Finch Goodfellow

Totally unprepared am I

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"Abbbbbbbbby," Finch began, peeking around the corner of her door and looking slightly distraught behind his very bright purple fashion glasses, "we have a problem. A problematic problem. Capital-P Problem, even." Abigail Goodfellow looked up from her script to stare at her brother. He leaned on the doorframe and held up his own copy of the script, rolled up, and pointed it straight at her.

"So remember how I was going to be Friedrich and you were gonna be Liesl and everything was going to be awesome and we can harmonize like hella and we've been practicing for weeks already and I know all my lines?" Finch continued, waving the script back and forth between the pair of them rather dramatically as his sister nodded. "Well the director called and Alex is sick and so is Ryan and now I'm Rolfe because I'm the only one tall enough that isn't like, old."

Which was problem. For two reasons; Finch was not as blond as he previously had been after spending time in a castle instead of on the roof of his house all year along. Which meant they would have to dye his hair ridiculously blond. And because Finch was not kissing his sister in a cardboard gazebo, no matter how much he wanted to dance around in one and how fantastic he would look doing it.

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Abigail Goodfellow was nothing if not a perfectionist when given a task, so when she was told she got to be Liesl for Sound of Music, she put her everything into it. She memorized her lines until her eyes were stinging and her mouth was dry, and she'd watched the movie over and over again to learn the choreography and mannerisms of the original Liesl.

 

So it was safe to say she was having a very mild crisis when her twin brother came in proclaiming they had a Capital-P Problem. Because that was never a good start when musicals were concerned. Abby was not superstitious, but she was certainly not against being terrified of everything going horribly wrong.

 

She listened as Finch explained the problem, her eyes, hiding behind her teal fashion glasses, widening with each twist and. "We have to kiss each other?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

 

Abby paused, script frozen in midair as she stared at Finch. She sat up in realization, shaking her head. "That'll be our first kiss!" she cried out, standing up from her bed quickly. Abby paused, narrowing her eyes at Finch. "That would be your first kiss, right?" He hadn't ever told her otherwise, but she had to make sure.

 

This was a disaster. Kissing Finch was never on Abby's radar of things she'd have to do, and now, she was going to have to. Well dangit.

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Finch wrinkled his nose as well, the pair of them making identical faces of ew gross can we not for a few seconds before Abby shook her head and Finch slumped further against the doorframe in defeat. "It can't be our first kiss. Like... that's..." he searched for the word as he meandered from the doorway to his sister's bed, flopping down beside her with his face screwed up in thought. "Disappointing. No offense. Like, I'm sure you're great. I'm probably great too."

Because, come on, how could he not be? How could Abby not be? They were fantastic at everything, clearly kissing would be on their list of skills. But he'd never thought of his first kiss happening like this. This was not an epic love story straight out of a Disney movie. There would be no fireworks going off in the background, or singing crabs telling him to kiss the girl or anything cool like that. This would just be... Abby.

"Of course it'd be my first," he grumbled, rolling onto his stomach and stealing one of her pillows to prop his chin up. "It's not like I go around kissing people all the time. It's supposed to be special or something. Like a relationship. Dating. That stuff." And then, quieter, he peered up at his sister with a pout. "...I've never even thought about kissing anybody. Except like. Beyoncé. On the hand, because I am not worthy, but like. We don't really have a choice here. Show must go on. Art. Suffering for art. We'll be real actors now." He sighed, poking at the design on Abby's pillow, looking glum as he traced the pattern with a finger.

"...Who'd you think your first kiss would be?"

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At the very least, they were on the same page of unhappiness about it. The kiss, while she knew was necessary, was weird for it to be with Finch, especially for her first. That just. He was her brother, and while there was a very good point that they were probably great at it, it would still be unfortunate and definitely on the disappointing side if he was her first kiss.

 

Abby wasn't exactly blinded by Disney romances, but she'd at least hoped her first kiss wouldn't be her brother. She never thought she'd have to kiss her brother, but maybe she should've expected it considering they were two of a handful of kids their age in a small theatre troupe.

 

She flopped back on her bed, dropping her script to the floor beside her textbooks and an old tshirt that she was thinking of cutting up. Staring at her ceiling, she narrowed her eyes when she noticed one of her glow in the dark stars peeling a little. How unfortunate.

 

As Finch confirmed that it would be his first kiss too, Abby nodded along, chuckling. "Beyoncé would be such an ace first kiss though," she agreed, humming. "I always thought I'd have to chop all my hair off for my art first," she admitted, wrinkling her nose a little. Finch's question made her pause, narrowing her eyes at the ceiling. "I dunno. Guess I've never really thought about it that much. Mostly because I don't even know who I'd date, y'know?" She hummed before shifting so she was on her side and facing Finch. "What about you? Did you have a proper first kiss in mind?" she asked, eyebrow raised slightly.

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"Nope," he said, popping the P and turning to face his sister. "Someone nice, I guess? From school, maybe. It'd be hard if we liked someone here and went off to school for months at a time."

Now that she'd asked the question though, Finch had to wonder. Who would he have picked for his first kiss? He came up blank for a solid minute before he rolled back onto his stomach and shoved his face into the pillow. He didn't really see the appeal of kissing, for a start. It looked nice enough, people seemed to enjoy it on television and in movies, and it wasn't as if he was blind. People kissed at Hogwarts all the time. In fact, now that he thought about it, it was probably odd that he and Abby hadn't kissed anyone yet, wasn't it?

"I don't know," he mumbled into the pillow. His words likely came out garbled, but he didn't bother to slow down or sit up so his sister could translate more easily. "Someone nice? Somebody good-looking. And smart. And good at dancing. And fashion. And hugs."

Which... was himself. Or Abby. Which was probably the issue, he realized. Finch sat up abruptly, crossing his legs and holding the pillow to his chest, eyes wide. That made sense, actually. Wasn't there something about opposites attracting? He'd read that recently, somewhere. He shoved the pillow at his sister and said, "I'mma get a magazine, hold on," and rushing from the room.

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Kissing wasn't a surprise or some kind of weird thing. Their parents had never been the kind of people who kept secrets. It was probably why the Goodfellow twins were the way they were. Still, it didn't mean they were apparently the kind of kids to kiss a lot. Not like some of their classmates. Hell, she'd seen kids younger than them kissing. They just had very high standards, really, which was totally valid because it wasn't like they should settle until they found someone they liked or made them feel all tingly.

 

"It'd be hard to explain to anyone here why we had to write letters and use owls to deliver them too," she added, because she'd definitely thought about it. And sure, sometimes she'd say something completely true about schools around the neighborhood kids when they asked, but they always thought she was joking. Which, according to Quinn, was the only reason she hadn't been put in front of the Ministry for her actions.Honestly, that seemed a little extreme in Abby's opinion, but no one at the Ministry seemed to care.

 

"That sounds lovely, actually," she murmured at his description. "Someone who liked going to thrift shops too, And trying new things, and will watch our performances," she added, because those were staples in their lives and they certainly couldn't date someone who didn't accept that. Abby sat up when Finch ran from the room, reaching into her bedside table to grab two colored pens, a green and a purple, because she had a feeling she knew where this was going.

 

And she was proven right when Finch came back with a copy of Cosmo and was flipping through it, looking for something with a determined look on his face. "Oooh, good idea!" she said once she read the title of the quiz. Abby sat criss-cross as she handed Finch his pen and took the magazine to read the first question. "What's the first thing you notice about a cute guy? How heteronormative. Or girl, obviously," she said, tapping her pen on paper lightly before circling one. "How well worn their denim jacket is, probably. And then I'd ask where they got it," she said matter-of-factly, handing Finch the magazine so he could answer.

 

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Edited by Abigail Goodfellow

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"Owls are in right now, Abigail," Finch said very seriously. "Everyone uses them. They're the new snapchat. And sometimes they even have mice, like, it's like sending someone a flying cat. With feathers. And hooting." Really, if there were more owl videos in the world, the world would be a better place. They were just as cool as cats. And just as ridiculous when you tried to put shoes on them.

Finch held the purple pen between his teeth as Abby circled her first answer, then circled his own. "Shoes," he told his sister, sounding disappointed. She shook her head and moved onto the next question, which was quick and obvious for the pair of them.

And the third. And the fourth. Except of course, that the pair of them had to stop and fix the quiz. Finch nodded appropriately as his sister crossed out the questions and fixed them. "Better," he agreed, also underlining too seriously because that was a dealbreaker. "How could we get along with someone who isn't fun," he pouted, turning the page and passing it over to his sister.



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"A flying cat isn't appealing to everyone, though. And what if some hunter shoots them down?" she asked, her face full of horror at the idea. It was actually so dangerous to use owls, now that she thought about it.

 

She nodded, scratching out the heteronormative bits intently. "If they can't have fun with us, then what's the point of being around them, right?" she murmured, smiling at his underlining. "Oh." She paused as she looked over the answer choices. There were two that definitely weren't her answers, but the other two... were a little less obvious.

 

So she stalled by drawing on the suit.

 

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Edited by Abigail Goodfellow

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"Flying cat insurance," Finch said in a hushed, awed voice, looking as if he'd just uncovered the secrets to the universe. Or possibly his future career. Only. "Probably would involve a lot of paperwork," he pouted, going back to the quiz.

The Quiz was the important thing right now, after all. He grinned at the flower Abby drew in the suit pocket on the previous question and looked to the next one. "Our birthday," he mused. "How would that work?" He looked to his sister. They'd always spent it together, usually watching at least one Star Wars film to commemorate the excellence of the date. If they were dating someone, (or if they were each dating someone, Finch supposed) then that might change. He tapped his pen on the page as he read the answers.

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"BUY ME FLOWERS," he crowed as he doodled a heart on his choice. All the flowers. No. "A flower crown. Because birthday." He grinned at his sister victoriously. #goals

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Abby tilted her head thoughtfully at the idea of flying cat insurance. It truly would be perfect. They just needed to figure out how to get cats to fly first. Paperwork, though, was totally something they could hire someone to do if they became famous for teaching cats to fly.

 

Finch posed a very good question about their birthday, because their birthdays were always together. They'd never been any other way. "I dunno, but whoever they are better prepare for two big birthdays," she said, leaving no room for arguments as she drew a quick 'x' on her choice. Because a bae who paid attention was the best kind of bae, obviously.

 

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"A lazy Sunday sounds nice right about now, actually," she mused, doodling on the page by the eighth question. "I'd rather have a latte than these," she continued, effectively rendering the question unanaswerable by striking through it. They were children, after all, they didn't need a question like that.

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Finch frowned down at the question as Abby crossed it out. "They don't even have frappuccinos listed?" he asked, looking disappointed. Shame on you, Cosmo. Didn't they know their target audience was Finch and Abby Goodfellow, teenage geniuses on the hunt for the perfect person for their first real kiss? That was the goal here, after all. They skipped down to the next question and Finch grinned at Abby as the pair of them crossed off the same answer and immediately fist bumped afterwards.

Fashion twins fashion wins. Bedroom decor was so important. It was like. An extension of your body. Or in Finch's case, his wardrobe. And some of Abby's. And strangely Grover's, since he'd taken to borrowing their clothes and somehow they'd ended up with a few of his things in the process.

Last question.

"Tell me I'm pretty," Finch said dramatically, flopping back on the bed with a hand held to his forehead. He sat up a moment later when he heard his sister's pen squeak on the page and went back to reading over his choices. Hmm. "I do have a nice butt," he muttered thoughtfully, stealing the magazine away from his sister to make notes. "And concerts." He gasped and looked up at his sister, blue eyes wide with realization. "Like Beyoncé. Option four. Option fooooour." He drew a heart around it and held the pages out so the pair of them could read over their answers and find out who their ideal first kiss would be.

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They'd gotten different results. In retrospect, this made sense. They'd picked different answers for some of the questions, so of course their results would vary. Still, Finch found himself double checking the differences between what he and Abby had chosen. They were Finch and Abby. They shared everything. Wouldn't this be the same?

But Abigails results said HIPSTER. The description included things like flannel, sharing dog earred books, and secret coffee shops. Finch's said TOTAL BOY, and involved mismatched socks, fun jokes, and uncomplicated dates. He stared at the magazine, then steepled his fingers together as he thought of who they knew that had both of these characteristics as his sister squinted down at her results.

Grover had mismatched socks and flannel. But Grover wouldn't be an uncomplicated date, and he didn't seem particularly fond of coffee. Darcy? She wasn't very bookish, and Finch was fairly sure the only pairs of socks she owned were the ones he kept giving her when she lost hers in the woods. Finch ran through the list of people he knew, considering each of them in turn.

And then, a lightbulb went off in his head.

"Ed. Ed has flannel. And mismatches his socks sometimes. And probably doesn't own bookmarks and he's fun and he's not very complicated and he likes brunch," which was close enough to coffee that Finch was grinning at his sister, victory already in sight. "We need to kiss Ed."

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It hadn't taken Abby long to decide her answers for the last two. Of course pictures and trinkets. Abby was as much of a sentimental sap as the next person; that's why she'd been so keen on getting cameras and keeping any tiny keepsakes. Of course, sometimes those keepsakes ended up in Grover's care, but that was neither here nor there.

 

"You wish you had a butt like Beyoncé," she said teasingly, chewing on the tip of her pen as she started going over the score to try and figure out who their first kiss should be. Because it certainly couldn't be each other. She furrowed her eyebrows once the scores were tallied and. Well, she supposed the results narrowed it down a little. Only so many people would fit under those two categories.

 

And for reasons Abby hadn't deciphered yet, her first thought to fill the role of "first kiss" was Loren. She turned to tell Finch, her mouth open and forming the letters when her brother started talking about Ed.

 

Abby listened as Finch justified his reasoning, nodding along slowly. A part of her didn't really want Finch to kiss Loren. Just don't ask why; it was far too complicated for Abby to think too much about. "Ed then? Should we call him up, to get it over with?" She reached for her phone, in case Finch didn't have his. Normally they were attached to it without a question, but when they were home and together, the rules changed a little. Mostly because most of the people they talked to with said cell phones was in the house.

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"Wait," Finch said, stopping his sister as she reached for her phone. "What are we going to tell him?"

How did you tell someone that you wanted them to come over so you could kiss them? Was there a protocol for this? Did you have to invite them for dinner or something first? Maybe a sleepover? Finch ran his hands through his hair. Never mind how they were going to ask Ed to kiss them, what was he going to wear. Priorities, Finchley, first kisses only happen once.

"I'm borrowing your cardigan," Finch declared, standing abruptly and rushing to his sister's closet to grab the world's Softest Cardigan, which just so happened to match Finch's eyes perfectly. He pushed his glasses up on top of his head, then discarded them altogether as he fussed with his hair, glancing towards his sister's reflection. Abby didn't seem too concerned.

 

In fact, as he was trying to get his hair to sit just right, she came up behind him and pinched his arm. "Abs," he cried, sending her a betrayed look as he rubbed away the pain, only to settle down immediately afterwards when she took over for him, her fingers carefully mussing his hair just right. He stood patiently, nerves humming with excitement, before she released him and he could peek back at the mirror. Finch cleared his throat, turned to his sister and carefully set his glasses back on his nose, and pointed at her with double finger guns.

"Okay. Make... the Call."

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Abby paused, her finger hovering over Ed's number at Finch's question. "'Hi, Ed, will you come over for kisses?'" she offered as a suggestion, only half-jokingly. Because Abby didn't really know how to approach that particular topic to someone she was vaguely acquainted with. But blunt and upfront seemed accurate.

 

She watched as Finch started fussing with his outfit, an amused smile on her face. Finally, when he seemed on the verge of a breakdown, she stepped up to help. Because she was a great twin like that. Once he was settled, she pulled her hair out of its ponytail and ran her fingers through it a few times so it looked vaguely decent and not like she'd slept on it.

 

At Finch's instruction, Abby pulled her phone out and dialed Ed's number, realizing after the second ring -- which meant it was too late to hang up now -- that they hadn't actually discussed what to say. At least not fully.

 

Uh oh.

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He'd received the call just after hopping out of the shower, dressed in his favorite flannel and nursing his second coffee of the day; he had an interview later that evening with some underground boxing blog, and he'd need all the caffeinated courage he had. He'd been unable to locate a pair of matching socks for the occasion, but that was nothing new. It was while rummaging through his drawers that he clicked the receiver on the phone his trainer had purchased for him. "Hello?"

 

Abby Goodfellow's introduction was a rushed, hurried thing that confused the boy, considering the phone had said it was Finch calling, but confusion, where the twins were concerned, was familiar territory. Having uttered less than ten words, it was established that he'd be having company in approximately one hour. 

 

This was a very embarrassing circumstance that made Edison Byrnes very, very, very, very nervous. 

 

The Hufflepuff lived in a shoddy two bedroom crapshoot with his trash dump of a father whose boggart was probably a mop. The fridge was empty, the floors were grimy, and the house was perpetually hot from the fumes from his father's failed inventions. The surrounding neighborhood reflected the state of their home. For these reasons, Ed had never bothered to keep any company here, instead finagling his way into being invited to people's homes for meals and friendships. But how could he tell his closest friends no? He'd begrudgingly given up his address and proceeded to attempt making his place look at least a little bit respectable. You can only do so much in an hour, though, and before he knew it the doorbell was ringing and his heart was hammering in his chest and if he only knew what was happening next—we'll, he probably wouldn't have opened the door.  

 

Edison stood behind the door, taking deep breaths. His friends would love him despite his simple, testosterone-driven bachelor prison, right? He couldn't overthink this or he'd go insane, and without further ado he opened the door, barely letting out a breathy "Hey," before a sweet-smelling body launched itself at him and there was a very soft mouth pressing up against his.

 

The problem was, he had no idea whose lips they were.

 

Huh.

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He rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets to keep them from flailing about in his excitement. Excitement? Anxiety? It was hard to tell; Finch was normally a bundle of energy, but at that moment he felt even more like he was blurring at the edges. Ed's place had a door, and a bell, which he pressed quickly. Three times. It felt like he'd downed a frap all in one go, whipped cream and all. Jittery. That was the word. 

 

Finch was jittery. 

 

"I'm jittery," he informed his sister, eyes wide and sparkling. They were really going to do this; they were going to have their first kiss. Any minute now. Whenever Ed opened the door. This was the right house, wasn't it? His brow creased as he leaned back to check the number, nodding to himself when he saw it. 

 

The door clicked. Finch stopped breathing, watching the doorknob turn, then quickly looked up. Why had he not thought of Ed immediately when Abby had first asked him? Why hadn't he thought about kissing Edison before this? Ed was the perfect choice. He was broad and pretty and he was wearing flannel, bless. Any wisps of anxiety he had evaporated immediately, leaving him with such a sudden sense of certainty that he took one quick step forward and raised his hands to cup Ed's face, rising onto his toes to close the distance between them. His eyes fluttered closed. 

 

Ed tasted like... well, coffee, if Finch was being completely honest. And a little bit like mint. He'd grown taller, too, since they'd last seen him, Finch having to push up on his toes a fraction more when Ed started to pull back. He held onto him a second longer, feeling something in his chest light up and sparkle, reminiscent of the wild joy of casting his first spell, then let Ed slip from his fingers. 

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Abby was not one to mince words usually, but when she didn't exactly know how to explain to Edison Byrnes what the Goodfellow twins needed from him, it had come out as a jumble of words that could have been gibberish. Thankfully, the Hufflepuff was far too used to this kind of behavior from the twins, and they only needed a quick okay before they were on their way to the Byrnes home. 

 

"It's just Ed, though, so it'll be okay," she said, hoping to reassure her twin. Then again, Abby's own nerves didn't exist because, as far as she was concerned, this was like any other performance. A means to an end, just a thing they had to do to get somewhere else, in this case to the point where they were playing roles in a musical.

 

They hadn't discussed how it was going to go down, and a part of Abby had thought they'd at least tell Ed what they were doing. She was wrong, because Finch took the wheel and ... then Ed's face. Abby turned away, giving them a bit of privacy as Finch kissed Ed. This might've been an ends to a means, but it was still kind of an intimate moment and she didn't want to intrude.

 

When Finch pulled away, Abby glanced over at the two males again, a smile on her face. "Hi, Ed! Thanks again for doing this!" she said with a grin, cupping his cheeks like she'd seen people do in movies and kissing him gently, eyes closed and lips properly puckered. Because surely you could trust Hollywood to get those things right, right? 

 

After a few seconds, Abby pulled away and gave him a grin, wiping at a smudge of lip gloss she (maybe Finch? She couldn't remember if he'd applied any before they'd come over) had left on the corner of his mouth. "Are you headed off somewhere?" she asked, head tilted as she looked over his outfit. 

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Part of him recognize that this was pretty much assault and that he should be firing off some alarm bells at the current situation. But the far more tragic part of him, the one that took over anything remotely close to rationality in a teenage boy's mind, was currently screaming about the fact that this person, whoever this person was, was his first kiss. It was several seconds in before Edison took a shocked stepped back.

 

To find Finch Goodfellow staring back at him. One does not need to know Edison Byrnes very well to know what the instant reflex to this whole process was.

 

Luckily for the Gryffindor, however, the momentum of his punch was rocked by the sudden appearance of Abby Goodfellow directly in front of him, thanking him for something that he wasn't flipping sure what before also kissing his face. Putting her mouth on his mouth. Most men would probably enjoy all of this mouth-centric attention, but as she kissed him all he felt was alarmingly defeated and such a profound level of shock that his fist fell limply to his side. Not once did his eyes close.

 

She stepped back. Wiped goop off his mouth. Asked him a question which he proceeded to ignore in favor of the loudest outdoor voice the Hufflepuff had ever used in his life.

 

"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL WAS THAT ABOUT???"

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