Archive of Our Own ^beta

On Finn's fourth birthday, his mum baked him a policeman cake.

She stood for hours in the kitchen, making sure the batter tasted good--that he’d like it--and when he clambered in there, rubbing his eyes sleepily after a nap for a taste, she grinned, bright and wonderful and his, before letting him have a spoonful (it was delicious, of course). He doesn't remember much about his childhood, tries to block it all out--not because it was particularly sad or anything, but because it wasn't, it was happy--but he could never forget his mum.

He would never want to forget his mum.

It took her longer to decorate it than it did for her to actually make it, and Finn's father stood there in the doorway, watching her with a fond expression on his face. He never knew anyone who loved his mum as much as his daddy and him.

That was okay, though. They were the only ones who were allowed.

And when she set the cake in front of him, alight with candles and a mountain of frosting so high he could barely see over it, he couldn't help but smile real wide at her.

His mum was the best--and maybe he was a bit biased, here, because he's only ever been mumded by one mum, but he can't quite possibly think of anyone better. And Finn knew he  was lucky.

*

Finn's mum died when he was nine.

*

His birthday celebrations died with her.

They don’t talk about it.

*

On the morning of his nineteenth birthday, Finn wakes up to a solid weight on his chest, warm and persistent. He would laugh if he wasn't so annoyed by it, and his attempts to brush the weight off so he can sleep some more are easily avoided.

"C'mon, grumpy," Rae's voice is happy and too fucking loud in the still morning air, and Finn just wants to curl around her and make her forget all about trying to wake him up.

Finn is most definitely not a morning person.

Especially on his birthday. He kind of just wants to sleep forever.

"Sleep," he says, his voice a raspy, ugly thing, but he doesn't care.

"Grump," Rae says, though it's fond. Her hand presses down more insistently on his chest and he paws at it to get it away, which only makes her laugh at him. "I made you tea and toast."

He raises his head to look at her. "Didn't hafto."

Rae just rolls her eyes and makes a move to get away, presumably to go get the food because Finn obviously wasn't moving any time soon. He grabs her wrist, quickly, and smiles tiredly at her.

'T-H-A-N-K-S.'

"Always," she murmurs, and this time, when she pulls away, Finn lets her go.

*

After breakfast, and much pestering from Rae, Finn is freshly showered and dressed for the day. He’s not used to doing anything for his birthday; their group of mates gave up after the first year, when Chop and Izzy tried to drag him to a pub to get illegally wasted and he ended up just wallowing in a corner miserably (“It’s the rubbish fake IDs, innit?” Chop had asked, incredulity--he hadn’t known if it was because of Finn or because of the guy he’d gotten the IDs from, and he was sure he didn’t want to find out, either--in his eyes. “I shouldn’t ‘ave gone cheap.”

“Not you,” Finn said. “Don’t like my birthday.”

Chop froze in place. It was almost comical “Who doesn’t like their birthday?”

His mum had made such a huge deal out of all of his birthdays, making sure he had the cake he picked out months before, no matter how long it took her to make it, working extra hours at the pub to make sure she could afford all of the presents he wanted--”It’s your special day, kid,” she would answer with a laugh, whenever he would ask her, ruffling his hair affectionately, and she wouldn’t even complain her feet hurt even though Finn could see her swollen ankles--that it just seemed almost criminal for him to celebrate it when she was no longer there.

So, he didn’t. His dad stopped giving him those looks, and his friends stopped asking ridiculous questions, and for the first time in years, Finn felt like he could breathe again).

“Rae,” he murmurs, so soft he’s not sure she’s even heard him until she spins around to look at him.

They’re on the streets, now, looking through the windows, and her fingers are tapping out a beat on his own that make him think she’s thinking of doing something that will probably make him (unknowingly) uncomfortable. He knows she means well--Rae always means well, she’s too sweet to not mean well, at least with Finn--which is the only reason he doesn’t act like a dick and just ask to go home instead.

This, dragging Finn around town to look at things in windows and spend time together, makes her happy. If Rae’s happy, well, then by extension, Finn is, too.

It’s enough for him.

“Where’re we going?”

She just smiles at him, mischievous and knowing, and Finn can’t help but press her against the brick, dusty wall of a music shop, hands digging into her hips as he dips in to kiss her.  Her mouth is a warm press against his own, and he chases her tongue into her mouth, close and eager. “Birthday kisses,” he mumbles against her lips, and he sinks into the laugh she lets out into his mouth, and it really should be gross, but he just finds it unbearably hot.

“Later,” she laughs, pushing him away, and god, what Finn would lose to hear that sound always.

He feels like a sappy fuck for thinking it as soon as he does, but he figures, with a girl like Rae, you can’t really expect anything different.

He pulls away from her, and grabs the hand that’s pushing playfully against his chest, wraps their fingers around each other and pulls her along the street. “Where we going?”

“Wherever your heart desires.”

Finn snorts. “You’re a riot,” he says,

She shakes her head at him--endearingly, hopefully--and follows him along, and when he has to lean over to press her against random buildings every fifty steps to kiss her senseless, she just laughs into his mouth, not the least bit annoyed with him.

It makes him feel like he could fly.

*

“You don’t like your birthday much, do you?” Rae asks, later, when they’re huddled underneath the warmth of his blankets, legs tangled together, heads pressing close. He smiles at her, or rather, he smiles into the pillow and her hair, but he thinks she pretty much sees it anyway, and shrugs.

“No,” he says.

She lifts up her head to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugs, can feel a blush sprouting on his cheeks like mad, and wills it to go away. “You were happy. I’m happy if you’re happy.”

She scrunches her nose up, all adorable and young and Finn can’t help it--can never help it around her--when he leans over to kiss her lips chastly. “You’re a terrible sap, y’know that?”

He grunts. “Yeah.”

“I like it.”

“I know,” Finn says, even though he didn’t, and feels his chest unknot from the tightness he hadn’t even noticed was there.

“Happy Birthday, Finn.” She whispers, some time later; Finn had almost thought she was asleep, with how quiet things had got.

He kisses a ‘thank you’ into her forehead instead, let’s his fingers press ‘I’m so lucky to have you’ into her hips without saying a word and knows she’ll get it anyway. That’s the thing about her, she gets everything about Finn, and miraculously, he’s not even sure if she’s trying to, most of the time.

Before she drifts off to sleep, he moves the hair off of her back, and writes:

‘I L-O-V-E Y-O-U.’

Finn can almost hear the smile she hides into her pillow.

‘M-E T-O-O.’

*

Finn thinks maybe he could learn to like birthdays again.

With Rae, of course.

*

(He will.)