#asexualbert

Race’s phone is ringing. It’s one in the morning and he’s almost asleep when it goes off. He’s tempted to decline the call and block whoever dared to call him, he’s also tempted to throw his phone across the room. He does neither of these things. Instead he half-assedly reaches for his glasses and practically jams them onto his face, and finally checks the caller ID. Oh, it’s Albert. What the fuck does he want now?

It’s only by virtue of about a decade of friendship that Race picks up. “Albert I swear to all that is holy if you’re calling me to talk about some fuckin’ alien conspiracy theories I am hanging up and ending our friendship immediately,” Race says, not even giving Albert a chance to speak.

“Race you can’t seriously tell me you don’t believe in aliens, can you? They’re out there!” Albert replies indignantly. Race is all of two seconds away from hanging up when Albert continues, “No, but seriously Racer, I- I really need someone to talk to right now.”

“Oh shit Albo, what’s up?”

“I’ve just been having a bad day. Well, week,” Albert takes a shuddering breath.

And Race is suddenly more awake. He knows that Al wouldn’t have called him this late for something like this if it wasn’t serious. “Talk to me, Al,” Race says softly.

“I just… why are you my friend? Why are any of you guys my friends?”

“What?”

“You heard me Race, I- I’m not especially skilled or smart,” Albert’s voice breaks and he starts talking faster, “an-and I just need to know why you like me.” Race’s heart breaks, pain radiates from his chest and he feels sick to his stomach. His friend sounds like he’s about to cry. Albert almost never cries.

“Oh Albert… you’re my best friend in the world,” Race breathes out, “you may not be the most booksmart but that doesn’t mean you aren’t smart, you’re fantastic at skateboarding and researching things and taking care of your plants and you always find the best rocks and you’re the only one who can match me when we talk about astronomy. Those are all skills aren’t they? You’re also funny and you put up with so much of my shit, you’re like, the most loyal person I know and you’re always there for your friends when we need you. What’s there not to like?”

“... A lot,” Albert mumbles.

Race is insistent, “Well I can’t think of a single thing, besides, you know me too well to think that I’d lie to you about something like this. You know what? I’m coming over. I’ll see you in like twenty minutes Albie.”

“Wait, Race, you don’t need to-” Race hangs up. Too bad for Al, Race has already made up his mind. It’ll be easier to talk to him in person and maybe he’ll be able to slap some sense into Albert if he continues to think poorly about himself. No one is allowed to talk down to Race’s best friend besides Race himself, not even said best friend.

He drags himself out of bed and briefly considers just driving to Al’s as is, but quickly reasons that if he wants to stop by a store on the way over he’d need to put on pants. He fumbles around for a pair of sweatpants using his phone as a light. Finds a pair that doesn’t seem too dirty and throws them on, then makes his way downstairs quietly, grabbing his keys and wallet on the way out the door.

He’s about three steps outside when he shivers in the cold air, maybe not grabbing a jacket as well was a bad idea. Welp, too late for that. Grumbles to himself about how cold it is and how late it is on his way to the car and nearly all the way to the nearest twenty-four hour convenience store. Albert is so lucky he’s Race's best friend, he wouldn’t do this for anyone else. Like, seriously, he’s out here in a stupid store at stupid o’clock getting weird looks from the cashier while he looks for some stupid star stickers (they’re not stupid but Race is tired and grumpy and cold and he wants to complain) for his stupid friend (also not stupid: see earlier note). Not only that but Race is spending his hard earned money on these little glow in the dark star stickers just to make him feel better, well Albert better appreciate all that Race does for him.

He moves through the checkout station as quickly and with as little speaking as possible. He knows that glow stars are a bit of a weird thing to be buying at this hour, but he’s got a plan and they are a vital piece. Race takes his receipt and the stars and throws them in the passenger seat of his car and continues his drive to Albert’s house.

When Race arrives he grabs the stickers and hops the fence to walk down the side of Albert’s house. He walks down the narrow alleyway and crouches down about three-quarters to the end, slides through the open window in Albert’s room in the basement. Smiles to himself, he always enjoyed entering his house this way, there’s just a certain thrill that makes him feel like he’s in a heist or something. Though the way the window sill scrapes at his back is certainly less fun.

“You didn’t have to come over, Racer,” Albert says the moment Racetrack’s feet hit the floor.

“Yeah well I did, and I come bearing gifts,” Race proclaims. He quickly surveys the room, the only light on is the lamp on the bedside table and Albert is sitting on his bed, phone in hand and looking the slightest bit like he was trying to hide the fact that he’d been crying. That was mildly concerning, Race was glad Albert had called him.

“What?”

“Well since it seems you have little object permanence-”

“-What’s that supposed to mean!” Okay maybe Race shouldn't be teasing him right now, but maybe it'd be even weirder not to.

Race shakes the packet of stickers at Albert. “I have acquired some objects to be here permanently when I am not so you cannot possibly forget that I am the best friend ever.”

“Are those glow in the dark stars? Like for a ceiling?” Albert looks more confused than anything. That is… disappointing but expected.

“Yes, my dear friend, they are,” Race says with all the drama one would expect of the one and only Racetrack Higgins.

“Okay, but why?” Race falters. He’s not exactly prone to thinking things through but he was certain this made sense. However, Albert still doesn’t seem to get it.

“Well…” Race continues much quieter and considerably more nervous, maybe this is a stupid idea, “we always talk about the stars ‘n stuff and whenever I look at them now I think of you.”

Fuck, that was sappy, and not exactly to the point but important nonetheless. And Albert still looks like he doesn’t get what he's trying to say. So Race continues, now almost rambling, “And I kinda thought that maybe you did the same thing so if we put these on your ceiling then whenever you feel down on yourself or like I don't like you for some reason you’d see the stars and think of me and know that I’ll always be here for you, ya know? Best friends for life ‘n all that. Do you really think I would have done this for someone I didn't like or who wasn't a good friend?”

There's a moment where neither of them speak before Race starts cracking his knuckles nervously. “It kinda sounds stupid now that I say it out loud.”

“No,” Albert chokes out, and Race swears he looks like he’s about to cry, though maybe that was just from before Race and he hadn’t been paying enough attention, “it’s not stupid.”

Race shoots him a look that screams ‘Are you kidding me?’, now that he’d said it out loud he was almost certain it was a stupid idea. Seriously, who gets a call from their friend who is clearly having kind of a hard time and then proceeds to hang up on them, buy some cheap little decorations, and show up at their house like that would fix anything? God, what was Race thinking? “Okay, it’s a little ridiculous,” Albert amends, “but that is such a Racetrack plan I shouldn’t have expected anything else.”

“I… don't know what you mean by that Albie…”

“It means I like it and think it's a good idea,” and Albert gives him this grin, like he’s something precious, and it makes Race feel all warm inside. He loves being able to make the red-head smile like that. “In fact, we’re putting these up right now.”

“Oh, so now you’re making me do work? After I came all this way? You’re lucky you’re my best friend Dasilva,” Race teases, but he’s already opening the package to get going. He won’t admit it but he thinks that them putting up the stars together makes it a little more special. Reinforces the idea that they’re a physical reminder of Race and that he loves Albert enough to go through all this trouble for him.

Both boys get to work quickly, dragging furniture around to stand on and filling Albert’s ceiling. They laugh and joke as they work, occasionally trying to create actual constellations only to have the other mess it up. Race is almost successful at creating a dick out of stars before Albert notices and derails his art piece, leaving Race pouting and Albert caught between laughing and telling him off. By the time they finish they are both in considerably better moods and utterly exhausted.

“You gonna sleep here, Racer?” Albert questions, already half-asleep. Race takes off his glasses and sets them on Albert’s nightstand.

“If you think you can get away with waking me up in the middle of the night, making me drive all the way over here, forcing me to work for you, and then not giving me any cuddles in return then you have got another thing coming mister. Now scoot over bitch,” Race demands, not waiting for Albert to move before flopping down onto the bed half-way on top of the other boy.

“Stupider isn’t a word,” Albert says. He adjusts himself anyways, moving over to give Race some more room. Once they are both situated Albert wraps his arm around Race, allowing him to curl into his side. Albert sighs contentedly, holding his friend close and looking at his new ceiling decorations. There really was no way he’d ever be able to look at them and not think of the boy next to him and how much he cares for him. “Hey Racer,” Albert hesitates, “thanks for… everything.”

“You ready to go?” Finch popped his head around the bedroom door, adjusting his suit cuffs as he checked in on his boyfriend. Albert was standing in front of the bedroom mirror, fiddling with his tie that was just a touch too loose and a little wonky. He sighed defeatedly. “I guess.” Finch walked over to him and grabbed hold of the tie, redoing it and smoothing his hands over Albert’s chest. “There. Now you’re ready.” Albert groaned and slumped forward, placing his head in the crook of Finch’s neck. “Do I really have to go? Super-fancy-high-end parties for dumb rich people really aren’t my thing.” Finch wrapped his arms around him and grinned. “It won’t be too bad. Just walk around, talk to a few stuffy people, have a drink or two, laugh politely at the occasional joke, and that’s all. We’ll only be a few hours.” He stepped back as Albert sighed again. “You’re the only person I’d do this for.” He muttered, grabbing Finch’s hand, and playing gently with his fingers. “And I appreciate every second you stay stuck with me there.” Albert smirked. “You owe me big time for this.” “I know.” Finch took hold of Albert’s wrists, adjusting his cuffs as Albert tried to do his hair with one hand. “Will your mum be there?” he asked, causing Finch to chuckle. “Yes, she will.” “Oh thank god! At least there’ll be some entertainment.” “My mother getting drunk and picking fights with other guests does not count as entertainment.” “Then why is it so fun to watch?” Albert stretched up and pressed a kiss to his cheek. Finch rolled his eyes and tried to hide his reddening cheeks. “You know, sometimes I think you like my mother more than you like me.” “Well, you didn’t down six champagne flutes and deck the lady next to you for badmouthing the waitress.” “Not yet.” “Ooh, do I have something to look forward to tonight?” Finch just smirked, brushed some imaginary dust from Albert’s shoulder and left the room without a word. “Do I?” Albert called after him. “Come on, the car’s waiting.” Albert bounced out of the room following his boyfriends sown the hall. “Do I!?”

--

The large ballroom had been opened up, half the wall sliding back to reveal an extra room used to house the food and drink bar, but it made Albert feel vulnerable and exposed. He hated it. In a room full of up-tight men in stiff suits, and snotty women in flowing, over-the-top dresses, Albert felt completely out of place. He felt small, like everyone was watching him, judging him silently, every airy laugh or titter made him tense up. Finch had been dragged off by his dad to talk to a group of snobby looking people over by the fountain. Yeah, the fountain. There was a fountain just in the ballroom. Albert sighed, they’d only been there for an hour, but it felt like seven. He couldn’t wait to go home. He was sat at one of the elegantly decorated tables, resting his tired feet on the chair opposite –he knew he should’ve gone one shoe size higher- picking absentmindedly at a loose thread of the lace-trimmed tablecloth, lost in his own thoughts. The sound of someone clearing their throat above him pulled Albert from his thoughts. He quickly dropped the tablecloth and brushed his hands over his lap, looking up to see a lady in a lavish turquoise dress, dark hair scraped back into a high, stylish bun. She extended one delicately gloved hand, which Albert took on instinct. “Cordelia Van Rensselaer,” she introduced herself with a small curtsey. “And you are?” “I- uh, Albert, Albert DaSilva.” He stuttered, giving a small shaky nod of greeting. “Well, Mister DaSilva, I just happened to be walking by when I noticed you seemed to be awfully lonely.” Albert took his hand away. “Oh, no I’m-” “So I figured I’d come and brighten your evening.” She picked his hand back up, tapping her foot slightly as she fell into the beat of the song. “Shall we dance?” Cordelia pulled Albert to his feet, she was a lot stronger than she looked. He jumped a little, trying not to trip over his feet or step on her very expensive looking dress. “Ah! No-” Albert moved back, hitting the backs of his knees on the chair behind him. “I’m actually just waiting for my boyfriend to get back- and- and I’m not much of a dancer.” He pried himself out of Cordelia’s iron grip. “Oh.” She said, clearing her throat. “I see.” She smoothed her hands over the ruffles of her dress, opening her mouth to continue speaking, when she froze, eyes narrowing in realisation. “Wait… DaSilva,” she rolled his name around her mouth. “Boyfriend…” her eyes widened as the pieces clicked in place. “You’re dating Patrick Cortez!?” Albert stuttered. “I- uh- yeah? Finch is my boyfriend-” “Oh, I should’ve known!” Cordelia hissed. “That stuck up, no good jerk!” “Hey-” Albert tried to interject, frowning at her sharp words. “I did you a favour by offering to dance with you- I extended an olive branch and you set it on fire!” Albert blinked at her. “What are you fucking talking about?” “Enjoy the rest of your night, DaSilva!” with one last sneer at him, Cordelia turned on her heel, stuck her nose in the air and flounced away to harass her next victim. Albert stared after her in confusion and disbelief- mostly confusion- god, he hated these rich people parties.

--

“-and she spilled her champagne all over the oysters!” Finch laughed along with the group of other well-dressed people, tossing back gulps of wine and snacking on dainty little quiches that were being passed along by waiters. Finch held his hands up, excusing himself from the group, and not so inconspicuously scanned the room for a familiar streak of red hair. Spotting his boyfriend skulking over by the food, Finch smiled to himself and set his sights on Albert, making his way over as quickly yet subtly as possible, ready for a break from all the intrusive, boring questions. “Ah, Patrick!” Finch came to a screeching halt as his father materialised in front of him, an older man at his elbow. Shit! Here we go again. Finch resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Have you met Atticus Caswell and his sons?” he gestured to the other man. Finch bit the inside of his cheek. “No, I don’t believe I have.” He gave a strained smile as his father took him by the elbow and led him a few steps to the side, where another gathering of people he hadn’t noticed earlier stood, swirling wine in crystal glasses and chatting freely. Finch’s father immediately started forming a line of people for Finch to meet and talk to. Finch sighed, this was going to be a long, long night.

--

It was now ten pm and they had been at this stupid party for four hours. Four. Whole. Hours. Albert had eaten his way through half the food table and drunk at least three waiters clean out of their trays. And he hadn’t seen Finch once since they got there. Albert had been getting progressively more annoyed with the night as it dragged slowly on, but the dullness of not having his boyfriend at his side was what was killing him the most. He was beginning to seriously consider setting the gaudy curtains on fire just to get Finch’s attention. Just as his thoughts turned to the fountain, he felt a strong pair of arms wrap around his waist. “Hey.” Albert craned his head back, trying to catch a glimpse of who was behind him. “Finch!” he gasped with delight as Finch buried his face into Albert’s neck, sighing with relief. “Miss me?” He asked and Albert grabbed hold of the hands that were still clasped tightly around his waist. “Not at all,” he smiled. “In fact, I quite enjoyed sitting here drowning myself in champagne and little tiny sandwiches. Did you know there are six different types of ham, but they all taste the same!” Finch grinned against his neck. “So I’m free to go back to mingling?” He began to untangle his hands from Albert’s. “No!” Albert pulled Finch’s arms back around him. “No, I was so bored! Please don’t leave me here to suffer again!” Finch chuckled and pressed a small kiss to the corner of Albert’s jaw. “Don’t worry, I’ve been just as bored as you are. Do you know how much it took me to not throw every single one of those people’s drinks in their faces? A lot.” “So why are we still here?” Albert whined. “It’s not like anyone would miss us.” Finch hummed. “Tempting, but you know my father would kill me. Besides-” “Well, would you look who it is?” The pair of them looked up to see a turquoise coloured demon standing in front of them, arms crossed over her chest, face turned to the ceiling as she looked down her nose at them. Finch sighed and let go of Albert, straightening his suit. “Hello, Miss Van Rensselaer, how are you this evening?” Cordelia clicked her tongue. “I was doing fine until you showed your hideous face.” “Hey-” Albert tried to interject, but Finch put a hand on his shoulder, trying to keep him calm. “That’s nice to hear,” he smiled, voice cold. “What may we help you with?” “Oh so now you want to help me?” Albert looked back and forth between the two, Cordelia had leaned right in, her face pushed right into Finch’s personal space. The overwhelming chemically floral scent of her perfume made Albert’s head spin and he fought to keep himself from coughing as he looked quizzically between the two. Finch rolled his eyes. “Look, Miss Van Rensselaer,” he had dropped the cold formalities. “If you don’t want anything from us, would you oh so kindly piss off? My boyfriend and I are trying to enjoy the night.” Cordelia screwed her eyes up and snarled. “Unfortunately for you, I’m allowed to stand wherever, and next to whoever I want!” her vicious demeanour shifted and she batted her eyelashes charmingly, pitching her voice up much higher than it was. “I hope I’m not sending you the wrong signals.” She said sweetly, baby-voice still dialled up to eleven. Finch not-so-subtly pulled on Albert’s sleeve, moving a step in front of him, narrowing his eyes at the haughty girl before him. Cordelia dropped her façade and returned to her aggressive stance. “And don’t call me ‘Miss Van Rensselaer’.” She hissed. Finch gasped, clutching at imaginary pearls. “Oh of course! My mistake, your royal bitchyness.” He bowed deeply. “Shall I kiss your ruby red slippers?” Cordelia bit back a growl, balling her hands into fists and stepping even closer to Finch, almost nose-to-nose with him. “Why you-” “Oh, Cordelia! Darling!” a whirlwind of champagne skirts rustled into view as Finch’s mother draped herself around Cordelia’s shoulders, wine glass loosely clutched in one hand. “How are you?” Albert struggled to keep the grin off his face. Finally, this night was going to get entertaining! Cordelia shifted under the other woman’s weight, stumbling slightly, trying to keep as far away from the wine that threatened to spill, as possible. “I- uh, I’m fine Mrs Cortez, thank you.” “Oh, that’s so good to hear darling!” She slurred. “But I saw you bothering my boys.” She tossed back another gulp of wine. “And I just wanted to remind you of what happened last time you tried something like that.” She purred, voice dripping with cheerful venom as she twisted a finger through a loose lock of Cordelia’s hair. Finch grinned and leaned down to Albert. “Cordie had the outline of my mother’s wedding ring on her cheek for a month!” He whispered through barely restrained laughter. Albert fought back a smile, as their attention was drawn back to the two ladies. Cordelia had grabbed Mrs Cortez’s wrist, still trying to keep away from the drink while also relieving herself of the weight of another woman hanging off her. “Well, Mrs Cortez,” she started, forcing a strained smile. “I was just having a friendly little chat with Patrick here!” She narrowed her eyes and hissed under her breath. “No reason for you to stick your fat nose in it.” Not as quietly as she thought, apparently. “What was that, darling?” Cordelia visibly froze. “O-oh! Nothing, Mrs Cortez, just clearing my throat.” “Mm, that’s what I thought.” She turned to look at her son. “And, oh! My boys! I got caught up, I forgot to ask you how your night’s going!” Finch pulled Albert closer to him by his waist. “It’s going well, thank you, mother.” “Ah, that’s good to hear sweetie!” Cordelia muttered again, her smile tightened “And you, Albert?” “Just fine, Mrs Cortez.” Albert grinned, shooting Cordelia a smug look from the corner of his eye. Cordelia snarled quietly. “Stuck-up bastard, I swear-” Mrs Cortez smiled, nails digging into Cordelia’s shoulders as she tried to stop her eyes from rolling. “Oh Cordie darling,” she sighed. “looks like we need to have another chat.” She moved her hand from Cordelia’s shoulder up to her pinned back hair, grabbing a fistful. “This way, darling.” And off she marched toward the balcony, dragging a squawking Cordelia behind her.

--

The entire room had gone silent, every person halting their conversation to watch them storm out. Albert and Finch followed suit, staring after them for a few seconds, until the balcony door slammed shut, and the room returned to its quiet chatter. Albert let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and laughed. He laughed and laughed, burying his face in Finch’s shoulder. He felt his boyfriend wrap him up in a hug, chuckling as well. “I love your mum.”  Finch snorted. “She loves you too, I think she asks more about you and how you are than she does me.” Albert stepped back, intertwining his fingers with Finch’s. “What can I say? I am pretty interesting.” He leaned out of the hug, hands still on Finch’s shoulders as the sound of Cordelia and Finch’s mother arguing floated faintly in from the balcony. The music slowly began to pick up again, and Finch smiled a little as he started to rock back and forth slightly, Albert could already tell what was coming and he bit back an eye roll and grin of his own. He felt Finch’s arm settle around his waist. “The night’s still young,” he murmured, pulling Albert back in closer. “Care to dance?” Albert smiled. “Ah you know I’m not much of a dancer, sweetheart.” Contrary to his words however, he reached down and slipped his hand inside of Finch’s squeezing it gently. “But with you, my dear? I’d love to.” and with that, Finch, who was undisputedly the better dancer of the two, lead them around a small section of the floor. Albert chuckled in embarrassment as he stumbled over his own feet, grabbing a little tighter on to his boyfriend’s shoulder. Finch slowed, helping Albert get his feet back under him before continuing on at a slower pace, listening to Albert count the steps under his breath. Eventually, they slowed again and returned to a gentle rocking, enjoying each other’s company. Finch could feel Albert growing tired, one hand clutched at his shoulder with the other pressed at his chest. “Hey Finch?” he murmured. “Hmm?” “I love you.” Finch blinked slowly, feeling a sweet warmth spread slowly through his chest. “I love you too, Albie.” And they stayed like that for a while, swaying in each other’s arms, letting the music wash over them, completely absorbed in each other’s presence. Albert, who was hiding his tiredness a little worse now –Finch was all but holding him up- could hear the steady beat of his boyfriend’s heart, which was not helping his sleepy state. “This is nice.” He mumbled into Finch’s dress shirt. “You also make a wonderful pillow, have I ever told you that?” “I don’t believe you have.” Finch chuckled quietly. “Well you do… you’re very warm… and comfortable…” he snuggled closer, and Finch watched as Albert’s eyes fluttered closed, he was just about to bend down and pick him up should he collapse in the middle of the ballroom, when a slightly muffled scream and the sound of a shattering wine glass sounded from the balcony, jerking Albert from his almost-sleep, steadying himself against Finch. The two of them looked toward the balcony, where the screaming was getting louder, before looking back at each other. “I think that may be our cue to leave,” Finch muttered glancing toward the balcony again. “I think you’re right,” Albert said, prying himself off of Finch and balancing on his own weak legs. Finch stole a glance toward the doorway that led out to the hall, then down to the exit and their freedom. “I’d say we can get the car around and be in bed in under half an hour if we leave now without any interruptions.” “Sounds like a plan,” Albert said as he stifled a yawn. Finch grabbed his wrist and gently tugged him toward the door, one eye on their escape and the other on the remaining guests, steering well clear of them. Their pace quickened as they passed through the door, turning into the hallway, and speeding toward the outside. Pushing open the large front doors, Finch helped Albert over the steps leading down to the garden where their car was waiting for them. “Hey, babe?” Albert asked as he and his boyfriend slid into the car. “Yeah?” “I’m never coming to one of these again.” Finch laughed. “Fair enough.” He took hold of Albert’s hand and brought it up to his mouth, brushing his lips over Albert’s knuckles, before driving off into the night, leaving the stuffy party and all the stuck-up people at it, behind.

--