They’re sitting in a random playground. It’s the middle of the night.
The air around them is biting, a cold, harsh omnipresence that lingers no matter what. No matter what, of course, excluding the warmth fading from the joint in Finney’s hand.
Robin’s on the swing next to him, looking around aimlessly. Just as always, he’s not wearing a jacket.
“You seriously aren’t cold?”
“Nah.”
Robin was always warm. Like the sun.
Usually, being outside at night, especially in a cold November, Finney’s on edge. Usually, he expects the van to return, to hear the gravel crumpling beneath it and realise he’s going back to that basement. Usually, he feels like he’s escaping it again—only to be ‘gutted like a pig’, because he knew he wouldn’t be so lucky the second time around.
But never when he was around Robin.
Maybe it was because Robin had survived it too, maybe it was because they had both survived it together, or maybe it was because Finney loved Robin more than anything.
Whatever it was, Finney was more grateful for it than he was for the fact that he was still alive.
Robin taps his shoulder, holding out his hand.
“Gimme some.”
Finney blinks, taking a few moments to process. He hands Robin the joint, looking at the ground.
“Robin?”
“Yuhhuh?”
“Can i say something selfish?”
He pauses, looking at Finney, the joint still in his hand. He blows out a huff of smoke,
“Go for it.”
Finney hesitates, kicking on the ground to swing slightly. His hands tighten on the chains.
“I’m glad we were taken.”
Robin freezes entirely, as if his tolerance for the cold has melted away. He looks at Finney, entirely confused, shocked.
“…What?”
Finney lets out a frustrated sigh. He looks at Robin for a second, and then looks back at the ground.
“I… wouldn’t have realised that I loved you if we weren’t.”