Generally obsessed.

On The Line - Part One

Logan was on a massage table when he saw. He’d been feeling a little stupid. He had been meant to be watching Finn’s game, studying his flaws and his strengths. Instead his cheek was pressed to the towel beneath him while someone dug their knuckles into his calf, and he was watching a bead of sweat find the corner of Finn’s mouth in a close up shot.

“This feel all right?” Hands were on his ankle now.

No, Logan thought, eyes on Finn. This feels like I’m going insane.

“Yes,” Logan said faintly. “Merci.”

Finn had his usual blue Nike hat on, and when he took it off before he served to wipe his face, Logan could see the white, salty sweat stains inside. How long had he had that hat? Logan remembered seeing it in Juniors. How many brand deals had its necessity written into it? Client insists upon…

Logan wanted that hat. He wanted to hold it.

Finn served. A perfect bullet of a thing that sent goosebumps up Logan’s shoulders, but Lupin still returned. It was second set, Finn had won the first. He was set to win this one, too.

Logan’s hotel room door opened and Logan didn’t look up. People came and went every hour of every day. This time, it was, Luke, his closest friend on tour besides Finn, and a room service cart of grilled chicken and broccoli. Logan eyed the chocolate cake slice there, too. One benefit of not having a coach or any sort of team following him around like the others did. He could eat whatever he wanted.

Luke leaned over to see his eyes. “Pascal Dumais is in the lobby. Black’s coach? I was thinking—”

“Non.” Finn was sitting in his chair now, drinking water. He turned and said something to the young ball kid holding an umbrella over him. Logan bit back a smile watching the ball kid do the same. Finn let his own grin cross his face.

Stop it, Logan thought. Stopitstopitstopit.

“He might know someone who you’d like to work with.”

“Non.”

Luke rolled his eyes. “Logan.”

“I don’t want a coach, Luke.” Logan tore his eyes away from Finn. “I’ve told you this one thousand times.”

Black served, and Finn returned, letting out a soft sound while doing it. Stop it. He’s your best friend.

“Don’t you think it could help you?” Luke asked. “Just talk to him, Tremz. Honestly, look, I certainly don’t want you getting any better. I have my own career to think about. But you’re my friend and your temper costs you thousands alone—”

There was a shout from the TV. A horrible, gut-wrenching sound that any athlete could identify. Someone had gone down.

“O’Hara runs for—” said a commentator. “Oh. Oh, oh, oh dear.”

Logan pushed himself up on his hands, dislodging the massage therapist from his back. Luke snapped towards the television, too.

“Shit,” Luke whispered.

Logan couldn’t have managed words if he tried.

Finn was on the ground, first on his back and then rolling helplessly onto his side, his hands locked around his knee. The cry had come from him. Lupin dropped his racket and ran across the court. Logan got one last look at Finn’s face before his view was blocked by the flock of medics surrounding him.

“That…does not look good,” said the therapist and began working again. Logan hardly felt the knuckles against his shoulders.

His heart was pounding. When another sound came from Finn, wrecked and in so, so much pain, Logan flinched.

The hands on his back disappeared in a flash. “Mr. Tremblay, I’m so sorry, did I—are you hurt?”

The camera caught every frantic rise and fall of Finn’s chest. Another close up. Sweat beaded on Finn’s forehead for an entirely different reason and the grimace of pain. His teeth were pressed together, eyebrows drawn. His fall had knocked the blue hat off and his dark red hair looked vivid and bright against the hard court.

Yes, Logan thought. Everything in him was on fire and begging to get that look off Finn’s face. Yes, I’m hurt.

~

Logan knew what the headline would be before he even saw it. Logan Tremblay fined $15,000 for skipping his mandatory press conference to go visit injured Finn O’Hara in hospital.

Finn knew it, too. No sooner had Logan made it through the door than was Finn throwing ice chips at him.

“What the fuck, Lo?”

“You weren’t answering your phone.”

“Fifteen thousand dollars.”

“I think I can afford it.” Logan dragged a chair over from the wall, sat, and didn’t plan on getting up until he knew Finn was going to be all right.

Finn looked exhausted, but the worry on his face was worse. His countless freckles looked stark in the hospital room light. Logan tried to see past it, into the bright eyes that had looked at him for the first time when they were sixteen. This face…Finn. Finn, who Logan had been longing for ever since.

Finn smiled weakly at him. His hands were knotted up in his sweatshirt. His knee was bandaged and elevated on a pillow.

“You could have waited an hour,” Finn said.

Logan didn’t know how to tell him no. No, he couldn’t wait. An hour would have been torture.

Finn cracked a smile. “But I guess you would have cursed out a reporter and made it twenty thousand.”

Logan couldn’t help it. He smiled back. Where he was bad with words, Finn was understanding. Sometimes Logan thought Finn could read him with just one look.

“Remember Rome?” Finn asked. “Where we met?”

Logan closed his eyes. Finn read his mind with just one look. “Of course.”

“I was dreaming about it, I think, when they put me under.”

“What, me beating you?”

Finn laughed and Logan had to look away. He reached out and brushed light fingers against the bundle of bandages.

“No.” Finn sighed and leaned his head back against the pillows. “That pool. And that wine.”

The almost kiss, Logan thought. One look at Finn, who was smiling slightly, and he knew he’d been read again.

“It was a good night,” Logan said.

Finn nodded. “Hm.” He tilted some ice chips into his mouth and crunched them. “Ended a little soon for my taste.”

Logan smothered a smile with his hand over his mouth. He wasn’t sure why they danced around it. It wasn’t like it wasn’t allowed. Male players dated female players all the time. Only, they never had to play against each other.

They listened to the buzz of the lights. A nurse came and went with water and pain medication. On top of the sheets, their hands found each other. Finn’s was cold from holding the ice and Logan encased it in his own.

Quietly, Finn said, “I think it’s over.”

“It’s not over.”

“I think it is.” Finn’s eyes were on his knee. “It’s not good, Lo. It’s just…It’s not good.”

“How long?”

“I’ll heal up okay, but…But knees are fragile and this isn’t the first time I’ve had a problem. Well, this is more than a problem, but…”

“Give it time.”

“That’s not what they told me.”

“It’s not over. Your game is too beautiful to be over.” You’re too…

Finn’s lip trembled. “Thanks.”

Logan wanted to fix it. Now. Now.

But Finn was Finn and so he let out a slow breath and tilted his chin up. “Maybe it’s okay.”

“It’s…okay?”

He closed his eyes. “I’m alone in hotels. I mean, besides my coach, besides the trainers. But that’s what this life feels like sometimes. People telling you where to go and sleeping in strange beds.” Finn looked down, then carefully back at Logan. “I love the game. God, I do. But…maybe I want something different now. I mean, a family. A…a partner.”

Logan’s stomach tightened. Finn, off somewhere, with—with someone. With someone. Someone who didn’t know him. The possessiveness that burned through Logan’s chest ached.

“It takes a specific kind of person to want to live this kind of life,” Finn said.

“Why do you think I work alone?” Logan said.

Finn huffed out a laugh. “I mean someone who’s separate from tennis.”

It was a slap. It was a knife. “Do you…do you want them to be separate from tennis?”

Finn sighed. “I want them to love me. So many players have people who follow them, and are with them, but are they with them? It’s all about the player’s dreams. Tennis. What they want. I mean, I’m racing towards…titles. Yes. And I love it but, I want to make sure I can—you know. I want to make sure my person isn’t ignored. I want it to be equal.” He looked at his knee, seemed like he wanted to speak again, but didn’t. 

Logan just held his hand and tried not to say anything stupid.

“Don’t you get lonely?” Finn asked softly. “With no coach, no team…”

“I have the game,” Logan replied. “The titles. And you.”

“Maybe me.”

“And you,” Logan said fiercely. “And Luke.” Finn rolled his eyes and Logan couldn’t help but laugh. “Why do you hate Luke so much?”

“I don’t. He’s just…always around.”

Logan laughed harder. “He’s on tour with us.”

Finn’s fingers tightened around his. “Maybe I like having you to myself.”

Logan was going to cry, suddenly and blubberingly. Finn not on tour. Please no.

Finn saw it and gave him a smile, even as his own eyes filled. “Maybe I will be your coach.”

Logan half laughed, half wiped his nose. “Think I’d listen to you?”

There was no hesitation and almost no sadness when Finn answered, “Yes.”

~

Over the next months, Logan was introduced to tour life without Finn. Luke was great, and they hit together, but he wasn’t Finn. He was too serious to be Finn, and Logan had enough seriousness all on his own. Finn, who’d dump the entire pitcher of ice water on Logan’s head just for fun. Finn, who made them take breaks to go find a nice lunch spot in a part of a city they hadn’t been before.

They spoke on the phone. For the first little while, Finn sounded miserable. In pain. But then he started to sound better. He started talking about how much time he had to read, to sleep. To actually watch the game he loved so much. He’d dissect all of Logan’s opponents for him and—and Logan was winning. A lot. It just made him miss Finn more. The money was good, but he had more than enough money. The trophies got sent back to his home in LA, but he was never home.

Logan distracted himself. He got himself up each morning and went through his routine. The hotel staff of whatever hotel he was in brought him a smoothie. He ran. He hit with Luke until Luke’s coach didn’t like how fast Logan could take apart Luke’s game. Then it was just Logan and a random hitter he’d been assigned. He ate room service and watched game tape. It only took him a week to realize he was always waiting for that knock on his door. That Finn knock. Bum-bum-ba-bum. Let’s go, Tremblay, get out of your head for a bit.

By the time four months had past, he thought he’d die if he didn’t hear it.

“I miss you,” Logan said quietly one night, eyes on his dark ceiling. It was so bad, this waiting for Finn, that sometimes that he had to pause and press a hand to his chest. He’d actually asked the physicians about it, just in case he was mistaking missing Finn for an actual problem. They had looked at him funny, told him everything looked and sounded perfectly normal.

What hurts? one had asked.

Nothing. Logan had said. I just wanted to make sure.

Now, in the cool hotel room, the rustle of Finn’s breath on the other end of the line made Logan close his eyes.

“I miss you, too,” Finn said. “A lot. Congrats against Knut, by the way. He a fucking rocket. And he’s only going to get better, what is he, twenty-two?”

“Something like that. I only barely beat him.”

“Sure, but you did.”

“Thanks to you,” Logan said. “I never play better than when we’ve talked about it.”

“Well.” Finn sounded proud. “Hey, you know, I’ll be cleared to travel soon. I might not be playing but I could—”

“Yes,” Logan said. “Please.”

Please, please, please.

Finn laughed. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“Please come.”

More rustling. Finn lying down in bed?

“Okay,” Finn said. “Okay, I will.”

Logan rolled onto his side, cradling the phone close. “Hurry.”

“As fast as I can. I’ll look for hotels tonight.”

“No, don’t stay somewhere else.”

“Lo, I can afford your hotel with sponsors, but not like this. I’m not you.”

“No, I mean stay with me.”

This big, cold hotel suite. Logan wandered through the rooms, floated between the hot courts and this cold, cold marble.

Silence on the other line. Logan’s heart picked up, until he heard a breath that he was sure had a smile in it.

“All right.” Finn let out a laugh that sounded like it was covered by his hand. “Okay.”

Logan had to smother his smile in his pillow. “Okay.”

They stayed on the line for what felt like hours—probably minutes—breathing and listening to each other and nothing at all. Completely quiet, but it was the most not alone Logan had felt in weeks.

Finn arrived, suitcase and backpack and those massive headphones that used to be Logan’s. He knocked on Logan’s door. Bum-bum-ba-bum. He looked tired from the plane ride. He opened his mouth to say something, a grin on his face. It was probably going to be something sarcastic.

But Logan launched himself into his arms, clinging tightly around his neck.

Finn grunted out a laugh, but held him back. “Hey, hey.”

Finn rubbed a hand up and down his back once. When had Logan last been touched in a way that wasn’t medical? Finn’s hand cupped the back of his neck and Logan knew he went weak against him but he couldn’t help it. Finn didn’t seem to mind. He held Logan’s weight. It was the middle of the night anyway, Logan could blame it on that.

“Have you been up?” Finn asked. “You need your sleep.”

“I couldn’t miss your knock.”

Finn’s hands stilled. He pressed his fingers into Logan’s spine, right where he was always sore. “I would have…I would have banged the door down.”

Logan laughed and pulled back. He realized how long he had been holding onto him, that he was still holding on. He let go, suddenly bashful.

“I can call for food,” Logan said. “Are you hungry? I mean, come in first.” He laughed, stumbled a little as he stepped back. “Come in.”

He watched Finn drop his bags onto the floor and look around. The main living room was the size of three hotel rooms. The bedrooms were spacious and had a connecting master bath. There was a kitchenette that all of Logan’s sponsors had stocked with snacks and the various energy bars and drinks they represented. Logan hated energy bars. Grainy and chewy. He brought cups of fruit onto the court with him instead and didn’t care how unhappy it made anyone. Logan watched Finn walk around. He’d left his rooms sort of a mess. Finn avoided the various piles of sponsor clothing without comment. He touched the two Rolex watches Logan was expected to put on during post-game interviews and press conferences. Those were supposed to be in the closet safe. He brushed his fingers over Logan’s secret favorite sweatshirt which was draped over the back of the couch—it was Adidas, which he wasn’t allowed. If he ever got caught on camera in it, it would be horrible. He only wore it alone, inside. Or with Finn.

“Must be nice to be number two in the world,” Finn said.

Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s okay.”

I miss you. I miss youImissyou.

Finn smiled and raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, it’s okay.”

“Shut up,” Logan laughed. “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” Finn said.

And, suddenly, Logan had new nights. The days were the same. He left Finn with his crutches and his ice packs and his rehabilitation routine to practice and prepare for his next match. But his nights. Card games with Finn on the balcony. Get out of your head, Tremblay. We’re relaxing now. You’re with me. Video games, side by side on the couch. Dinner in the hotel restaurant, or somewhere in a city that Finn had found. Laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe. So happy that it became a blur of one day, I am going to kiss you. Please, let me kiss you one day.

That morning after he won Indian Wells, he sat poolside with Finn and everything was almost perfect.

“You know what I wish Nike would do for once?” Finn said.

“What?” Logan looked over his sunglasses at Finn.

“Dress you in your colors.”

Logan looked over at Finn and laughed. They were poolside, cooling off from a morning run back at the hotel. Well, Logan had run. Finn and his bad knee had rode beside Logan in a golf cart and shouted encouragement far too gleefully.

Now, Finn had a duffle bag in front of him and was ripping into the stuff Nike had sent over for the French Open. Red shirt. Blue shorts. White piping.

“French fucking flag.” Finn sighed. “Typical.”

“I’m French,” Logan replied. “It’s my home court, in Paris.”

“I know you are, but it’s typical.”

Logan smiled, popping another macadamia nut into his mouth. They were good. Spicy and salted. The guy that had brought them a pitcher of lemony ice water had set them down, too. “And what’s my color, then?”

Finn reached over the side table between them and pulled Logan’s sunglasses off his face. “Take a look in the fucking mirror.”

Logan snatched the glasses back. Green, he guessed. Logan rolled those eyes and Finn smiled at him.

For a moment, Logan imagined Finn bracing his hands on the sides of Logan’s hips. They’d dip into the mesh of the lounge chair and bring Finn even closer when he kissed him.

Everything was almost perfect.

Logan put his glasses back on. “Just wait until Paris,” Logan said. “It will be more red and blue than you’ve ever seen in your life.”

“Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“Because I’m going to win.”

Clay surfaces were his home. What more did he need?

They flew together to Paris. Finn’s knee was healing, but Logan didn’t let him carry anything. Not his backpack, not their food for the plane.

“You’re worse than my mom was when she came to visit,” Finn said.

They were taken to a new hotel, a new grand suite. If the manager that personally showed them around gave them a particular sort of look, Logan didn’t care. Finn certainly didn’t seem to care. He spent a good part of the tour with his arm thrown around Logan’s shoulder. Forgot my crutch, he said. Need someone to take some of my weight.

Logan was still smiling about that as he made his way along the buffet station at breakfast the next morning. Finn had used the trick again. Knee’s sore, Lo, won’t you make my plate for me? Logan didn’t think he’d ever enjoyed anything more than picking out Finn’s favorites. He was so focused on finding the perfect burnt pieces of bacon that he didn’t even see the waffle flying out of tongs and towards him until it was on his plate.

“Shoot, I’m so sorry, oh my God, I didn’t…oh.”

Logan looked up and the voice—and up. Blond, was his first thought, quickly followed by blue.

It was Leo Knut. Six-foot-something, wicked serve, one-handed backhand, American. Younger than Logan. Rumored to be poised to break all the records. Logan’s, Black’s, anyone’s. And he’d be around longer to do it.

“I’m sorry,” Leo said, truly looking apologetic, and for a moment Logan thought he was talking about the records. Leo looked down at the waffle. “I don’t know if you want that, but…there you go.”

“It’s…fine,” Logan said uncertainly. “It’s fine.”

Leo smiled at him. “Okay… Hey, I don’t think we’ve officially met besides…” Me beating you, Logan thought. “I’m Leo.”

“Ouais, I know.”

Leo laughed. “Oh. Well, that’s a little dream come true for my younger self.”

Logan tilted his head. “Oh.” He was pretty used to that. And he guessed it was a compliment—even if he was technically being called old. Also, for some reason he was blushing.

“And you’re…” Leo raised his eyebrows.

“You know who I am, you just said.”

“All right…” Leo’s blue eyes looked him up and down. “Well. Enjoy the waffle. And good luck.”

“You too,” Logan said, and headed towards the orange juice.

When he got back to their table, Finn was looking at him with amused eyes.

“Quoi?” Logan asked. “Shut up, what?”

Finn laughed. “Nothing. Nothing, just…”

“Quoi?”

Finn laughed and held up his hands. “You’re a really nice person, but not many would think it upon meeting you.”

Logan blinked. He looked over at Knut, who was sitting with one of the Black brothers. “What? I was—I was nice. You don’t even know what I said, you were over here!”

“You had his statistics you were thinking about all over that pretty face of yours.”

“I…” Pretty face. “He gave you a waffle.”

“Oh-ho,” Finn picked up his fork. “Yeah, I saw what happened. Octopus limbs, that’s what that one has.” Finn cut himself some waffle. “It was kind of sweet.”

Logan stared at him. Sweet?

Blond. Blue. Sweet.

“What is his accent?”

“Louisiana,” Finn said around some bacon.

“Lou…ouais-ana.” Logan caught Finn smiling again. “What?”

“I just like the way you talk, that’s all.”

~

“Me again,” Finn said later that night, tossing down his cards with a grin.

Logan groaned. “This isn’t fun anymore.”

“Ha, why? Because you’re not winning? You gonna curse me out like you do on the court?”

Logan rolled his eyes. He offered Finn another pour of wine.

“Oo-way.”

Logan could hear the pop-pop of one of a game of table tennis from somewhere. Finn kept glancing towards the sound—even while winning.

“Do you miss it?” Logan asked quietly. He put his card down without really looking at it. He was too focused on this new, slightly unhappy set of Finn’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Finn replied. “I mean, of course. It’s my life. Was.”

Logan nodded.

“But.” He smiled slightly. “This has been…really good, Lo. Really good for me. Thanks for letting me…” Finn glanced around balcony, then over at their suite. “Be here. I’ll need to find some way to pay you back.”

“Non,” Logan said. “You don’t.”

“I do,” Finn said. “I do. I don’t mean—I mean, I pay for the stray dinner but I—”

Logan leaned forward and covered Finn’s hand with his. Their cards mingled and showed between them, but Logan didn’t care about the game.

“I don’t want your money,” Logan said. “I want you—here.”

Finn had his eyes on their hands.

Logan tried to think of a way to tell him that he’d been right. That he had been so unbearably lonely.

And then his phone started to ring.

Logan closed his eyes when he caught sight of the number. “Stupid sponsors.”

Finn cracked a smile and let Logan’s hands go. “Who?”

“My agent. Probably about…” Logan flashed the Rolex he was wearing. “I forgot to put it on last press conference.”

Finn hummed and raised his glass of wine to his lips. “Looks good on you, though.”

Logan took the call inside and blushed the entire time.

~

The crowd was on his side. It was his home crowd. France adored him. He couldn’t walk through the city without being cheered—even sometimes from passing bicycles.

Finn was in his box. Finn, who the commentators had started referring to as Logan’s unofficial coach. Over the last months, they practiced together, Finn shouting advice and commands—bolder and bolder. He ran Logan through drills that used muscles Logan hadn’t even thought of before. Logan was in better shape than he’d ever been in his life, that annoying twinge in his ankle was gone. Not better—gone.

And he was still losing this final somehow. He’d made it this far and Black was wiping the floor with him, literally. Twice Logan had stumbled and fallen into the clay. He was covered in the stuff. His back, his butt, his face. Usually, he loved that. The grit. The taste. But he couldn’t shake this humiliation. The somewhat quiet crowd. This sense that, after such perfection he’d experienced lately, it was just a fluke. That he wasn’t enough.

At one of change-overs, he used his bathroom break. His fists were clenched, his teeth grit. He knew the cameras were just waiting for him to lose it like he always did.

But Finn was watching, right next to his sisters and his parents. He needed to get to the locker room. Then he could throw something.

No sooner had he shoved the door open and stepped inside, than Finn was there. He slipped in silently. Logan didn’t know how he’d gotten in, but there he was. Wearing his old, blue Nike hat and one of Logan’s Nike shirts. He was flushed from the sun and so infuriatingly calm. Hands in his pockets. Logan was standing in a second, throwing his own hat aside.

“I’m losing it,” Logan shouted. “Every fucking shot Black takes—”

But he didn’t get farther than that.

Finn took Logan’s face in his hands, none too gently. He got close. His brown eyes were fierce. Familiar. Logan went slack and quiet in his hold. For a moment, it was just their breathing.

“Get out,” Finn whispered and Logan could feel his breath against his cheek. “of your fucking head.”

And then Finn kissed him.

His mouth was warm. There was the bitter hint of sunscreen. The sweetness of the cinnamon gum he always chewed. Sweat. Logan felt himself stumbled, surprised. As quickly as Finn caught him around the waist, Logan was clutching at his shoulders. Yes. The word sped through and made his ears ring. Finn’s hands swiped down against his neck and then gripped his shirt, pulling back.

Logan was too surprised to chase him. Finn looked down at him, breathing just as hard.

“You are going to win,” Finn said harshly. He took his hat off and put it on Logan’s head, backwards how he liked it. And he let go. He turned and walked out.

Logan stood there. He touched his lips. Finn.

Slowly, he adjusted Finn’s hat. 

Finn.

He used the bathroom.

Finn.

He adjusted the sweatband on his wrist.

Finn.

He caught sight of himself in a locker room mirror. Where his cheek had hit the clay, Finn’s fingers had wiped streaks of red clay away. Like he was still touching Logan. Like he was all over him. People would probably expect him to wash his face while he was in here.

He didn’t.

The sun beat down on him as he walked back out onto the court. The crowd cheered, maybe for him, maybe that the game was picking up again. Logan didn’t care. All he knew was that he felt lighter. He could move easier, he could breathe. Even the sight of Black, waiting for him impatiently, didn’t phase him. Some killer, mentally crushing spell had been broken. Finn had broken him back into himself.

And when he won, Logan swore he heard Finn shout first, seconds before the stadium exploded. Like Finn had so much faith in him that he could see the perfect placement of the ball on Logan’s racket and sense its spin. He probably could. Logan fell down onto his back. He squeezed his eyes shut and felt the stadium thunder for him.

Trem-blay, Trem-blay!

What a come back, what a bloody come back, the commentators were probably saying.

He shook Black’s hand. He threw his wrist bands into the crowd. He kept Finn’s hat. Finn was standing there in the players box with his arms raised, his hands fists and the widest smile on his face. His sisters beside him were jumping up and down, hugging each other.

Fucking yes! Logan saw Finn’s mouth move around the words, reading his lips. He held out one of those fists to Logan, the same one that had gripped his t-shirt not too long ago. Yes, Lo.

Without thinking, Logan started to climb towards his box. He knew they were supposed to use the stairs now, but there was no time. He had to get to Finn. He had been so tired a moment ago that his muscles shook, but he couldn’t feel that now. He needed to get to them, to reach them. His sisters. His parents. Finn, who had changed his world. His entire world. In two seconds.

He felt some of the crowd reach out and touch him, grasping his shoulders. They were still chanting his name. He swung himself over the railing, nearly stumbling once, and then he was in Finn’s arms. Finn thumped him hard on the back and then knotted his fingers into Logan’s sweaty hair.

“I knew it,” Finn whispered hoarsely against his neck. “I fucking knew it, I’m so proud of you, oh God, I’m so fucking proud of you. Lo, I can’t even breathe, you played so well. You did it, your game, oh my God, your game—”

Logan closed his eyes and let Finn wash over him.

“Thank you,” Logan whispered. “Thank you, thank you…”

Finn pulled back to look at him, palm on his cheek. He was smiling so wide Logan thought it must hurt—he also knew the same expression was on his own face. Finn, who deserved it all. This. Logan had the wild, overwhelming urge to give Finn the trophy, the prize money, all of it. It was his.

Logan was so unquestionably Finn’s.

“Lo,” Finn said. There were tears in his eyes. “Thank you.”

He thought about kissing Finn right then and there.

He was enveloped by his sisters. They screamed in his ears and he laughed, loud and delirious.

Even having to give a speech couldn’t bring him down. He thanks the people he was told to thank, and then he thanked the people he wanted to thank. The crowd, he praised in French. In English, his parents. His sisters. And then—

“And—and Finn. My—” My? So many words filtered through Logan’s mind. English, French, it didn’t matter. “Who’s supported me and—” He kissed me. He kissed me. “I couldn’t have done it without any of you. Merci.”

He met Finn in the tunnel, confetti still on his shoulders, still holding his trophy. Finn laughed, let out a long whoop that brought people’s eyes and smiles towards them.

Logan held out the trophy. “Yours, too.”

“It’s not mine.”

Kiss me, Logan thought. Kiss me again. Finn looked like he might.

Instead, Finn just kissed the trophy where Logan had and then raised it above his head with another shout. A few people actually started clapping and Finn turned towards the sound with a grin.

“Okay,” Finn said, cradling the trophy against his side. “Go get on the bike.”

Logan just stared at him. He was still breathing hard. He could feel sweat trailing through the clay on his neck.

Finn pushed the trophy back into his arms and slapped him on the side of his ass. “Hello, what’s wrong with you, get on the bike before you get stiff—”

“If you think I can do anything but be alone with you right now,” Logan said in a low voice. Finn’s brown eyes widened. “You’re insane.”

Finn’s pupils were vast and black. He wet his lips. Slowly, he smiled.