The name was a bit cheesy, if Finn had to be honest. It was about one word off a retirement home, and the fact that Gideon had chosen to live here, and also recommend it to him was nothing short of funny to him. But he had to admit, the place was nice, even mid-winter. Winter months didn’t differ much between Cairo and Los Angeles, temperature-wise, Finn had quickly found, although the latter was consistently colder during the summer months. It didn’t matter much, he’d decided. With Egypt’s recent crackdown on the LGBT community, it had been an easy decision to quit his job – a job he absolutely loved – at the Museum of Cairo, and find a new job.
He’d made a reputation quickly at the start of his career, however, and the first serious offer had come from Los Angeles’ NHM, one that he’d taken well before he even had the housing situation covered. But now that he was here, he could almost forget that this was, essentially, settling. He hadn’t told his parents – it would crush his pa, and his da would just get angry for no reason. He’d told his cousin, though, and he’d been quick to offer.
So on a nice Sunday afternoon, Finn was hanging off the side of the outdoor pool of the complex, lost in the book he was reading – and apparently occasionally writing in. It was obvious he hadn’t moved in a while, because he was entirely dry from the top of his ribs and up, his hieroglyph-covered back exposed as he turned a page of his book. He’d been planning to sit there until it was dinner time, but a splash behind him made him lurch up and hold his book in the air and away from the pool, looking over his shoulder with a glare to spot the perpetrator. “Be wide, will ya? Lord.”
