When their lips met it was more intense than any moment he'd ever experienced before. Everything faded to the background, and the rush of his blood was out of control. He was… happy. Wildly.

Then Josiah turned away from him.

Releasing him. The force no more anchoring him, Finn was over the edge. He exploded. The world turned away from him.

He wouldn't have been able to stay steady on his feet. His legs would've caved, he'd have collapsed. But Josiah was apologizing, and Finn couldn't understand why, and all his thoughts marshalled because he knew it was imperative that he understand. Or really, he did understand. It was imperative that he accept. He didn't know if, in the midst of this blackness, he could summon the will.

Then Josiah was on his knees puking. Concern and guilt clawed at Finn as he stumbled to his side and ran his fingers through Josiah's hair, over his shoulder, beating back the notion that he was helpless, that he couldn't reach him again. "I'm sorry," he murmured, "Be all right." He was saying inanely that everything would be all right, and also just as inanely asking, beseeching, Josiah to be all right.