Inbetweener (Completed)

Part 3

Fin's first day's Saturday, which is always more fraught than weekdays, with so many tourists and families all wanting increasingly complex concoctions. But he's a light. Unphased by the rush and demand; cheerful and efficient. The barely-used tip jar overflows. Practically every person he interacts with is grinning by the time they walk away.

There's only one time the smile drops. Fin gets flirted with all day, with little smiles and affectations, and he barely seems to notice. But there's one guy who brings back his edges from the day before, someone brave enough to ask for his number, and then to get pushy when Fin says he's not interested. I want to step in, but Fin leans across the counter and hisses something which makes the guy storm off, angry and muttering. Fin watches him and I can't tell whether the interaction makes him sad or sick.

I'm thinking about that, wondering if Fin had an issue with it being a guy, when I see another one, a smooth-looking older man, who stands in front of the building looking through the plate glass window long enough that it's weird.

At first, he's glancing around, but I cop him spotting Fin as he goes out to wipe down one of the outside tables. He forms a slimy little smile and I finish with a customer as quickly as possible, but he's disappeared by the time I get to the door - and Fin's re-entering, smiling beautifully when he sees me.

While we're cleaning up at the end of the day, I try to stay casual when I ask, "You get hit on a lot, then?"

"I'm so sorry. I won't let it affect my work, I promise. I'm sorry I chased that guy off - you can take his drink out of my pay, and-"

"No, it's okay. I didn't mean it that way." I'm bright red and feel awful that he thinks I'm judging him or something.

"Hey, your eyes look really, really blue when you go pink."

"Shut up," I say, but without heat, because at least my embarrassment stopped him panicking. "Anyway, you can obviously take care of yourself."

He beams, way more than the comment warrants. "Really?" And he's grinning to himself for the rest of clean-up.

* * * *

Fin's almost silent on Sunday. He's still polite, but there's none of the freedom he showed yesterday. I can't read whether it's anger or sadness underneath that veneer of cool. I think I can guess, though, when another pushy guy comes in. I don't even know if Fin's into men, but they sure like him.

This one's trying to get a date, leaning on the counter, sipping his take-out coffee while Fin serves other people around him and avoids responding to his advances. Fin's getting increasingly smaller, shrinking in on himself as each 'no thank you' is ignored.

Yesterday, he'd been so pleased when I said he could take care of himself that I'm reluctant to swoop in, but the guy is leaning forward more, and Fin's eyes are flitting desperately, so I approach the counter, pulling my shoulders back.

"Hey buddy, he isn't interested. Read the room."

That makes Fin snort a laugh, and I glance back at him, grinning.

"Aw, man, sorry," the pushy guy says, backing away with his hands up, "I didn't know he was taken."

I go to put him straight but feel a pressure on my wrist and look down to see Fin gripping it, tugging lightly.

"No worries," I say instead, even though I find the idea that the guy's only leaving Fin alone because he thinks he 'belongs' to someone else totally gross.

When he's gone, Fin turns to me, his smile weaker than I've seen before, but still sweet.

"Thanks. It's a lot, sometimes."