Quite some time has passed- exactly how much, he couldn't be sure- since his abduction, but it was enough that he'd noticed changes in him. And as horrible as the first bit of it was, ever since he told the Grabber his name, it'd been actually kind of nice.
So much so that he'd been in his lap that day, watching him fill his balloons for his part-time magician's gig when, for whatever reason that was beyond him, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his masked mouth.
His lips lingered, and when he finally pulled away, he'd realized what he'd done.
Cheeks flushing violently, he ducked his head and offered a pathetic apology of, "Sorry about that."
— from @mintarmmed, unprompted.
Five years did peculiar things to people, Albert learned. The longer he kept Finney in his basement, the brighter he shined in the peripheries of his vision. Teenagers didn't often shine as brightly as Finney did, even less so at the age of eighteen, and yet in all the years they were together, Albert found it impossible to snuff that light out.
Finney never played the game, so the Grabber never got to beat him at it. He shone brighter and brighter the longer he stayed, and in the back of his mind he could hear Daddy's scolding: he's touched with evil, boy, and when he brings Satan to your home you'll know it's because you didn't cut the evil out of him.
How could he, though, when Finney was hardly a Naughty Boy?
Albert wanted to say that he kept the boy because it was better to keep a bomb under watch instead of letting it into the wild, dangerous world. But surveillance didn't explain the weight of Finney on his lap now, nor did it provide a suitable reason for Albert's inability to leave the kid alone. Finney had simply gotten attached to him in their prolonged companionship, and because Albert was a sick son of a bitch, he'd done nothing to prevent it from happening.
Usually when Max was home Albert spent less time in the basement, concerned by the shit his brother could pull. These days, though, Finney missed him if he was gone too long, and the kid had somehow figured out he could play with his heartstrings if he looked at him with big enough eyes for a long enough period.
It was fucked up. He was fucked up. Finney wasn't supposed to sway him like this. But he'd been so happy when Albert opted to stay with him for the afternoon, and he was happy now as he sat in his lap and stayed close (you're the only adult figure he has now, of course he wants to be close to you).
Even when his lips touched Albert's mask-- these days, it was only ever that grinning half that showed up in Finney's presence-- that happiness didn't wane. At worst, there was only some shyness and embarrassment when Albert flinched slightly and the kid ducked his head and apologised, and that was...
Jesus fucking Christ, what the fuck is wrong with you.
"Finney." He was trying for a tone that toed the line between stern and patient. Albert's brows furrowed slightly. "What was that, hm?"
