He announced it at breakfast with rather less volume than he usually brought to his announcements, and Arthur, glancing up from his own meal, caught something careful and deliberate in Finn's expression that hadn't been there in his usual chaotic proclamations.
FNN: We're going to the bakery. All of us. This weekend.
BRR: The one by the harbor?
FNN: That one. And we're bringing Corin and Talon.
ELS: Did you ask them?
FNN: I'm going to. I wanted to tell everyone else first.
He said it with unusual precision, and Arthur, watching him, felt a small, quiet suspicion settle into place, the particular recognition of someone circling a thing without naming it directly.
ART: Finn.
FNN: What?
ART: Is there a reason for this specifically?
Finn met his eyes for a moment, something passing between them that felt heavier than the question warranted, and then looked away, back down at his own breakfast, his usual restless energy dimmed considerably.
FNN: I just think it'd be nice. That's all. Sometimes people need nice things happening around them, even if they don't ask for it. Especially if they don't ask for it.
He did not elaborate further, and Arthur, recognizing something careful in the deliberate vagueness, chose not to push, understanding, without being told, that Finn had learned something he wasn't prepared to share, and had decided, in his own restless, well-meaning way, to act on it regardless. Elsie, watching the exchange with quiet curiosity, said nothing either, though her eyes lingered on Arthur a moment longer than usual, some silent question passing between them that neither voiced aloud. Corin, predictably, resisted the invitation.
COR: I have studying to do.
FNN: It's Saturday. You always say that on Saturdays.
COR: Because I always have studying to do.
FNN: Come anyway.
He said it with an unfamiliar firmness, none of his usual chaotic pleading, simply a plain, steady insistence that seemed to catch Corin off guard more than any amount of begging might have.
COR: Finn-
FNN: Please.
The single word landed with more weight than its brevity suggested, and Corin, studying him for a long moment, something flickering behind his composed features that might have been suspicion or might have been something gentler, finally relented with a small, tired exhale.
COR: Fine. Briefly.
FNN: Briefly's fine. Bring Talon.
The bakery, when they arrived as a full group for the first time, proved considerably more crowded than any of their previous individual visits, the whole cluster of them spilling out onto the harbor road with paper bags and half-eaten pastries, the particular loose, easy noise of eight people with nowhere urgent to be. Corin stood slightly apart, as he often did, his usual traveling cape settled around his shoulders despite the mild afternoon, watching the group's chaos with his customary careful distance, and Arthur, catching sight of him there, understood, with sudden clarity, why Finn had insisted on this particular outing. He remembered the window. The wistful stillness. The cupcake Elsie had once bought him, eaten in silence, unacknowledged. Finn approached Corin now with a small paper bag of his own, and inside it, Arthur could see from where he stood, a single frosted cupcake, and something in the careful, deliberate way Finn held it out suggested he understood exactly what he was offering, even if he couldn't have explained why.
FNN: Here.
COR: I didn't ask for this.
FNN: I know. That's rather the point of gifts, or so I'm told.
Corin looked at the cupcake for a long moment, and then at Finn, something working behind his composed expression that Arthur couldn't fully read, and finally, wordlessly, took it. He ate it standing at the edge of the group, the same rigid, careful formality Elsie had once described, no thanks offered, no acknowledgment beyond the simple, quiet act of accepting it, and Finn, watching him, did not push for more, did not ask questions, did not do anything except stand nearby with the particular loyal patience of someone who understood, somehow, that the eating itself was the entire conversation this moment required.
ELS: He's doing it again.
She'd drifted close to Arthur, watching the same small exchange with quiet interest.
ART: Doing what?
ELS: Eating in complete silence like it's some kind of trial he's enduring rather than a treat someone gave him because they wanted him to have something nice.
ART: I think that might be exactly what it is, for him.
Elsie considered this, watching Corin finish the last bite and carefully fold the small paper wrapper, tucking it away with the same rigid precision he applied to everything, and something in her expression softened.
ELS: I hope someone teaches him, eventually. That accepting kindness doesn't have to feel like a trial.
ART: Maybe that's what we're doing. Slowly.
She looked at him, something warm and thoughtful crossing her face, and did not answer immediately, simply watching the small, quiet scene continue to unfold, Finn standing loyally beside Corin without demanding anything further, the rest of the group's noise carrying on comfortably around them both.
They stayed at the bakery longer than any of them had planned, the afternoon sliding easy and unhurried into early evening, and when the group finally began drifting back toward the academy in loose, scattered clusters, Corin found himself, for a stretch of the walk, beside Finn specifically, the two of them trailing slightly behind the others.
COR: Finn.
FNN: Mm?
COR: Why the cupcake.
Finn was quiet for a moment, choosing his words with visible care, an unusual deliberateness for someone who typically spoke first and considered the consequences afterward.
FNN: I heard something. Not everything. Not the details. I'm not asking you to tell me the details, either, I want that understood clearly. I just heard enough to know things have been hard lately, and I didn't know what else to do about it, so I did the only thing I actually know how to do well, which is organize an unnecessarily large group outing and force people to eat pastries together.
He said it with a small, self-deprecating smile, and Corin, walking beside him in the deepening evening light, was quiet for a long moment.
COR: I don't want to discuss it.
FNN: I know. You don't have to. I just wanted you to have a good afternoon regardless. That's all this was.
Corin considered this, his usual composed features working through something complicated, and when he finally spoke again, his voice carried a weight it rarely allowed itself.
COR: Thank you.
He said it quietly, almost too quietly to catch, and did not elaborate further, and Finn, understanding, somehow, that this was the whole of what Corin currently had to offer, simply nodded and let the silence settle between them, comfortable now in a way it hadn't quite been before, the two of them walking together through the gathering dusk back toward the academy, saying nothing further, needing nothing further, the afternoon's small quiet kindness settling into the space between them like something finally, properly understood.