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John walks into the library, carrying Harold’s favorite pastry as usual.
“Morning, Finch.”
“Good morning, Mr. Reese.” Harold takes the cup from John with a nod and continues to type. “We have a new number.”
“What’s that?” John asks.
“Our new number? Lauren Blake, a waitress working at –”
“I mean, what’s that over there?” John interrupts, pointing to a small black box on the table.
“Oh, it’s something I prepared for our cover identity today.” Pausing his fingers, Harold reaches for the box and takes out a tie.
John raises his eyebrows.
“Don’t worry, you are not the one who’ll be wearing it.” Harold throws a smile at John, seeing him relax a bit.
John returns the smile. “I’m sure it’ll look good on you, Finch.”
***
The weather is perfect today. Clear skies and white clouds, but John is walking stiffly beside Harold with a scowl on his face.
“There's got to be a better way to track our number.”
Harold replies lightly, “Given that Ms. Blake’s number came out at a very specific location and at a very specific time of the year, I believe we have no other choice.”
Harold is dressed in a dark purple three-piece suit, one that John has seen before, decorated with a satin tie in subtle shades of rainbow. The tie in the black box this morning. As much as he’d imagine Harold would never wear something like this, John has to admit, he actually looks pretty good in it.
“...Did you know the Stonewall Inn was the epicenter of the world’s gay rights movement back in the 70s?” Harold says as they walk past said building on Christopher Street, and then continues to share more historical information of the area like a tour guide.
“Now I know.” John replies, staring wearily at the street filled with mingling crowds of people dressed in vibrant colors, carrying rainbow banners and flags.
They walk past a group of scantily clad young men with athletic bodies. John glanced at them quickly, feeling strange and out of place.
It’s not like he’s bothered by the community. They have come across same-sex couples during missions, saving some, even, but this is the first time he and Harold pretend to be one. And he just… he just doesn’t know how to act. Stuff like this was highly suppressed in his past lines of work, so the blatant expression of sexuality he’s seeing right now makes him feel like he’s on a completely different planet.
Two of the men catch John looking, and they immediately begin to preen, throwing kisses and flirty winks at him.
John turns away awkwardly and walks on. Harold, who is a few steps behind, smiles and nods politely at the men. They get the hint, and whistles behind him. “Lucky guy!”
John spins around and grabs Harold by the arm. “What did they say to you?” He asks in a cautious tone.
“Oh, they were just complimenting my choice of partner.” Harold brushes it off casually and walks into a cafe on the left.
***
They sit outdoors under the shade and begin observing their number - Lauren Blake, who is busy going from table to table, taking orders and delivering food.
“I apologize for putting you in an uncomfortable situation, Mr. Reese.” Harold says as he gestures at Ms. Blake for ordering.
“You seem quite comfortable, Finch.” John sips at his water, turning away from the third pair of admiring gaze since they sat down at the table.
“Well, sometimes the best way to hide is in plain sight.” Harold manages to clone the waitress’s phone as she takes their order.
“Try to enjoy the attention. It’s a rare occasion for men to look at you with an opposite intention from harm.”
“…I’ll try,” John forces a smile and hopes Harold won't notice the eye-roll that followed.
I enjoy YOUR attention only, Harold.
He looks across the table, and notices that Harold seems to be the one who’s enjoying the attention. His posture is relaxed and he smiles with ease every time someone on the sidewalk casts an appreciating look or comment at them. He blends effortlessly into the role, just like when he was an investor, a blogger, a hotel concierge, a storm chaser…
Is this one of his aliases?
Is this part of the real Harold, that’s why he looks like a natural?
John turns to the street and continues to survey the surroundings, putting the thoughts in the back of his head.
***
The number was a piece of cake - turns out Laura Blake has a revengeful ex-boyfriend who wanted to kill her for dumping him and getting together with a woman. John spotted the lurking figure when everyone was cheering for the parade to kick off. He quickly took down the man without anyone noticing and cuffed him in the back room for Carter to collect.
He returns to their table, finally drinking the cider Harold ordered for him, still cold.
Harold is swirling his glass of iced fruit tea, looking out at the parade in amusement. “Great work, Mr. Reese. It’s still early, perhaps we can stay a little while to finish our beverages.”
John considered downing his drink in one go to get out of here, but after weighing his options he decided to stay. He can watch Harold enjoy the scene and his drink in his pretty rainbow tie.
“Alright.” He clinks his bottle with Harold's glass, then takes a sip.
***
POP POP POPPP!!!
The parade finally reaches climax and the sky is raining confetti all of a sudden. The crowd cheers wildly, people run onto the street and dance happily under the rainbow colored sparkles.
This downpour has no doubt affected the cafe. Tables, chairs, plates and glasses are all covered in tiny pieces of colorful paper. So do John and Harold, who are blankly staring at each other in the aftermath of the explosion.
John looks at Harold across the table.
There’s glitter in his hair, on his shoulder, on his tie. Some are in his glasses.
Harold is glowing.
Sunlight dances around him, reflecting from the confetti and glitter and his satin tie. It looks almost… majestic, as if he’s some kind of angel ascended from above. Hell, he is an angel who saved John from his personal hell.
Harold reaches a hand up to remove his glasses and blinks the glitter away. Shaking his head gently from side to side and batting his eyes several times, he looks up, large blue eyes peering right into John’s. The world suddenly comes to a halt, and everything becomes slow motion —
John is unable to look away.
Harold looks great without glasses.
Of course he looks good with glasses, but were his eyes always this big…? …This blue? …Blue like the endless ocean under a perfect sunny day, warm and clear and welcoming.
He looks so soft, so approachable, and he’s looking at John. It's like the world has condensed to one point, and all of his attention is directed at John. Only John.
…Goddamnit. John feels like he’s in a goddamn cliche romance movie. His stomach feels like he drank a glass of goddamn butterflies instead of apple cider.
“What a way to celebrate our successful mission,” Harold’s amused tone cuts through the air, instantly pulling John back into real time. “I’ll take that as a cue for us to leave.”
He stands up and pats around, dusting away the confetti from his suit.
John reaches over and brushes the hair on top of Harold’s head. “There’s still some in your hair… there you go.” He flicks away the last piece of confetti on Harold’s sideburn.
“Thank you.” Harold turns to John, whose hair is also covered in colourful speckles.
“You’ve got some up there as well,” He reaches out hesitantly, patting John’s hair carefully, like dusting a piece of ceramic.
“...I can’t get rid of all of them,” He withdraws his hands after a moment and smooths them along his jacket, “but I think we’re good to go now.”
John nods and follows after Harold, running a hand through his hair and smiling like an idiot.
***
Back at the library, Harold is peeling the remaining glitter from his clothes with a piece of tape.
“Our laundry service is not going to like this,” he says as he folds the tape together and tosses it onto the small pile on the table.
“Your hair still sparkles,” John is leaning against the wall, arms folded.
Harold throws his hands up in exasperation. “Let’s just hope the shampoo will do its job.”
“That's okay. You look pretty good like this, Finch.” John cocks his head and smirks, earning a glare from Harold.
He turns the chair around to grab more tape. “Please come over.”
John stands perfectly still in front of Harold as he works his way up his suit, patting the fabric with pieces of tape.
“I don't think this is necessary.” John protests.
Harold flicks another glare. “I tailored this suit.”
Fine. John keeps his mouth shut and watches Harold’s brows fuse in mild annoyance as he continues to stick the glitter away from the suit. He reaches the upper torso and John sinks down towards the floor cooperatively, kneeling on one leg.
“...think I’m finally done here.” Harold breathes out, adding the last piece of tape onto the significant pile on the table.
“Starting to regret our cover identity today?” John teases, trying to distract himself from staring right at Harold’s crotch.
“Why would I? It worked perfectly.”
“And like you said, your hair still sparkles, Mr. Reese.” Harold reaches out to ruffle John’s hair.
John just smirks at his retort.
After a few strokes, Harold stops and makes a disapproving noise, sinking his shoulders.
“...Now there’s glitter on your shoulders again.” He lets out an exasperated sigh.
John just can’t hold back and bursts into laughter.
Harold must hate himself and the glitter so much right now, he’ll probably buy John a new suit altogether. John puts a hand over his mouth to cover his grin, failing spectacularly.
Harold just sits there with both hands in the air, fuming in silence. He knows exactly what John is laughing about. He watches motionlessly as John catches his breath and tries to maintain composure.
Harold narrows his eyes. He lunges forward suddenly, sinks his fingers into John’s hair and ruffles it with force with both hands. Taken by surprise, John ducks to the side, only to find Harold’s hands stuck to his head and are messing his hair even harder. Oh. Someone wants revenge. He plays along, bringing his hands up to protect his head. They giggle and thrash around like teenagers, glitter floating in the air.
Then John loses balance and stumbles onto Harold’s lap.
Harold doesn't stop, instead uses this as an advantage to playfully rub the glitter into the back of John's head.
This is bad.
Harold’s hands are grasping and pulling at his hair, Harold’s thighs are under his palms, Harold’s breath is above his head...
This is really bad.
“Okay, okay, I give up.” John backs away and holds his hands up in defeat. He huffs, still smirking. “Sorry.”
Harold sits back and straightens himself, panting slightly.
“I’ll have to admit, there’s one thing I regret about our cover identity,” he chuckles, “The attention we received from your attractiveness was, unexpectedly overwhelming.”
John goes still.
Did Harold just call him attractive?
As in objectively attractive... or attractive to Harold himself?
Harold laces his fingers together, a pleased smile of victory growing on his face.
“However, to be fair… you do look pretty handsome, even with messy hair, and covered in glitter.”
For a moment, John’s mind goes blank and he doesn't know what to say. All those years of being an international spy suddenly failed him. He can feel his face burning.
He stands up, straightens his suit, and uses every ounce of his training to flash the most polite smile at Harold.
“Thanks. I’ll go wash it off.”
He turns around and hurries towards the exit, hoping Harold did not notice the colour on his cheeks and ears.
Harold turns back to the computer with a lingering smile.
Being covered in glitter wasn't that bad, after all.