summer stained blue

chapter five - lightweight

"This is the worst idea you've ever had," Dylan stated bluntly, "and you've had a lot of bad ideas over the past few days alone."

Finn had promised Liam a night out, and Dylan was vehemently opposed to the idea. He had a lot of valid points (one of them being that Finn was the biggest lightweight known to man and an utter embarrassment to Irish culture -- which didn't make much sense to Finn considering that he was pretty much as whole-heartedly American as they came), but as usual, Finn was choosing avoidance over reason.

"You're such an asshole," he told Dylan bluntly. He swung his legs under his tall seat at Dylan's counter, propping his head up on an elbow. "If you and Liam don't bury the hatchet soon, I'm going to pull my own hair out."

"No, no, please!" Dylan cried out dramatically. He ran his fingers through Finn's hair, laughing when Finn shoved him off. "Not your lovely curls. I can't live without them."

"Alright, fine. I take it back. If you and Liam don't bury the hatchet, I'm going to use it to hack your head off. At least then I'll be getting some peace out of it."

Dylan snorted. "You're such a bitch." He shoved his car keys into his jacket pocket, then patted around to make sure he had his wallet in the back pocket of his jeans. "Finn, seriously. If you need anything tonight, just call me."

"Of course," Finn brushed him off.

"I mean it. I'm a phone call away."

"I'm going to a bar, Dylan, not a warzone."

"Yeah, well . . ." Dylan paused for a long moment, studying Finn's smoothly-combed curls and his patterned button-up shirt. This was the same Finn that Dylan had always felt responsible for, the same Finn that he shared his morning snack with for all four years of high school. This was the same Finn that had pushed him away over and over again, who tried not to lean on him no matter how many times Dylan offered up his shoulder. He added honestly, "Maybe I don't trust Liam to look after you. He doesn't have the best track record of protecting his friends."

He expected a sassy comeback or yet another reprimand about him and Liam's ridiculous feud, so he was beyond surprised when Finn stood up and hugged him.

Finn had never been one for affection, except for the subtle touches, a secret need for closeness that he generally kept under the radar. It was always hard for him to step outside of his own little bubble and show his closest friends how much he appreciated them -- because he came from a house where "did you eat dinner yet?" was the closest thing he ever got to "I love you."

"What's this for?" Dylan wondered, patting his back a few times.

"Just because," Finn replied.

It was simple, and it was enough.

Dylan drove him to the bar, dropped him off at the door, and told him again to call if he needed anything ("I mean it, Finn, anything. I'm just going to be sitting at home worrying about you doing something embarrassing -- like tripping and falling on your face! Please watch your step and try not to concuss yourself, oh my god . . ."). Just one step into the crowded bar, and he was already starting to regret not taking Dylan's advice.

He hadn't been back in town since he turned twenty one, so the whole bar scene was pretty much a mystery to him. Aside from a few stray house parties, he hadn't been a particularly committed partier in high school. Tonight was his first night out in his hometown when he wasn't underage.

The bar was packed already. The tables had been pushed aside to make room for dancing, and it took a few scans of the room for him to spot Liam. Even in the dim, orange lighting, his friend's broad shoulders and tall frame stuck out, and Finn shuffled his way across the room, squeezing through the tiniest gaps in the dense crowd.