Stay Here Baby

The tray wobbled. Liam felt it go, a sickening lurch, the kind that starts in your gut and ends with a cold splash down your shin. Three caramel lattes, extra whipped, for the table by the frosted window. His hands, already slick with condensation and coffee residue, tightened around the edge of the flimsy plastic, but it was too late. He saw it, the slow-motion tilt, the inevitable cascade.

Then, a hand. Not his own. Larger, steadier, calloused fingers wrapping around the rim of the tray with an almost brutal efficiency. Finn. Always Finn, appearing out of nowhere when Liam was about to spectacularly fail. The sudden, hot contact of Finn’s skin against his own, even through the thin plastic, sent a jolt up Liam’s arm that had nothing to do with the near-disaster. His breath caught, a stutter in the rhythm of the bustling café.

“You were gonna drop it,” Finn’s voice was low, a rumble against the background din of the espresso machine and Gen Z pop. His eyes, dark and impossibly steady, were fixed on Liam’s face, not the precarious drinks. It was the kind of look that made Liam’s throat go dry, a sudden spotlight in the middle of a blur. Liam could feel the heat radiating from Finn’s wrist, a surprising anchor in the sudden quiet of his own head.

“No, I… I had it,” Liam managed, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him. He could feel a flush creeping up his neck, a tell-tale sign that Finn always seemed to notice. Finn, who barely moved, whose composure was a fortress. It was unnerving, this stark contrast between them. Finn just held the tray, his gaze unwavering, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. Not a mocking smile, but something softer, more knowing. Like he saw through all of Liam’s carefully constructed nonchalance.

“Right.” Finn’s thumb, rough and broad, brushed against Liam’s knuckles, a tiny, almost imperceptible contact that made a fresh wave of heat ripple through Liam’s arm. Liam pulled his hand back, maybe a little too fast, the empty space suddenly feeling colder. Finn’s steady grip kept the tray level. He hated how predictable his body was, how it gave away every inconvenient surge of feeling.

“It’s, uh, crazy today, huh?” Liam gestured vaguely around the cafe, where couples were huddled over heart-shaped cookies, teenagers giggling over their phones, and a perpetual queue snaked past the pastry display. The air was thick with the cloying sweetness of sugar and artificial vanilla, a sensory overload that was usually just background noise but today felt amplified, suffocating.

Finn finally took the tray from him, effortlessly, setting it down on the counter. “It’s Valentine’s Day. People are stupid.” He said it without malice, a simple statement of fact. His eyes flickered to a red balloon floating near the ceiling, then back to Liam. The way Finn said 'stupid' made Liam's mouth twitch. Finn thought a lot of things were stupid, usually with good reason. But sometimes, Liam suspected, it was just Finn’s way of keeping the world at arm’s length. Or maybe, Liam thought with a weird twist in his gut, a way to keep him at arm's length, too.

“Tell me about it,” Liam mumbled, grabbing a rag to wipe down the espresso machine, a purely performative act. His hands felt clumsy, his movements jerky. He could still feel the phantom warmth of Finn’s touch on his skin, a lingering brand. He risked a glance. Finn was still there, leaning against the counter, a black beanie pulled low over his dark hair, his hands tucked into the pockets of his worn denim jacket. He looked… solid. Like a wall. Or a mountain.

Most of the time, Finn didn't just 'hang out' after Liam's shift. He had his own work, his apprenticeship at the auto shop. He was always covered in grease, smelled faintly of oil and metal, a smell Liam, against his better judgment, found strangely comforting. Today, though, he was clean, almost scrubbed, and the change was unsettling. What was he doing here? Just… waiting?

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” Finn observed, his voice still low, cutting through the noise. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement of observation, an assessment. And it was true. Liam’s shoulders were tight, his eyes probably red-rimmed from too many early mornings and too much caffeine. He hated that Finn could always see past his flimsy attempts at composure.

“Thanks, I guess.” Liam tossed the rag onto the counter. “Peak romantic holiday, you know? Everyone’s either sickeningly happy or aggressively single.” He managed a weak smile, hoping it hid the jittery feeling in his chest. Finn just watched him, his expression unreadable. Liam cleared his throat. “What are you even doing here, Finn? Shouldn’t you be… tuning an engine or something?”

Finn pushed himself off the counter, slowly, deliberately, narrowing the already too-small space between them. The scent of him, clean and faintly of something earthy, overwhelmed the cloying sweetness of the cafe. “My shift ended early. Saw you were still stuck here.” He paused, and for a fleeting second, Liam thought he saw something akin to worry in Finn’s dark eyes. Or was it something else? Something sharper, more intense. Liam’s heart gave a familiar, inconvenient lurch.

“Oh. Right.” Liam picked at a loose thread on his apron. The air crackled. The proximity was almost too much. He could feel the slight shift of Finn’s weight, the way his jacket sleeve brushed against Liam’s arm. Every nerve ending felt hyper-aware. This was the 'BL Spark' they talked about online, the thing that felt like electricity but was probably just anxiety, right?

“Go get changed,” Finn said, his voice dropping another register, almost a command. “I’ll… wait.”

“Wait?” Liam’s voice squeaked a little. He mentally slapped himself. He was twenty-one, not twelve. “You don’t have to wait. I can just… grab my stuff and go.”

Finn’s lips twitched again. “Stay here, then.” It wasn’t a question. It was Finn. A grounded, unyielding force. Liam felt his cheeks burn. He hated how Finn could make a simple sentence sound like an irresistible pull. He didn't want to stay, not really. He wanted to run. But he also felt a strange, magnetic reluctance to move away from the steady warmth of Finn's presence.

“Fine,” Liam grumbled, but there was no real anger in it. He peeled off his apron, careful not to look at Finn directly, and headed to the back room, his movements stiff. The quiet click of the locker, the rustle of his backpack. He could feel Finn’s gaze, a physical weight on his back even through the swinging door. It made him feel both utterly exposed and strangely protected. God, this was stupid. All of it. The day, the lingering feelings, Finn.

When Liam emerged, Finn was already by the main doors, holding his own jacket open, ready for the biting cold outside. The cafe still pulsed with saccharine energy. Finn caught his eye, and something passed between them that had nothing to do with the noise or the red balloons. It was a silent acknowledgment, a shared secret in a public space.

The winter air hit them hard the moment they stepped out, sharp and clean, smelling faintly of wet dust and melting snow. A relief after the cloying sweetness inside. Liam shivered, hunching his shoulders. Finn, without a word, adjusted his pace, walking closer, his shoulder brushing Liam’s. It was a small, almost accidental contact, but Liam felt the heat of it through his thick hoodie. He tried to ignore it, to focus on the faint crunch of frozen slush under their sneakers.

They walked in silence for a few blocks, the city’s low hum and the distant wail of a siren providing their only soundtrack. Liam’s hands were stuffed deep in his pockets, his phone a cold slab against his palm. He wanted to check it, scroll through endless Valentine’s Day posts, anything to break the electric tension between them. But he didn’t dare. It felt too fragile, whatever this was.

“You hungry?” Finn asked, breaking the quiet. His breath plumed in the cold air. His voice, usually so steady, had a subtle edge to it now, a question that felt loaded. Liam looked up, catching a stray snowflake on his eyelashes. Finn was looking at him, a focused intensity that made Liam’s stomach flutter.

“Maybe,” Liam said, trying for casual, but his voice was a little higher than he’d intended. He kicked at a loose piece of gravel on the sidewalk. “Thought you had to, you know, go.” He trailed off, gesturing vaguely towards… nowhere.

Finn stopped, turning fully to face Liam. The streetlights cast long, uneven shadows, highlighting the sharp planes of his face. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, slowly, deliberately. Liam’s breath hitched. Was this it? Was Finn going to pull out some ridiculously oversized teddy bear, or a box of chocolates? Liam braced himself, already formulating an awkward, polite refusal.

Instead, Finn pulled out a small, flat package wrapped in plain brown paper, tied with a simple twine. No ribbons, no hearts. Just a careful, almost architectural bundle. He held it out, his arm steady, his eyes still locked on Liam’s. “It’s… not stupid, okay? It’s just. I saw it.”

Liam stared at the package, then at Finn’s face, which seemed to hold a mixture of stoicism and something akin to… nervousness? Finn? Nervous? Liam felt a strange warmth spread through him, chasing away the cold. He took the package, his fingers brushing against Finn’s. Again, that jolt, a current running between them. The paper felt cool and slightly textured under his fingertips.

He unwrapped it carefully, pulling at the twine. Inside was a small, well-worn paperback. A first edition of some obscure graphic novel Liam had been trying to find for months, a title he’d only mentioned once, offhand, weeks ago, while scrolling through a fan forum. The cover art, a stark black-and-white cityscape, was instantly recognizable. Liam’s gaze snapped from the book to Finn. “How… where did you even find this?” His voice was barely a whisper.

Finn shrugged, a faint blush dusting his high cheekbones, barely visible in the dim light. “Online. Took some digging.” He didn’t elaborate, didn’t boast. Just 'took some digging'. As if it was nothing. But Liam knew how much 'digging' this would have taken. This wasn’t just a gift. This was listening. This was seeing something beyond the everyday. This was… Finn.

Liam clutched the book to his chest, the edges of the old paper pressing into his jacket. A gust of wind whipped past, carrying the smell of wet pavement. He felt a dizzying mix of disbelief and overwhelming tenderness. His eyes found Finn’s again, and for a long moment, neither of them spoke. The world shrunk to just them, standing on a street corner, the noise of the city a distant hum. Finn's gaze softened, a rare, unguarded look that made Liam's heart pound like a drum against his ribs. It felt like an invitation. A question. One that Liam didn't know how to answer, but desperately wanted to.

“Thanks,” Liam finally managed, the word feeling too small, too inadequate for the enormity of the gesture. He felt ridiculously, stupidly happy, a warmth blooming in his chest that had nothing to do with the cold. He risked a small, genuine smile. Finn returned it, a slow, quiet curve of his lips. And in that moment, under the faint glow of a flickering streetlight, with the cold seeping into their bones, Liam felt something settle between them. Something real, solid, and utterly hopeful, like the promise of spring after a long winter.