finney’s hand grabbed his own, as he used the hem of his already grass stained tee-shirt to wipe the greasepaint off the mans fingers. He glanced up and saw the open mouthed surprise on the mans face, even through the thickly tinted sunglasses Finney could tell his eyes where wide and hyper-focused on him. He dropped the mans hand, suddenly self conscious, and took a step backwards.

“Uh. Sorry…” That was stupid as hell, the exact kinda shit that’d earned him the nickname ‘Finn the fag’ at school.

When the man spoke it was high and lilting, almost childish. Like he was used to always putting on a performance, but despite his cheery tone Finney noticed the man was leaning heavily against the car door. A rapid rise-and-fall of his chest as he stared at the smudge of paint on Finney’s shirt.

“Oh no worries at all, kiddo!” He snatched the top hat off the van, holding it genially to his broad chest as he shallowly bowed at the waist. There was something delightfully queer about this man, in every sense of the word. “Say, you wanna see a magic trick?”

The man held his hat out in a sweeping motion, then tilted it upside down to prove it was empty before righting it again and giving it a little cartoonish shake. His motions grand and theatrical, all over-exaggerated showmanship. He held the hat out for Finney to reach into, a crooked smile on his face.

“A treat for the good boy, hmm?”

Finney’s face went hot as he stepped up to reach inside the top hat. A lot of people called him some variation of ‘good boy', like the teachers who wrote 'a pleasure to have in class' on his report cards, but none ever said it quite like this man did. When he tentatively reached into the hat Finney felt the crinkle of a candy wrapper and pulled out a package of Reese’s Pieces.

“Whoa, these are my favorites. How’d you do that?” Finney held the candy to his chest as he stared up at the magician, the man just smiled lopsidedly and ran his fingers through the shaggy length of his sandy hair before jauntily placing the hat on.

“Trade secret.” He said conspiratorially.

Finney would’ve rather stayed here talking to the magician than go to the birthday of some kid he didn’t even know, but Gwen's voice called out his name from where she stood on the front porch of... unnamed birthday girl's house. Damn, he should really remember what her name was before going to scarf cake at her party. He turned to the man apologetically, noting the way he’d folded those big aviator sunglasses and tucked them down the front of his button up. Up close he could see the man had blue eyes, pale like the summer sky. How pretty.

“Thanks, mister.” He said, stepping up the curb as Gwen called out for him once more. “Guess I’ll see you later.”

“Ahh but thank you, Finney.” The magician ran his fingers along the brim of his hat in a playful display of flair. A performance, even in the goofy saccharine smile that made his blue eyes crinkle at the corners.

There was a delightful strangeness in his voice as he said Finney’s name, just like when he’d called him a good boy. An uncanniness in the stark white greasepaint covering the mans face, in his over-exaggerated gestures. Grown ups didn't act like that for real, they weren't this bubbly and playful unless it was a game of pretend. Like how people put on a voice at work when they talk to customers but speak normally to their coworkers. It made something itch beneath his skin, some primal alarm system blaring.

The problem was...Finney liked it.

He liked the faint thrill of nervousness this man sent crawling up his spine, like the first time he jumped from the tire swing that hung over the lake. Disquiet and excitement. That queer smile on the mans pale painted face, the faint streaks of gray in his sandy brown hair, the bundle of black balloons fluttering about in the wind as he watched the magician pull them from the trunk of his van. Who even makes black balloons in the first place? Finney thought as he dropped a handful of Reese's Pieces in his mouth.

As it turned out the man really was a pretty good magician, Gwen had liked his show plenty at any rate. Finney felt sorta awkward sitting there in a strangers backyard, dressed in his dirty jeans and surrounded by 12 year old girls, the only boy in the whole party outside of the birthday girls own family members. And the magician, of course. The man had done a bit where he pulled a live rabbit from his top hat and even Finney gasped in surprise when the fluffy white rabbit came hopping out. Its big eyes calmly peering around at the excited children as it settled comfortably in the mans arms.

He'd played up being terribly surprised and put-upon by the appearance of the rabbit, gingerly placing it back into his hat before reaching his arm inside in all the way up to his shoulder. Finney tried to stand on his toes and see where the rest of his arm had gone, but then the man abruptly pulled out a stuffed bunny from the within the darkness of the hat. It was snow white, as the real one had been, with a vivid pink silk ribbon around it's neck and the magician passed it over to the birthday girl who spent the rest of the afternoon lovingly cooing over her new toy. It's little button eyes shiny and black beneath the afternoon sun.

Finney wanted to see the real rabbit again but felt too shy, now that he was surrounded by his peers, to ask.

The magician must've seen the furtive way he'd been studying the show equipment, hoping to get a glimpse of the rabbit again, because all of a sudden he let out a big exaggerated sigh and made as if he where struggling mightily with something below his pop-up table. When he came popping back up like a jack-in-the-box the man was holding the fluffy white rabbit in his arms again. There was a look of exasperation on his face as he pretend to thoughtfully gaze out over the crowd, then his bright eyes landed on Finney.

“Finney, my boy! Do you think you could watch this little lady for me? She's awfully ill behaved today.” He said in a theatrical booming voice as he strode right through the crowd of murmuring young girls.

The man dropped into a crouch where Finney was sat with his legs dangling off the edge of a weather-worn picnic table. He'd been seated atop it in the very back of the crowd, as far from the group of girls as he could be without looking rude, and now all eyes where on him as the magician offered up the rabbit. Finney stared wide-eyed at him, then down at the very well-behaved little rabbit. He held his hand out to it tentatively, letting the rabbit sniff his fingertips that where stained with the remnants of the magicians greasepaint.

“Her name is Snowball.” The man offered, looking down into Finney's suntanned face with something soft in his eyes. Finney wasn't sure if he entirely liked the look or not, but he did like being the center of this mans attention. Liked the electric thrill zipping down his spine whenever the magician spoke to him and only him.

“Snowball...” He murmured, daring to reach out and pet along the rabbits fluffy back. She was terribly soft, just a fat little ball of fur really, and Finney very much wanted to hold her.

“Hold your arms out for me, mmk?” The sing-song cadence of the mans voice was the same but the tone had dropped into something lower, more natural sounding for the stature of him. The man was broad with thick arms and big hands, and so the childish play voice he'd been putting on didn't suit him nearly so well. At least in Finney's opinion.

When he'd placed the rabbit in Finney's arms he stepped back, a too-white grin on his painted face. His head was tilted cartoonishly to one side, like a curious dog, as he stared down at Finney gently petting down Snowball's floppy ears. When he spoke once more it left a rising heat in his gut, warm and dizzying. “You're a good boy, arent'cha Finney?”

There was that strange thrill again. Something he didn't quite know to explain, only that it made him hot all over in a very good way.

Their father, the good ol' boy Terrance Blake, sometimes accused Finney of being a fag and would punish him heartily whenever something he did or said was apparently too queer for Terrance's liking. Like wanting to pet a fluffy rabbit instead of hang out around a group of girls, or preferring this man's attention to anyone else's. He wondered if his father would try and beat the queer out of the magician too.

Just last week a couple police officers came to his high school and held a big assembly on stranger danger, complete with thinly veiled implications that old gay men would lead you astray. The problem with all of that was the simple fact Finney had been in danger for years, but not from a stranger. He knew that the neighbors must hear his screams, the howling cries whenever Terrance took his belt to him. Just like his gym teacher must know because he'd seen the fat welts on Finney's back whenever he had to change after class.

Sometimes his dad would fly off the handle and hit him so hard Finney swore he could feel his brain rattling around in his skull. All because he ate his cereal too loudly or didn't get a good grade on his math test. Then Terrance would come slinking apologetically into the living room, he wouldn't actually say sorry but he would present the kids with a bag from McDonald's or a grape soda and chips from the drugstore. As if fries and chips and sugary sweet pop could make up for it. As if he could make his children love him by being nice again. Finney didn't love their father but he thought Gwen might, or at least she tried to, and he sorta hated her for that. Not enough to stop loving her of course, but enough to feel a sting of resentment whenever she played at being a nice and normal family with their father.

Finney didn't pay much attention to the rest of the birthday party, occupied by gently rubbing Snowball's fluffy ear between his thumb and forefinger. The rabbit very graciously allowed this and he didn't think she'd ever been misbehaved once in all her little life. He could feel the magician's eyes on him though, less searing than those of his classmates or the girls judgmentally glaring at him when they thought he couldn't see. He thought this man might be the sorta guy the cops and his dad wouldn't like, but he didn't like his dad or the cops much either.

His father didn't like him at all, so why should he care what Terrance thought anyway? Finney suspected Gwen must remind their dad so much of their mother that he loved her the most out of his children, because he never did quite the same stuff to her. He'd yell and shout, sometimes smack her across the face, but the bulk of his rage always went to Finney. Always with something to do with Finney being a pussy, or a fag, or just not manly enough in some abstract way he couldn't figure out.

The police wouldn't give a shit about Finney either. Not if they knew he liked boys as much as he liked girls, more than girls even. They hadn't cared much when Vance Hopper's dad nearly beat him to death with a tire iron, all because Mr. Hopper found his son kissing another boy behind the shed. Vance and that boy he liked had run away shortly after, out to California if rumors where true, and still all the police ever did was scold Mr. Hopper for being 'too rough on the lad'. To Finney the message was loud and clear; it was okay to beat up your son, at least sometimes, if he's a queer.

Maybe it was because his dad had taught him from a young age that love can hurt, though he doubted that could even be called love at all. Or from the cops who told him not to trust strangers, but cops where strangers too so that didn't make much sense to Finney. Maybe it was every time one of the kids at school shoved him into the wall and threw rocks at his face because he was the most painfully obvious queer kid in the whole state. Maybe he was just agonizingly, lonely.

It didn't really matter why or how or what, all that mattered was Finney knew the potential for danger when he saw it - but the dangerous thing that hasn't bitten you is still safer than the ones that have.

For days and days after the birthday party Finney's head was on a swivel, peering around at every dark car that passed and stupidly hoping it was the strange man from before. The one with his silly little top hat and his dried out greasepaint and his too-blue eyes. A couple years ago he thought maybe the pretty girl that came to his baseball games, Donna, might've liked him. He thought he might've liked her too. Whenever he saw her standing behind the fence cheering with the rest of the crowd he'd felt a swell of heat that made his ears burn, but she asked out Bruce Yamada and they looked real happy together whenever Finney saw them walking hand-in-hand at school.

There was a rumor going around that Bruce was going to propose after they graduated. That felt kinda bad, but not too much.

Mostly because Bruce was just so cool, nice to Finney in ways most other boys weren't. When Bruce shook his hand after their baseball games he was always genuine, a big smile on his handsome face. That was something else Finney was hyper aware of; Bruce was good-looking. Like super good-looking, but Finney didn't look like him at all. Bruce was tall and strong, with warm brown skin and silky black hair that always fell just the right way in a sweep across his forehead. When he smiled it was bright and lit up his entire face, there was just something effortless about him.

Finney felt...ungainly, when compared to a guy like Bruce. He was all awkward lankly limbs and a mess of tangled curly hair that never brushed out like he wanted, too skinny for his own good and that made him feel even weirder. Gwen once affectionately called him a bean pole and though she hadn't meant it unkindly that sorta thing stuck in his mind. A wiry boy with messy hair and a face somewhere between too sharp and too soft. The kind of kid who goes unnoticed, unless of course it involved being chased down by three bigger boys who had it out for him.

He didn't know what he'd done this time to make them so pissed, only that they'd taken one look at Finney and gone running off in his direction with such fury he was certain they'd kill him if they caught him. So he'd turned tail and ran as fast as he could, their hyena laughter echoing close behind as blood roared in his ears. Finney didn't even mind the name-calling anymore, that got old real quick and they weren't the first to call him stuff like that anyway, but he sure as shit minded getting the snot kicked out of him. In his haste to get away Finney went down the wrong road, opposite the drugstore he'd been hoping to make it too, and instead blindly darted down a dead-end residential street without realizing until it was too late.

Finney didn't know who grabbed him first, only that one of the boys got a tight grip around his forearm that made his nerves flare and throb. Before the other two could catch up a shoddy old station wagon came screeching around the corner, the man behind the wheel nearly swerving off the road as he narrowly avoided the four boys. The guy stuck his head out the window, a cigarette dangling from his thin lips.

“HEY?! What the hell dude?” He pushed a pair of sunglasses up into his short hair and the effect, paired with his ridiculous thin mustache, gave the man the look of a tawdry porn star. It would've been comical if Finney wasn't so fucking scared.

Finney took the opportunity of this distraction and yanked his arm free, tumbling backwards down the small embankment right into the little stream below. As he scrambled haphazardly to his feet he heard the other boys cursing, darting off the way they'd come, and the idling rumble of the station wagon's engine. Mustache guys face appeared over the embankment and he cringed openly at the sight of Finney absolutely drenched from head to toe, pulling himself miserably up out of the stream.

“Oh shit. Hey kid you alright?” He offered Finney a hand and hoisted him up the rest of the way, looking him up and down with a look of guilt on his face. “Stupid question. Obviously not.”

Finney grabbed his backpack up from where it had fallen along the side of the road, slinging it awkwardly over one shoulder and staring at his waterlogged shoes. God he felt so fucking pathetic. He bet Bruce never looked this dumb in his whole life, but here Finney was standing there covered in pond muck feeling as embarrassed as he'd ever been.

“No no don't cry.” Mustache guy looked panicked and Finney hadn't even realized he really was starting to tear up, not until he tried to look the man in the eye and found his vision wavering and blurry with tears. That just made him feel even worse and he tried to fight the hot sting burning behind his eyes. “Okay! Okay um, you can come with me and call your folks to come get you right? Right!”

The man hopped into his car and popped open the passenger side door for Finney, a hopeful puppy-dog sort of look on his face. If the magician had been playing the part of a harmless goofball than this guy was definitely the real thing, a golden retriever without much going on upstairs. Finney shyly slid into the seat and tried not to get water everywhere, holding his backpack to his chest and burying his face into it.

The man didn't speak for a while, but Finney could see him nervously glancing back and forth between the road ahead and where Finney sat miserably beside him.

“Don't worry! My brother's house is just up ahead and you can shower off if you wanna, he wouldn't mind. Scouts honor and all that. Hell he's probably at work anyway, the hardware store is busy as hell right now. Do you like dogs? He has a big one, Samson. He looks mean as hell, but he won't bite.”

Finney's nerves eased the more the man rambled, clearly awkward and embarrassed himself but at least that made Finney feel a little bit better. It meant he wasn't the only one feeling stupid and weird. “I like dogs...I got to hold a rabbit a couple weeks ago.”

Mustache guy looked so relieved when Finney finally spoke that he felt sorta bad about the whole thing. Finney got the impression this guy didn't handle stress very well. “Al's got rabbits too! And mice, I think? I dunno what the guy's keeping around these days.”

“Al?”

“Albert's my brother.” He said with an air of pride. “I'm Max, and this...” Max said as they pulled up to a little ranch style house.“..is casa-de-Shaw!”

Albert was a funny sorta name, he couldn't put a face to a name like that at all. Max looked...well, like a 'Max' but Albert sounded like something from a Saturday morning cartoon. Sure enough the moment Max and Finney stepped inside they where met by the big lumbering steps of a massive dog, bigger than a German Shepard but similar in coloration. It looked like the kinda dog people kept for security, not so much for companionship, but it eagerly lolled out it's big tongue and drooled all over Max's hand when he reached out to pet him.

“I'm Finney.” He offered, shuffling awkwardly in the doorway and dripping water onto the carpet.

As soon as he spoke Samson's attention was on him and Max had to hold onto the dogs collar so he wouldn't bowl Finney over in his eager attempt to leap up and get right in his face. It was nice though, he really meant it when he said he liked dogs. Especially big ones like Samson. Max huffed as he struggled to yank the massive dog away, half-heartedly scolding Samson for 'jumping on a new guest, c'mon dude that's not cool. Be a good doggy.'.

“Well Finney my guy, you wanna ring up someone to come get you?” Max pointed to where a pale blue phone was sat on an end table by the couch. “If you want to wash off or whatever I can lend you something, 'cuz uh no offense but you don't look so great.”

Truthfully Finney didn't feel so great either, the little stream running along the embankment was rich with algae bloom and he felt a slimy film clinging to his skin. The smell was edging into pretty gross territory as it dried and he had a sinking suspicion that his father would be more pissed at him being dirty in his car than if he'd just stayed here. Finney knew that the odds of his dad taking time off work where astonishingly small, but maybe if he called Mrs. Arellano she'd come get him. The downside to that was he'd never hear the end of it from his dad and the whoopin' he'd get wouldn't be worth it.

Damned if he did, damned if he didn't.

“My dad's at work and doesn't like when I interrupt him...so uhm. I can just walk home.” It would be better if Terrance never found out about this at all, at least not until Finney would inevitably have to come return the clothes Max let him borrow.

Max looked torn between arguing and sensing something was clearly off about Finney's insistence that he not call home. Some understanding crossed the mans face and Finney thought maybe Max wasn't quite as naive as he'd previously thought, at least not when it came to...that kinda stuff. It made him wonder if Max ever dreaded having to go home too.

“Sure thing bud. Uh, here lemme grab you some stuff. Bathrooms the one on the left.” Max disappeared into one of the rooms at the end of the hall and Finney caught a glimpse of a neatly made bed before he slipped into the bathroom.

It was nicer than the one at home, but then most places where. There was a shiny silver safety razor on the edge of the sink next to a can of shaving cream, a bar of pale green soap dripping suds, and a few black combs sticking out of a little glass jar along with a wiry hairbrush. Finney always thought there was something illicit feeling about being in another persons house, it was thrilling in some way to see these little bits of someone else's life – all the vague threads of who they where left out on the counter.

What would someone see if they where in Finney's home?

The mirror above the sink opened into a medicine cabinet and Finney curiously peeked inside. Just a toothbrush and some half used toothpaste, painkillers, spare razor heads, an orange pill bottle with a faded label he took a peek at.

Albert Shaw

Take one (1) by mouth repeat 2x.

Xanax (tablet) - .5MG

SEE DOCTOR FOR REFILL.

“Okie dokie I gotcha some stuff.” Finney quickly shut the medicine cabinet as Max came bumbling into the bathroom with his arms full. He set a big fluffy gray towel and matching washcloth atop the toilet lid, then a bundle of clothes on side of the sink not occupied by the shaving kit. “Sorry, I'm probably closer to your size but I'm just visiting for a while so these are Al's. He won't mind! But they're probably kinda big.”

“Thank you, Mr. Shaw.” He said politely, feeling especially shy in the face of this strangers kindness.

Max laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his head. “Just Max is fine! 'Mr. Shaw' makes me feel like super duper old...Which I guess I am but I try not to feel like it.”

Finney cracked a smile at Max's rambling. He was funny, goofy and nice and unlike anyone he'd ever met before. Especially for an adult, most adults were really serious and sorta mean. But not Max. Not the magician from before. “Okay, Max then. Thank you, I really really appreciate it.”

“No problemo, take your time.” Max held up his hands in a little 'finger guns' motion as he backed out of the bathroom. Before he shut the door for Finney he poked his head around and said; “Just holler if you need anything else.”

Thankfully, Finney didn't need to holler. After a moment of fiddling around with the shower faucet he managed to get it running warm enough to hop in and wash off the muck and grime of the dirty stream. He scrubbed hard under his nails, prying out the uncomfortable crust of dried mud and washing the sticky goop of algae from his hair. When he stepped out of the shower he vigorously ruffled the towel over his hair, even knowing that would make it go all fluffy and tangled when it dried.

His grandmother had tried to show him how to make his curly hair look nice and tidy, using conditioners and oils and carefully twirling each curl around her finger to set it. Finney only bothered doing that stuff if he was going somewhere special, like when he sometimes went with the Arellano's to church if he stayed overnight with Robin. For now he'd just let it air dry and accept the cold shiver he felt when rivulets of water slid down the ends of his hair and along the back of his neck. He didn't think Max would mind what he looked like anyway, the man seemed too nice and too oblivious to care either way.

The heather-gray sweatpants Max grabbed where indeed quite a bit too large around the waist, but when he pulled the drawstring closed they fit alright. He tried pushing the elastic band at the end of the pant legs up his calf but the bunching fabric just made them slide back down anyway, so he gave in and accepted they'd be too long no matter what. The tee-shirt was a faded black with a crackling band logo for Fleetwood Mac across the front and tour dates on the back.

When he pulled it on it was soft and comfy, well worn and taken care of by someone who clearly liked it a lot and Finney wondered if Max's brother would really be okay with him wearing it. It was too big, just like the sweatpants, and the sleeves hit right below his elbow while the neck slid to one side of his shoulder. Finney liked it though, it was softer than anything he owned and smelled good. Like smoke and musk, cologne maybe?

He'd have asked if that wouldn't have been absolutely mortifying.

As he stepped out into the hall, dirty clothes bundled in his arms because he didn't know if he was supposed to leave them in the bathroom or not, he caught Max leaning against the archway between the kitchen and living room, rambling off in rapid fire succession as another – taller – figure moved around the kitchen.

“Yeah some kids where fucking with this little dude and he took a real tumble. Right into that crappy pond. Stream. Thingy.” Said Max sympathetically.

“And you saved the day.” Came an amused reply, followed by the squeaking open and close of the refrigerator. “Not even back in Denver for 48 hours and you're taking in strays.”

“C'mon Al! What was I supposed to do, leave Finney to rot out there?”

A pause.“Finney?”

The way the other man said his name made goosebumps prickle up his arms, a cold swooping excitement bubbling low in his gut.

“Max?” Finney called out, tentatively stepping into the living room. “Thanks for letting me use your bathroom. I dunno what to do with my dirty clothes though...”

The magician's name was Albert and Finney was right, it much didn't suit him. Al maybe, by a little bit, but not by much. The man stared openly at where Finney stood barefoot in his living room, dressed in his over-sized clothes, hair still damp from the shower and his skin scrubbed pink. A look of pained desperation crossed Al's face, like someone had just delivered simultaneously the best and worst news of the mans life. Al was holding a pale green bottle of Sprite in one hand, his knuckles gone white with the force he was clutching it, and Finney worried the man would shatter the glass if he kept squeezing like that.

Without the smear of crackling greasepaint the magician looked...handsome, with a soft jaw and a little permanent furrow between his brows. The mans long hair was pulled back at the nape of his neck but shorter layers had fallen free from the elastic and tumbled around his face. His eyes where deep-set and hooded and terribly beautifully blue. He was a little older than Finney first thought, when the greasepaint and deep shadow cast by the brim of his hat covered most of his face, but that didn't bother Finney much. He thought it probably should've.

A few years ago he expected it would feel a lot worse when Donna and Bruce started going out. Now he didn't mind at all because whenever he saw the flash of a dark car speed by Finney got the same bashful rush of hope as he did when he'd seen Donna at school or the games. The same hot flush that made his ears burn when Albert's bright eyes trailed first from the loose drape of his shirt to the bunched up legs of his sweatpants that Finney was wearing. Terrance Blake would be furious if he could hear the static-y thunderous thoughts going through Finney's head right now.

He was wearing the magician's clothes. Standing in the mans living room. That smoky musk smell was from Albert, he would smell like Al now. And then, when he eventually had to come return the mans clothes, Albert would smell of him too.

“...Hi.” He squeaked out, fingers digging into the damp pile of clothes he held onto. Al stared and stared and stared until all at once the intensity in his eyes broke and the man smiled lopsidedly, just like he had at the birthday party when he let Finney hold that white rabbit.

“Well! Look who we have here, if it isn't mister Finney.” His voice wasn't nearly as high-pitched or lilting as it had been when Al was playing the part of the magician, and hearing the man speak now made Finney shiver. He liked the deeper voice, the playful dancing tone he'd used before wasn't nearly as real.

Oh no. Oh no. Oh no. Finney thought wildly, trying to fight back the fevered blush spreading down his throat. Al noticed, stared at the dip of his collar bone with something frighteningly possessive that made Finney want to grab a fistful of the mans hair an- SHUT UP. Brain stop being stupid and gay and stupid for five minutes.

Max's smile looked a tad strained as he looked between his brother and Finney. A sudden tenseness in his shoulders that made him think maybe Max knew more than he first let on. The tone in his voice turned a little accusatory as he spoke. “You guys uh...know each other.?”

Al turned back into the kitchen, a frown on his face as he glanced away from Max. “He was a good boy helping me out at a birthday party a couple weeks ago.”

Finney stepped forward to follow but Max leaned across the archway once more, trying to look casual but failing miserably. “A good boy, huh?”

That accusatory tone was growing thick and it made Finney huff in frustration. Al hadn't done anything to him, even though Finney suspected he very much wanted to. Was sorta hoping he would, even though Finney knew that was a terrible, awful, thing to want for. But Al was kind and a little quirky in a way that reminded Finney very much of himself, and so so handsome that he would've asked this man for anything. Thought maybe Albert would've given it to him too. He shouldn't want to be around a man like that, but he did. As long as it was Al.

None of this frightened him like it should've, because here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere Finney was the weird kid. The little queer boy that liked girl's and boys and apparently this very specific man. Sometimes his classmates got a crush on their teacher but that was a lot different than him having a crush on Albert, because at least their teachers didn't have crushes back. As far as he knew anyway. Though rumors spread around school like wildfire and Finney knew of a teacher last year who got married to one of his students barely 6 months after she graduated.

He thought everyone was dumb as fuck for thinking they hadn't been dating well before then, or else everyone just silently agreed to pretend they didn't know.

“I was with my little sister.” Finney said, trying not to sound defensive. “At her friends birthday party”

Max's accusatory stare into the back of Al's head lessened and he turned a kind eye on Finney. He wasn't sure if Max knew that his brother was queer, or if he just sensed that Al seemed to take a bit too much of a liking to Finney, but he hoped Max wasn't like the mean boys at school. The ones who hated queer guys enough to throw rocks at that one nice couple's window until it shattered, the police hadn't done much because the police also didn't really like the gay couple either. It wasn't fair to him, because the police didn't get mad when his teacher married a girl who'd been his student just 6 months before their very public wedding.

No one got mad when Terrance Blake smacked his kids around with a belt either.

“That's real nice of you, kiddo.”

“I'm 16 y'know.” He said a little shortly.

Max's expression faltered and he stared at the back of Al's head, as if somehow the man had set up this whole afternoon. Finney didn't doubt that Al could've set up a lot of things, but even this was so far out of anyone's control that it was laughable to even think about. “That's real great. Isn't it Al.”

“Sure is.” Albert was busying himself with transferring plates from the sink onto a drying rack set atop a tea towel on the counter. Doing his absolute best not to openly stare at Finney again.

It made him frustrated, put out even, and so Finney ducked around Max with all the bravado he could muster. Max flailed a little, reaching out like he wanted to grab Finney by the arm but stopped himself halfway through the motion. Al looked particularly surprised when Finney saddled up beside him at the sink, taking the clean plate right from the mans hand to put on the drying rack. Max made a sound somewhere between a cough and a distressed whine, taking a seat at the kitchen table and anxiously bouncing his leg.

“I can help too, you're letting me wear your clothes after all.” He was playing a dangerous game and knew it. This was safe, almost make-believe, because Max was here – but that didn't stop the excited thrill Finney got when Al turned his bright eyes on him with that same all encompassing intensity. A look of sudden understanding crossing his face.

He knew. He knew that Finney knew.

“That you are, my boy.”

When Albert first saw Finney Blake he thought he'd never see anyone that beautiful again in all his life. One moment he was alone, trying to smear that cheap ass greasepaint down his neck and the next there was Finney – taking his hand like he had a right to do so. He did, Al decided. Finney had a right to anything he ever wanted. The boy carried himself with a shyness borne from being forced into the role, but not because it came naturally to him, as was evidenced by his boldness that afternoon. It took everything in him not to spend the entire showtime hyper-focused on the feel of Finney's hand around his wrist.

He'd spent two weeks desperately trying to drive the image of Finney Blake from his mind, the sight of him sat beneath the afternoon sun so lovingly cradling that little white rabbit in his arms was a constant presence in the back of his mind. Stop it. Stop it. Stop you fucking creep, you disgusting old fuck. But then Finney was there in his home, dressed in his clothes, smelling of his shampoo and his soap and looking up at Albert with those big brown eyes. Al knew then with a shocking clarity, with that vivid pink blush across Finney's cheeks, that this boy would be the death of him.

One way or another.

“Whoa, it's pretty cool down here.” Finney said, not knowing how incredibly wrong he was.

Max's smile was twitchy and awkward as he helped Finney load his wet dirty clothes into the washing machine. He could understand why Finney would think that, with all the rabbit and magician stuff, but to Max he felt like every second spent in the basement was taking 30 years off his life expectancy.

The basement was large enough that it could be divided into two sections, one smaller walled off area with a washer and dryer hookup and the other was all big open space. With that extra space Albert had done a rather elaborate job of setting up Snowball's enclosure; it was a large 2-story rabbit hutch like the kind Finney once saw on his grandfathers farm years and years ago, painted red and white with a little wire fence on the floor where Al had put out big piles of hay. Inside the hutch Finney could just about see the white fluff of Snowball snoozing away and stuck his fingers through the lattice wire, hoping the movement would get her attention.

“Hey what's up with that phone cord?” Finney pointed to the wall where a shiny black rotary phone was mounted, the cable line cut through like someone had either tried to saw it apart with a butter-knife or gnawed right through.

“Snowball got hold of it and chewed up the damn thing, so it doesn't work anymore. Sometimes it still rings though, damn near gave me a heart attack yesterday.” Max eyed it warily, like he half expected it to ring on principle alone.

The oddest thing in the whole room, aside from the disconnected phone, was a big lumpy...something, covered up by a blue tarp that Albert had put big bags of animal feed all around – like he was trying to wall the whole thing off. At first he thought it was just a pallet of the same feed, the sort you'd get at the hardware store, but Finney could see an odd series of rusty metal bolts beneath the tarp that suggested whatever was underneath had been permanently affixed to the concrete flooring. There was rust staining the concrete all around it and Finney thought it must've been installed here a very long time ago. He reached to peer under the tarp but Max quickly snatched his hand away, a nervous look on his face.

“HEY UH...I bet Al would let you feed the rabbit!” His voice cracked unsteadily and he stepped between the tarped something and Finney, not so subtly nudging him away.

Albert stood on the bottom of the stairs, the faint light from the wire wall sconces glinting off him at odd angles and casting uncanny shadows over his face. For a moment Finney swore it wasn't even Albert's face at all, something twisted and strange with a too-wide permanent grin, but then he came down off the last step and the shadows faded away. There was a soft smile on his face, something a little...melancholy. Finney wanted to hold his hand and make him feel better about whatever it was that left Albert looking so wrong.

“Would you like to, Finney?”

He nodded. “Yes please.”

Max stood by the definitely not a pallet of rabbit food tarp, nervously picking at the skin around his nails and staring very hard at the open door to the basement. It was a massive steel thing that looked more like something off an industrial walk-in cooler than what belonged in someones home and Finney thought maybe it was so sounds from above wouldn't scare the rabbit. He was wrong, but couldn't possibly have known that.

“Max, you can go upstairs. It's alright.”

Normally Max would offer to help out his brother, but the crawling sensation beneath his skin was making him what to rip his own fingernails out at the root. He tried not to take the steps two at a time and instead walk up to the kitchen like a normal well adjusted grown man...Max just barely managed it and Finney watched with open bewilderment as the man practically bolted up the stairs. Best not to ask, he thought.

Albert approached the big metal tool closet pushed off to one side, shiny red with silver fastenings, and Finney caught sight of some of the props Al had used at the magic show. Al caught him staring and laughed softly at the expression of open eagerness on his face, then reached into one drawer and held out the top-hat for Finney to take. The first thing Finney did was reach inside, try to feel around for the false bottom he knew must be hidden somewhere, and drew his hand out in disappointment when he couldn't find it.

“It's magnetic.” Al explained and brandished the black and white wand he'd used at the party. He brought the white tip of it along the outside of the velvet hat and Finney watched a series of metal disks unsnap inside the lining.

When he reached his hand back in Finney was able to feel several pocket-like compartments inside the lining of the hat. “That's sneaky.”

“No, that's magic.”

Finney grinned up at him, plopping the hat atop his own head just to be cheeky and it earned him a warm laugh in return. Albert reached out with an amused smile on his face as he plucked it from Finney's head, then ever so gently brushed the curly hair back from his forehead before placing the hat back on. “There we go.”

Oh. Oh he wanted the man to do that again. That felt nice and his hands where so soft, but Albert looked flustered and aburptly spun on his heel to dig out a little bag of rabbit treats from another drawer.

“What about when you reached your whole arm in? Was there a hole in the table?”

“Something like that, yes. There's a sliding panel on the bottom of the tabletop that folds down. If I turned the table around you could see it clearly...so of course I don't.” He grinned teasingly over his shoulder at Finney as he unlatched the rabbit hutch. “I'll show you sometime, if you'd like.”

He nodded eagerly, more because he liked the idea of coming over to visit again then really caring about magic tricks. Finney liked it when Al was explaining how it all worked though,liked how the man spoke to him like he wasn't a total dumbass the way his father often did. He watched in great interest as Albert crouched down before the open hutch door, made himself small and spoke very very softly to the dozing rabbit inside. He beckoned Finney over and the boy carefully crouched down beside him, trying to be quiet too.

Snowball stretched out her fluffy little paws and let out a big yawn that showed her long teeth. It was sorta gross seeing inside a rabbits mouth, but she was so cute that Finney didn't mind. He minded even less when Albert tipped a few little treats into Finney's palm, then gently took his wrist to guide his hand into the hutch. Immediately Snowball turned to sniff at his fingertips, just like she had a few weeks ago at the party, and thumped her back foot in eagerness.

“Is that good or bad?” Finney asked in a stage whisper.

“She likes you.”

“I think she just likes whatever these treat thingys are.”

Al smiled crookedly, hand still around Finney's wrist. “It's just apple and grains, honey to hold it all together. You could eat them too.”

“Gross. No way.” He laughed, shooting the man a disbelieving look.

Finney tried to stay focused on the delicate brush of Snowball's little whiskers, the ticklish velveteen of her pink nose, but the soft grip of the mans hand around his wrist felt impossible to ignore. Al was barely even touching him, his fingers just loosely around Finney's arm, and still the heat of him at Finney's side was like standing beneath the blaring sun. He didn't want to go home, he wanted to stay here in the basement and feed Snowball little rabbit treats or even just talk to Max for a while. He wanted to stay with Albert so badly he felt like crying.

Al reached over and plucked one of the treats from his palm. They really where just lumpy little balls of stuff, mashed up apples and oats with sticky sweet honey, and when Albert was sure he had Finney's attention....he popped the treat right into his mouth. Predictably that made Finney laugh in surprise, scrunch up his round nose in comical disgust. Truthfully these things weren't all that bad, sorta stale and definitely not for human consumption, but not awful and the sight of Finney's pale face going red in his laughter made it worth taking a bite.

It was dark, well after Finney had left for home, by the time Max came slinking into the living room and took a seat at the end of the sofa. The flickering blue light of the television lit up the room a sickly pale color and Al tensed, staring blankly at the television while he waited for Max to say his peace.

“Al...”

“What's up?” He aimed for sounding casual as glanced over at where his brother sat. A look of open concern on Max's thin face.

“He's 16.”

“Who's 16?” Albert turned back to the television set, some random horror movie was airing but he hardly paid attention. A bloody hand reached from the depths of a bathtub while a woman dressed in a ridiculous frilly nightgown stared on in horror. It really wasn't that scary at all.

“Albert come the fuck on, don't do this to me right now. I'm trying...I'm trying to be serious.”

Al loved his brother like he'd never loved anyone before, had done things to keep Max safe that he'd hoped the other man would never find out about. Nights spent down in the basement with their father and that dirty mattress on the floor, anything to keep Max from knowing what the naughty boy game really was. The way Max looked at him now made Al feel a little sick. Max acted like a big goofy idiot damn near 99% of the time and the other 1% was spent with drugs scrambling his brain so he could forget the sound of Albert's wailing echoing up from the basement.

“I don't know what you want me to say.” Al reached over and flicked the knob on the TV set, turning the volume all the way down.

“Say you didn't look at him the way you did.” Max pleaded.

“I don't know what you mean.”

“Yes! Yes you do! You can't do this Al. I know...I know dad did fucked up shit. I know you didn't want me to know and I am sorry. I'm really really sorry. But you can't do that to someone else.”

Al leaned back into the couch cushions, his breath coming out in shallow wheezes as he gripped the edge of the seat so tight he felt his knuckles pop. “I haven't done anything to anyone. To Finney.”

“You want to! You want to though, I saw it on your face and Finney...”

Albert stumbled to his feet, chest heaving as he felt the rise of suffocating panic – tried to remember what that therapist had told him about deep breaths but it wasn't working. Samson stood with him, pacing frantically around the living room while letting out pathetic little whimpers. “Finney WHAT? Just say it Max! Say what you really mean for once in your goddamn life.”

“That kid looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky and you know it. If you did something you can tell me and we'll get you help, okay? I wanna help you like you help me. You can't try to make some kid into a queer because you're lonely.”

Max was right in a lot of ways, wrong in several others. Finney was already queer well before Albert Shaw ever came into his life and nothing would have changed that, just like Al was a queer before their father ever....But to Max anything his brother felt was a product of their fathers' actions. Not an organic sexuality, not just a part of who Al was as a person, and that meant Max sometimes said things like fix and help. He was a gay man in the 70's, Al knew full well what that meant to a lot of people and they where all wrong.

It wasn't that perverted old gay men where luring kids away, because those men weren't gay at all.

Albert knew that stuff like...like those guys who where into little kids wasn't a sexuality, definitely not in the way being straight or gay or anything else is, it was some kinda disorder. Some sexual dysfunction. He wasn't sure and didn't care about the specifics, only knew that he didn't have it. He'd never once looked at little kids that way, didn't notice anything about them outside of the vague recognition that some are ugly little goblins and others are destined to grow into supermodels or something. Most of the time they where too loud and too energetic to deal with even when he was being paid for the trouble.

He didn't like Finney because he was 16, he liked Finney in spite of it. Which he thought was probably worse.

“How...how could you say that...” Al stared hard at the carpet where the smudgy little shoe-print Finney left behind stared back at him. He felt the prickling swell of tears gather and heard Max curse apologetically.

“Shit no, Al. I'm sorry, that was fucked up. What dad did, that isn't why-”

“I can tell you all about it, if that would make you happy.”

He felt the heavy drape of something terrible fall across his shoulders, that same dark compulsion that made him look at weak little boys like Griffin and wonder if they could have survived the game too. He didn't think they'd make it very long, their father had been a relentless tormentor. Albert had barely made it out alive by having to scratch and claw his way to freedom. Then he grew up and filled the basement up with clutter and supplies and a soft fluffy rabbit so he'd stop looking at every child and wonder which ones could've made it out alive too.

Whatever Max saw in his eyes made the man recoil against the sofa cushions, but Albert didn't let up. “You wanna talk about dad so fucking badly? Alright, I'll tell you about dad.”

“No. No I didn't mean that. I know it's fucked up to say that and I'm sorry. I'm an idiot, okay? I'm no good at this sexuality stuff.”

“If dad made me a queer it's because I was just trying to keep him away from you. I let him fuck me so he wouldn't fuck you and I guess that turned me into a dirty old faggot, right Maxxy? The last shit therapist I saw thought I was going to hell, do you?”

Samson was starting to bark, circling Albert's legs and trying to corral him away from where Max sat plastered to sofa with wide dark eyes. “Albert stop. I'm sorry! Of course I don’t think that, I am so fucking sorry. I didn't mean it.”

“You did though, at least a little. You wouldn't have thought it at all if you didn't mean it. You wouldn't think I did something to Finney if you didn't believe at least some part of that.”

Before Max could reply, Al was hunching down on the balls of his feet to look him dead in the eye. “So why dont'cha tell me, Max?”

“..Wh-what?” He croaked weakly, scrambling back to press as far from Albert's looming presence as he could.

“Tell me what I want to do to him”

He shook his head frantically. “I didn't mean it!”

“It's okay, because you're right. I really do like how he looks at me. I like the sunburn across his nose and the way he looks wearing my clothes. I like the way sunshine reflects in his eyes, turns the brown all warm and bright. Do you wanna know something, Max? I wanted to kiss him the first time I saw him. Isn't that just awful?”

Max shoved him away and tumbled to his feet, pointing accusingly at him. “STOP IT. Just...fuck. Al c'mon I didn't come here for this, to fight with you!”

“No. You came here to tell me I'm a faggot and I'm going to hell and I'm turning a teenager gay.”

For a long long moment Max just stared back at him, feeling so very lost as he stood there in the glowing light of the television that casting sickly shadows across their angry faces. Then he stepped forward and pulled Albert into a tight hug, arms around his shoulders as he clung to the baggy pullover he wore. Al broke then, hands coming around Max to clutch at him in desperation. He wanted to cry, to scream, to wall up the basement and never look down there ever again.

“I'm sorry.” Max said wetly, his forehead pressing into Al's shoulder. “I am...so sorry.”

Al was sorry too, but he didn't know how to put it into words. He was sorry that their father was a piece of shit, that Max had grown up getting hurt and hearing Al being hurt in different ways. He was sorry that he sometimes went down to the basement and smashed his head over and over and over into the grimy concrete wall just to feel something for a little while. He was sorry that when he looked at Finney he wanted so badly it hurt.

Keep looking at me like that and I'll give you my life. Just let me just look at you. All I'll do is look.

Finney wore those beat up sweatpants and faded band tee for far longer than was reasonable. He spent that first night bringing the collar of the shirt up to nose and breathing in that cloying scent of....

Anyway. He knew he'd have to go back at some point to return Albert's clothes, but part of him considered trying to keep them for an eternity and hope the man forgot. The other part wanted to go back every single day just to see him again, to look. Just to look. To watch the flutter of his hair as it fell around his face and memorize the little wrinkles at the corner of his eyes...I'm so fucking stupid. He didn't know how old Albert was, but Max looked somewhere in his late 30's so he guessed Albert must be in his 40's. Maybe even pushing 50.

The thought of that shouldn't appeal to him so goddamn much, but Finney was well past the point of trying to analyze his neuroses. He'd started at the beginning, with the very first time Terrance ever hit him, and had to admit that there was most definitely...something about father figures. Wasn't that just peachy? Wasn't that just super normal and totally well adjusted? Finney thought, in his darker moments, about telling his dad that every time he ever gave Finney a whoopin' with that belt he was really just getting his son ready to have a crush a man his fathers age.

He would never say that aloud, at least not to his dad, but he liked to think it in his most vicious fantasies. See? You where right! I am a fag and the guy I like is your age, it's all your fault.

Finney kept Albert's clothes for nearly two weeks before his father found them folded up under his bed. When he came home from swimming at the lake he wasn't expecting to find his father waiting for him in his bedroom. Wasn't expecting Albert's clothes to be clenched tightly in one big meaty fist as his father stood shaking with boiling rage, his eyes dark and furious. A terrible cold dread slid down Finney's spine as he stood rooted to the spot.

“Where'd you get these.”

“I can explain! I fell in the stream and a guy helped me out, he gave me clothes to change into an-”

The bulk of Terrance's palm smacked across Finney's cheek with a loud smack that brought tears to his eyes. “Don't you lie to me boy! What the fuck have you been doing, you foolin' around with some guy? Sure as hell ain't girl's clothes you got under that bed.”

“N-no. It wasn't like that, he just helped me out when I was in trouble. I was gonna wash the stuff and give it back!”

Terrance was untying the leather belt from around his waist, rolling the ends around his fist so the fat metal buckle was dangling out. Glinting and pale in the light. Finney thought of the shiny red button's on Al's magician getup. He thought of Snowball's black beady eyes and Samson's big drooly tongue lolled out as he dolefully woofed when Finney had to leave for home. Max had been so nice, let him have a Sprite and nibble on a bag of chips while his clothes tumbled in the dryer.

“Shirt off. Turn around and face the wall.”

Finney shook his head 'no', fists clenched at his sides as he stood staring his father down. Trembling and as frightened as he'd ever been, more than being pushed around at school or chased down that dead-end road. Terrance stomped over and gripped the hem of Finney's shirt, tugging it high up his back as he shoved him around to face the faded wallpaper lining his bedroom walls. For the first time in all his life Finney struggled, wriggling around hard enough that he heard the rip of a seam where his father bunched the bulk of his shirt in one fist.

“HOLD STILL. Oh you're gonna get it boy. You wanna play around with some guy? You out there suckin' cock like the little fag you are?” Terrance shook him by the scruff of his shirt hard enough it made Finney nauseous.“I told Hopper to be tougher on that boy of his, now his son's off doing god knows what with that boy and I sure as hell ain't gonna let my son end up like that.”

Terrance shoved until Finney hit the wall, hands outstretched to catch himself but Finney felt his nose crack against the plaster. He didn't have a moment to recover before his father brought the belt down across his back with a resounding CRACK. The metal buckle clattered against the blade of his shoulder and Finney's vision went fuzzy, white with pain. Sometimes this punishment was a smack or two of the leather against his skin, other times the buckle was used when Finney was really in trouble, but his father had never done it quite like this.

There was an anger here that Finney had ever seen before, not even in the worst of his fathers prior fits. If he thought the boys from school where gonna kill him before, he was certain his father would now.

Distantly he heard the phone ring, no doubt Gwennie calling from summer camp as she did at least twice a week, and he took the split second of his fathers distraction to bolt out from his reach. Finney scrambled around the kitchen counter, his bare feet sliding on the kitchen tile as he went flying out the back door. Finney hopped right over the backyard fence into his neighbors yard and kept going through the neighborhood that way – jumping one fence then the next so his father couldn't spot him from the road. Fear and adrenaline pushing him forward as fast as he could go.

Terrance wouldn't say anything to Gwen, certainly nothing that would make him look as bad as he really was, he'd play the part of a good father just like he did when he signed her up for summer camp. Then he'd wait up all night for Finney to try and sneak back inside. Would sit there in the living room drinking himself to hell and back just waiting, but Finney didn't plan on going home ever again. Not if he could help it.

He ran and ran and ran until his lungs burned and the sharp pain of raw skin stretching at his back made him double over and heave up at the edge of the road. Sweat clung to his brow and flattened the curl of his hair against his forehead, the taste of bile lingering on his tongue making Finney dry heave and spit into the grass. He leaned heavily against the wall of the old drugstore, heaving in big gulps of air as the grit of brick prickled against his palms. For a brief moment Finney considered going inside to get something to drink, something to wash the disgusting taste from his mouth. But the old man working the counter might call up his father and then he'd be shit out of luck.

Panting and trembling he caught the dark gleam of a big black van parked across the street, the one with Abracadabra printed across the sides. Max had said something about 'work being busy at the hardware store', hadn't he? Finney was already half way across the street, painful hope bubbling in his chest and the sharp sting of gravel digging into the bottom of his bare feet. He thought of blue eyes and sandy hair with streaks of gray, of the little upturn in Al's brow that made him look permanently worried. The lines around his eyes, the corner of his mouth. He thought of good boy and how much he'd loved the cloying scent that clung to the mans clothes, the ones his father had been clutching like he wanted to tear Finney apart.

Suddenly this wasn't a game of make-believe anymore, he wasn't standing in Albert Shaw's kitchen clumsily flirting with the man under the watchful eye of his own brother. If Al was just fucking around with him...well he was about to find out, but Finney could feel a pull in his gut that drew him forward.

This was for real now, but he wasn't afraid.

The hardware store was comically empty. Just the buzzing of overhead lights and the faintly tinny thrum of the radio set atop the checkout counter;

If you're all alone, when the pretty birds have flown.
Honey, I'm still free.

Finney walked in a daze along the counter, lightly trailing his hand atop it and collecting the silky fine grain of wood dust on his fingers. The endless hum and glare of too-white lights made his head hurt so he shut his eyes against the throbbing in his skull. From outside Finney heard the rush of cars, wondered if one of them was his dad driving up-and-down the street looking for him. When he wiped the back of his hand across his nose it came away red and he could taste the dried blood on his lips.

So much that I wanna do, when I dream I'm alone with you.

It's magic.

You want me to leave it there-

He paused when the whir of a buzz saw clicked on somewhere in the far back of the building and followed the sound through the isles, leaving behind little bare footprints in the accumulated sawdust. It stung terribly and Finney had the distant hysterical thought that he'd have to dig the gravel out with pliers. There was another radio going in the back room, playing loud enough to be heard above the roar of the saw as Albert stood hunched over the machinery – carefully guiding a massive plank of wood through the whirring blade.

If you change your mind, I'm the first in line.

Honey, I'm still free.

Take a chance on me.

It was fascinating to watch, detached and distant as Finney felt in the moment. The pull of muscles in the mans forearms, the swing of the short ponytail he'd tied his hair into, each little strand that fell around his face and caught in the arm of the work goggles he wore. For the first time he noticed the faint dusting of hair up the mans forearms, the light shadow of stubble along his jawline. He wanted to reach out and touch but knew better than to grab at someone wielding a saw, so instead he stood at the doorway and watched until Albert tensed – no doubt feeling his eyes on him.

If you've got no place to go,

If you're feeling down.

Al stepped on a peddle beneath the saw and hit a big red button on the cord dangling from the rafters, shutting off the machinery with a deafening silence, then pushed the goggles up into his hair. He let out a startled breath at the sight of Finney standing there barefoot, blood on his skin and sweat dripping down his face. Tear tracks leaving his cheeks red and blotchy. Finney had a moment of sudden self-consciousness, the realization that he must look like a total mess, but then Albert stepped forward in one jerking motion like he wanted to reach out but thought better of it.

“Jesus.” Al breathed out, pulling off the thick work gloves he'd been wearing and letting them fall with a whump onto the floor. “Finney?”

Finney hadn't realized just how much he'd been trembling until Al tentatively put both hands on his shoulders, crouching before him and looking into his eyes. All at one everything hit and Finney gasped, a horrible tremulous sound, and the tears started falling. He felt suffocated, the air too thick, too heavy for his lungs to take in as he sobbed. It all hurt so much and he felt so stupid standing there in his dirty clothes and covered in sweat with a foul taste in his mouth.

“I...I cant go home.”

Albert lifted him up under the arms and onto a cleared work table, stepping between his knees when Finney gripped tight onto the front of his shirt.

A look of sheer panic crossed his face when Al made to step away so he didn't, put a hand on Finney's cheek and tried to catch the boys eye. A hot brand of worry throbbed in his chest, Finney's eyes where distant and wild, unfocused. “Okay, okay. You're alright.”

Finney heaved in warbling uneven breaths, trying so hard to focus on those bright spots of blue. “No no no no. I can't go back, I can't.”

He blindly threw his arms around Al's middle, forehead pressing into the mans chest as he trembled and cried. Albert reached out to put an arm around the boys shoulders and Finney flinched away, yelping in pain.

Al stepped back, startled, a darkly understanding look crossing his face. “Finney, what happened? Let me see.”

For a moment he hesitated and thought about saying no, if he really didn't want to he thought Albert might not push him, but...He whined as he raised the back of his tee-shirt and felt the pull of where fabric had started to stick into the oozing wounds. He caught the look of blind anger that crossed Al's face as he reached out with gentle fingers, tracing the pale white lines of old scars on Finney's skin.

“Who?” His voice was flat, a rough scratch to it that Finney thought he might like under different circumstances.

“My dad...” Finney debated telling the truth, the whole truth. About the clothes, about liking boys and girls. Albert, even though he wasn't supposed to. Then he considered lying and saying this had never happened before, but the darkness that fell over the mans face changed his mind. “He found your clothes under my bed and said I was a faggot. I am, I guess. But he got really mad, madder than he normally gets.”

Albert was quiet, staring hard at the dripping red lines across Finney's back before he stood and shut off the radio, disappeared off into the front of the store to lock the doors and turn the sign to closed. Finney watched the lights flicker off one-by-one as Albert made his way back, hooking a big keyring around the belt-loop of his trousers. Then Albert reached for him, easily hoisting Finney up with one arm underneath him and made for the 'employee's only' door.

“C'mon. Let's get you cleaned up.”

“Again?” He said in a weak attempt at humor, winding his arms around the mans shoulders, but was rewarded by the faint smile Al gave him and Finney thought to kiss him if they weren't in public.

Finney hissed at the press of Al's fingers at his back and the man murmured softly to him, placating as he worked some herbal smelling goop into his skin. Antiseptic of some sort, Finney assumed. It stung and felt weirdly cold, but was made bearable by it being Al who was touching him. Truthfully he should probably take a shower, but getting to wash the blood off his face had been a relief. Albert even let him use an unopened toothbrush to wash the disgusting taste from his mouth.

“I'm sorry, I got you in an awful lot of trouble didn't I?” Al said, voice quiet. An uncharacteristic distance in his words like his mind was very far away.

“No. My dad would've done this no matter what, he always finds a reason...did yours?”

Albert hummed thoughtfully, glancing up at where Finney was craning to see over his shoulder. “You're too smart for your own good.”

“Nah. If I was smart I'd keep my head down and shut up and not put grown men's clothes under my bed.”

Al snorted a self-depreciating laugh. “Ah well, maybe grown men shouldn't involve themselves quite so much in your life.”

“Probably not. But I like it when it's you.” He said honestly, pulling his knee's to his chest and resting his chin atop them. This was getting dangerously close to the stuff they'd been very much avoiding.

Albert's hand flinched a little and he paused before touching him again, trying his best not to press too hard on the bruise blooming fresh on Finney's back. “You...shouldn't say that.”

Samson sniffed curiously at the hand Finney offered him, then delicately licked at his fingertips. A doleful look in his big brown eyes. “Yeah, I know.”

The kitchen clock tick tick ticked and for a good while the only sounds where it and the gentle wuffing breath of the big dog sniffing about at what Al and Finney where up to. He heard Al screw the cap back on the jar of antiseptic and stand to set it on the coffee table.

Finney held his knee's a little tighter. “I was gonna keep it, y'know.”

“Hm?”

Finney stayed where he was, sitting sideways on the couch so Albert could clean out the blood and grime on his skin. He wasn't sure if he'd be made to go home yet or if Al would let him stay the night, even if all he did was sleep on the sofa.

“Your clothes.”

“Finney...” His voice had gone wavering and unsteady, a hint of warning like Albert was trying to put up a fight for the both of them.

“I liked that they smelled like you.”

Albert stood there with hands fisted at his sides, swaying forward a little like he wanted to get closer but was working very hard not to. “That's...that's not appropriate”

He shifted, cheek on his knees so he could see Al looking down at him with those intense eyes. “It's not. I know that, but I'm gonna tell you something else that's even worse.”

He should stop this conversation, he should've stopped it right away and called the police so they could get Finney far far away from Denver. From his father and Albert himself. But he listened with rapt attention, a fluttering in his chest as Finney peered over his crossed arms at where Al stood just an arms length away. He wanted to know. He wanted to never heard the words Finney was about to say. He wanted to take Terrance by the scruff and lock him in the basement just to see how long that man would survive, if he would.

Albert thought he could make that man scream just like his own daddy had done to him and Max.

“I wore your clothes every night because they where soft and smelled like you and I liked the idea of having something of yours. Of getting my smell all over it.” Finney wouldn't have said this to anyone else, couldn't have brought himself to even try, but something about Al made him feel impossibly brave. Thrilled by the idea of sharing the darkest parts of himself with this strange man. “I wasn't gonna give them back all gross though, so I was going to wash them when dad wasn't home. But I just...laid there all night, thinking stuff.”

Albert's nails clawed into the meat of his palm he watched Finney shuffle around on the sofa, turned his head away as a blush heated his cheeks. Make him stop. Be a good man and make him stop. But he didn't. He wasn't.

“I thought about kissing you, how you'd probably let me if I asked...”

Oh god he's right, I would. I would and he knows it. He's known the whole fucking time. It's not a game anymore, was it ever?

“...and if you'd let me do other things.” Finney muttered.

Albert dropped heavily onto the couch, a respectable distance away as if he could make up for all the times he wasn't, and leaned back against the cushions in some semblance of control. As if every word out of Finney's mouth didn't make him fevered, hot in his work clothes.

“Finney, you don't have to tell me this.” You shouldn't tell me this.

“So I was laying there thinking about it. Wearing your clothes and thinking about it, and I just started touching mysel-”

Albert tilted his head back with a huff, eyes screwed shut as he tried to catch a breath. Tried not to imagine Finney with his hand down the front of those cheapy gray sweatpants. Al gripped the fabric of his trousers in both fists, twisted as tight as he could so he wouldn't reach out for him instead. He wasn't a good man, not where Finney was concerned. A good man wouldn't have let Finney go on like this, wouldn't have wanted him to. A good man wouldn't cave and reach out to drag Finney in by the waist, wouldn't have pulled him onto his lap so the boy could feel the painful hardness that was making Al groan.

“Oh.” Finney said in an small awed voice. Albert wanted to catch it coming from his mouth just as much as he wanted to crack his own skull open.

“Fuck, fuck. M'sorry.” The worst part is, Al really was.

Finney dared to reach out and put his hands on Albert's shoulders, balancing himself astride the mans lap. He'd wondered what this would feel like, to have Al hard against him. Good, he decided. It felt good even through the scratch of his jeans. Curious and daring he tried to grind down against his lap, was rewarded when Albert's hands flew to his hips and held Finney still where he sat with his legs on either side of him. His eyes where blown out and dark, just a thin ring of pale blue around black, a pathetic desperation there as he searched the boys face.

“This is...I shouldn't let this happen.” That was true, he shouldn't. But he was.

With his big hands still around Finney's slender hips he directed him on how to grind down against his lap, how to move in a rhythm that quickly made Finney start to pant and drop his cheek against the mans shoulder. The puff of hot breath tickling the hair that tumbled around Al's throat.

“But I like it.”

“I know you do, but you'd like anything someone did that made you feel good.”

“That's not true.” Finney said sharply, a hurt coming through in his voice. “I hate it when other people touch me, but I like it when you do. Because I like you.”

Al jerked his hips up against where Finney was spread in his lap, earned a little moan from the boy that left him feeling lightheaded. It's been a long time since Albert could get off on stuff like this, just dry humping on another boys thigh. Two gay kids furtively kissing behind the school dumpsters, rubbing each other off in between classes because when you're sixteen even a strong breeze can make you cum. It's been a while since he could get off real easy like that, but he thought he might be able to now if Finney kept making those sounds. If he kept panting against Al's throat and squirming in his lap.

“Can I kiss you?” Finney asked and Albert knew that agreeing was as good as walking to his own death.

If they started this he couldn't go back, couldn't pretend to be an upstanding citizen and not hopelessly adoring of this boy. He couldn't ever go back to not knowing what it felt like when Finney brought their lips together – clumsy and inexperienced but terribly sweet. Finney was eager and readily followed when Albert held his jaw and tilted their mouths together in a way that made Finney scramble closer. Finney wanted so badly, pressed harder against him just to try and feel some ounce of relief.

“Again.” Finney said, brown eyes wide as he stared up at Albert with a wild neediness.

Finney asked for another kiss, and another, then another and then he started to frustratingly squirm aside Al's lap and the man realized this wasn't going to be enough for either of them.

“More?”

“Christ, Finney.” He brought their foreheads together, felt the brush of soft curls against his cheek when Finney pressed a little kiss to the corner of his lips. Sweet.

“Al?”

He thought Albert might kiss him again but the man just held onto his waist, keeping Finney still when he desperately tried to squirm in his lap. Wanting. Wanting. Wanting. He liked the attention, liked Al's bright eyes focused on the blush trailing down his throat, and so he cornered his rising bravado enough to start undoing the fly of his jeans.

Albert went stone still, watching in rapt attention as Finney pulled his jeans and boxers off at the same time. He'd never been naked in front of anyone that wasn't his own family and found that he wasn't nearly as embarrassed as he'd been expecting. Maybe it was because he liked when Al looked at him this way, like he was a starving man in a desert and Finney was the only oasis. Maybe he was just feeling brave and bold and hopelessly aroused. Either way he kicked his clothes to the floor and settled back astride the mans lap.

“Ohhhh. Oh Finney.” Albert's voice cracked, a lilting cadence similar to that of the playful magician, but his tone was low and rasping. Hungry. He reached out and grabbed hold of Finney's thigh, hand sliding higher and higher as he spoke “You are a good boy, arent'cha?”

“Uh-Huh.” He nodded frantically, wriggling impatiently as Al's hand skirted up and down his leg. He was so hard it nearly hurt but the man pointedly refused to touch him, a crooked smile on his handsome face. Finney huffed a little, frustrated, and wrapped a hand around his cock instead.

He thought this might push Al into doing something more, but he simply leaned back enough so he could eagerly watch the lazy way Finney jerked himself off. “Is that what you did when you wore my clothes? Did you cum like this, Finney?”

“Y-yeah...” He whined, jerking up into his own fist then squirming back down against the hardness of Albert's cock. Finney reached out for the sleek dark belt around the mans waist and tugged impatiently. “Off?”

Albert untucked his work-shirt from his trousers and carefully pulled the belt free, moving slow enough that Finney could ask him to stop if he really wanted to. He didn't. He just watched eagerly, hands grasping the mans shoulders to lift himself up and out of the way when Al slid his trousers down to his knees. Al was bigger than him, but Finney wanted to touch so badly that he just reached out to put his hand around the mans cock. Watching Albert's face for some indication he was doing it right.

He ground out a curse and jerked up into Finney's hand, reaching out to rake his fingers through his curly hair. Albert's voice was strained and breathy when he spoke “You ever do this with other boys?”

Finney shook his head 'no', fascinated by the drag of his own hand over the mans thick cock. It looked too big to do what he'd been thinking of for weeks now and told Albert just as much. “You're too big, you won't fit.”

Albert choked out a wheeze and thrust up into his fist again. A lazy roll of his broad hips. “Fit? Do you know what you're saying?”

“I tried to fuck my fingers when I thought about you.” He said bluntly, grabbing the mans wrist to bring his hand around to the back of his thigh. “I couldn't reach very well but I pretended you where doing it.”

“Open...open your mouth.” Albert held his hand up, slipped two fingers inside when Finney opened his mouth like he'd asked. He pressed down on the boys tongue, enthralled by the sight. You're going to hell, old man.

Finney didn't cry out like Albert thought he might, this had been uncomfortable the first time he'd done it with someone else after all. Instead Finney bore down on the press of his fingers, a dazed unfocused look in his eyes that was nothing at all like when he'd been standing terrified in the hardware store. It was a satisfied, almost drunken, sort of look as he tilted his head back to stare up at the ceiling while rocking shallowly against the slight intrusion inside of himself. Al leaned forward, pressed his mouth against the pale expanse of Finney's throat.

“AH.” He mewled when Albert found and gently stroked against a soft bundle of nerves inside of him. “It didn't feel like this when I did it. It's better when you do it. A lot better.”

That was the truth, when Finney had tried this a few days ago he'd found the entire thing wholly disappointing and not at all worth the effort. When Al did this it was good. So so good. He draped his arms around the mans shoulders and pulled his hair from the little ponytail it was still tied up in. As soon as Al's hair was free, Finney took it in his fist and pulled.

“More.”

Albert groaned loudly, letting his head lull back as Finney threaded his fingers into his hair again. “ I could fuck you so hard you scream and you'll still ask for more won't you?”

“Yes. That. I wanna do that.” He babbled, caught between wanting to lean into the press of the mans fingers inside him and jerk into the hand Albert put around his cock. It was too many good things all at once and Finney couldn't decide which way to move. “Please?”

Fuck. FUCK. Just the slightest push of his cock had Finney scrambling at Al's shoulders, wanting and anxious at the same time. Albert wanted this to be good for him, to be good like it hadn't been for himself, and gripped Finney's hip to try and keep him still. His other hand went around his own length and squeezed just a little too tight – trying not to shoot off embarrassingly quickly with Finney wriggling against the head of his cock like this.

“Finney we can stop. We can stop whenever you want, okay? We don't have to and I won't be mad if you ask me not to.”

He shook his head, a desperate needy look on his face. “NO. No don't stop! I want it, I really do.”

Finney was frustrated with the fevered ache he felt rising low in his belly, with the clawing urge for something he couldn't put words to, and started to try and bear down further on his cock. Whining pitifully when Albert held him still.

“I'll make it good okay? It'll be so good, I promise. Just be patient or you'll hurt yourself.”

Al sat him down on the couch cushion, much to Finney's disapproval, then dropped to his knee's between Finney's legs. He reached out for Al with greedy fingers, trying to pull the man back in. “No no come back.”

“Hush it's alright, I promise. I won't make you do anything you won't like.”

At first all Al did was run his hands along the inside of his thighs, encouraging Finney to relax from the fevered heights he'd been chasing, and that felt near impossible with how desperate he felt. Desperate for this man to touch him where it mattered, to give him anything at all to make the burning in his gut lessen. When his weak panting finally calmed Albert leaned forward and took the head of his cock into his mouth, immediately all that heat came crashing back like fire licking at Finney's skin. He'd thought having Al's hand on him was good, but this was so much better.

“Oh fuck.” He panted, reaching out to tangle his fingers in the fall of sandy hair around Albert's face and tried not to rudely push further into his mouth. It was hot and wet and so good it felt like he was going to die like this.

Slowly, so slowly, Al took more and more of him in – his hand around the base of his own cock to stave off the urge to cum just like this. Finney tugged on his hair again and was rewarded with the man letting out a low hum, an amused look in his bright eyes when Finney started grabbing at the couch cushions. If Al kept doing this he'd come so fast it'd be embarrassing, but Al sure as hell didn't seem to mind his sensitive squirming.

Albert slid an arm under his thigh and pulled Finney's leg right up over one broad shoulder, visibly pleased when it made Finney gasp and jerk up into his mouth. Al kept a hand under his thigh, fingers digging into his skin, and Finney had to bite down on his knuckles to keep from crying out too loudly. This was going to end so goddamn fast and he tried not be ashamed about it, but he couldn't last. He couldn't, not with this man swallowing around his cock and running that big hand up and down his thigh. Letting Finney tangle his fingers into his hair and pull all he liked.

“Al please, please. I'm gonna cum if you keep doing that.”

He hooked both arms under Finney's knees, pulling him almost flat on the sofa and took as much of his cock as he could fit into his mouth. Finney shouted and the man let him jerk up into his mouth as he came, swallowed all of it even though Finney wasn't sure that would taste very good at all. He kept going even after Finney came, swirling his tongue around the head of his softening cock until Finney couldn't stand the oversensitivity anymore. But Al was still hard, still sloppily gripping himself as he panted against the skin of Finney's knee.

“Come back” Finney asked. Pleaded. He wanted this man inside him so badly he thought he'd combust if he didn't get it.

There was a moment where it looked like Albert might refuse, but he shakily pulled himself up onto the sofa and Finney swung his leg over the mans lap again, balancing on his knees so the head of the mans cock was just barely pressing against him again. He felt boneless and good, half hard still and so hot it burned beneath his skin. Albert ran his palm up and down the flank of his thigh, watching with perilous adoration.

“If you tell me to stop, I'll stop.”

“Please.” Finney tugged at the hem of Al's work-shirt until he could get his fingers underneath, press his palm against the fluttering muscle of the mans stomach. Albert let him unbutton his shirt all the way, until it hung loosely off his shoulders and Finney leaned in to press his mouth against the dip of his throat.

Big hands held his waist as Al pushed up into him, slow slow slow. Inch by agonizingly good inch and Finney clawed in desperation at the mans skin, felt the lovely heat of him everywhere all at once. When there was hardly anymore space left between them he dropped roughly onto the mans cock, took him in as far as he could all at once, and Albert cried out for him. Gathered his body against his chest and held Finney there as he shallowly thrust up into him. Trying to be slow, to be gentle and sweet.

Was this why people didn't want Finney to do this? Because it was so wonderfully good? Everyone made this out to be something terrible and painful, like an awful burden that would rip him apart, but they were wrong and stupid and wrong wrong wrong. There was fullness and warmth and when Al tilted his hips just the right way his cock slammed against that spot inside of him that left Finney gasping. Made him plead for more and more until he planted his hands against Albert's chest and started bouncing himself the best he could.

“Fucking hell, Finney.” He heaved out on a panting breath and Albert reached out to push the curly hair back from his brow, tender and adoring as he pressed his lips against Finney's forehead.

“You're so big.” He whined, not knowing how else to word the feeling of this man inside him. “So big.”

“But you're a good boy taking it. Aren't you?” That dancing cadence broke through his voice, playful and dark and wanting. “Can you take more?”

He'd barely gotten a chance to nod, eagerly grasping the open front of Albert's shirt before the man planted his feet firmly on the ground and started fucking up into him roughly. Chasing the same fevered heat Finney was scrambling for. When he could no longer keep up with the rhythmic motion of Albert's hips he tumbled forward, chin hooked over Al's shoulder as he took it.

“You said you'd make me scream.” He challenged, knowing that was particularly bold but wanting very much to see how far he could push Albert in this.

“Oh. Oh sweet boy is that what you want?” Albert tilted his head so he could nuzzle his cheek against Finney's, like a great big cat begging for attention. “Remember what I said? If you don't like it...”

“I'll tell you to stop and you'll stop.”

“That's my boy.” Albert said before tipping Finney onto his back and pulling his slender legs up over his own broad hips.

Finney thought that what they'd been doing before couldn't possibly get any better, but on his back like this Albert hit impossibly deep inside him on each rough jerk of his hips. Drove the fat head of his cock against that sweet wonderful spot inside him and Finney thought he might cum all over again just like this. He reached up, tucking the fall of sandy graying hair behind one ear and Albert turned to kiss his wrist. Al pulled out until just the tip of his cock was still inside, let Finney squirm impatiently like that for a long moment before fucking back into him hard enough to drive a startled cry from him.

“Too much?”

“No, no. It's good, do it again? Please do that again. Albert please.” He scrabbled at the mans back with blunt nails, pulling him down on top of himself so they where pressed close.

“I'm gonna cum in you if I do that.” He said, breath hot and staccato against Finney's shoulder.

“I wanna know what that feels like.”

Albert cursed and brought himself up on his forearms, slid out all the way this time before driving back into him roughly. Hard, probably too hard, but wonderfully good. Good enough that it made Finney cum again, weaker this time but that was okay because Al was fucking into him hard enough to make the couch squeak and Finney wanted to do this for the rest of his life.

Above him Albert laughed weakly, surprise in his voice. “Again?”

“It's good. You're good. I love you, you know?” He said honestly, arms around the mans shoulders as Albert's hips stuttered. As he gasped against Finney's lips and came hard inside of him. Stayed there bowed over him like a taught string, mouth open as he panted into the scant space between them. Finney decided he liked it when Al came in him like that, it was a little messier than he'd expected but he didn't mind – not when he got to feel everything else too.

Albert dropped his forehead down against Finney's shoulder, tucked his arms underneath him and held Finney tight to his chest. He was trembling, sobbing, against him. Warm and wet tears against Finney's skin. “Oh god. I love you, I do. I love you so much.”

He meant it. More than he'd ever meant anything else in his whole life and that was sort of awful, but he couldn't help it. Sure as hell couldn't lie to Finney about it, not when he'd so generously let Albert touch him. Be in him. Kiss and stroke and adore him.

Finney dutifully sat still with his knees up in the full bathtub, Albert gently scrubbing away little flakes of blood that clung to his back. He leaned in to apologetically kiss his bare shoulder, delighted when Finney welcomed the affection. He hadn't been thinking when he pushed the boy down onto the sofa like that, though it could be argued he hadn't been thinking at all when doing any of it. Max was going to kill him, probably. Or at least stare disappointedly for several days, but Albert would've happily gone to gallows all on his own just for Finney.

Albert decided he would go to the Blake household and collect the clothes that where left behind, assuming Terrance hadn't destroyed them in his rage yet. Then he would have Finney pack whatever he needed to bring back home with Al. He didn't care if Finney stayed a day or an eternity. Even five minutes was a gift that he didn't deserve, would hold forever under glass like a pinned butterfly. But he hoped Finney would come here often, would want to be with Albert for a long time.

Maybe when Max got back on his feet and moved out Finney could have the spare room, or maybe Albert would finally get around to remodeling the filthy basement and turn it into something real nice – something bright and cheery with real windows that didn't have rusty bars on them. Snowball wouldn't know the difference, but Albert would. Hell, maybe Finney would even want to stay in Albert's room with him and he tried not to get too hopeful about that. Al decided that whatever Finney wanted, he would get.

Water steadily dripped down the curls of his hair and Al reached out to wind a strand around his finger, watched as his hair bounced back when he let go.

Finney laughed, bright and sweet. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. I just wanted to look at you.”