Page 39 of Filtration Play
“Controlled cutting?” they asked.
Their gaze didn’t burn into him, though, and that gave him the space to speak. “Yeah, and it hasn’t been for a while, though the urge still crashes in some days. But you know. Therapy and shit.” His throat tightened. “Downside of being the youngest of five raised by a single dad. It’s easy to feel invisible.”
“Bet you were a downright firebrand when you wanted to be,” they said. The steady presence of their palm on his scars should’ve been making him crawl out of his skin, yet it settled him in a bone-deep way he hadn’t realized was possible.
“Oh, I was hell. And Jules had to deal with the worst of my attitude, since he pretty much took over for my mother after she passed away.” Fuck. His chest squeezed tight. The amount of problems he’d caused his brother over the years always summoned up this complex guilt. And yet jealousy was there too. Jules, Izzy, and Luke had been old enough for their family to be normal. They’d gotten to live entire childhoods with their mom, with their dad around more often.
“You weren’t a burden, babe,” Fin said.
He stilled. Those words stark in the air felt plucked from the deepest parts of him, the darkened tombs he kept them locked behind.
“I might not know your family well, but what I’ve seen from Jules over the years is that caretaking is part of how he shows his love. Things might’ve been tough, but I can bet if you ask if he regretted those years having to help raise you, he’d say ‘fuck no.’”
Damn. His eyes stung, and he clenched his jaw tight, willing those tears to stay the hell put. Julian had said those words to him for years, but a small part of Ollie said “burden, burden, burden.”
Hearing it from someone outside the family, though? The statement sliced through the doubts and guilt of his very existence. Fin peeled him down until all his vulnerabilities were bared, and he both hated and craved their careful attention at the same time.
“You’re not the only one with scars.” They dropped their leg over his, a few hefty, raised ones across the shin. “Dad was a violent drunk.”
The creep of those overwhelming emotions receded. How Fin had known he needed the distraction, he wasn’t sure, but they could read him eerily well. And they’d offered their own pain in response. He ran his fingertips across the raised bumps on their leg, noticing other nicks on their thighs, their arms. His blood boiled. How dare their dad take a hand to them? He couldn’t imagine living with that sort of terror as a kid.
Their expression was a little lost, a little distant, as if they trudged through a field of glass.
“Come on now,” he said. “You need a way better story for your scars. What about a motorcycle trick gone wrong?”
A grin split their face, followed by a loud laugh. “Whip accident could work. Or got in the way during a mass pup freak-out?”
“By pups, you mean…”
“The human kind,” they said, their eyes twinkling. “You’ve never seen pet play in action, have you?”
He shook his head. “New kid, remember?”
“I’ll have to drag you to one of the pet play nights that Whipped hosts. They’re not frequent, but they’re a ton of fun.”
Ollie swallowed hard. Here Fin was, talking with him about plans like he’d be around in their life for a long while. He liked that a little too much. “Sign me up.”
“Shit, you need to finish your plate.” They reached to the side and grabbed the weird mish-mash they’d compiled. “At least have something else, so I know you’re not going to faint on me.”
“Want me shipshape for getting out of your hair?” he asked tentatively. After everything they’d peeled open tonight, he desperately didn’t want to go. He wanted to stay here, in their apartment. With them.
They lifted a brow. “Would you be in any condition to drive? The whole reason we came here was so you could take the time you needed to be okay.” They chewed on their lower lip, a brief flicker in their hazel eyes that told him everything. They weren’t going to outright ask him to stay, but this was the chance if he wanted to claim it.
And fuck, he so did.
“I’ll be better after a night’s rest,” he said. “And I might just need to share the bed.”
Fin’s eyes crinkled with amusement. “Right, I wasn’t aware I let a princess in here. Too good for my couch?”
“Below my standards clearly.”
“The thread count too low? Pillows not fluffy enough for you?” they snarked, the slight tension in their shoulders relaxing.
“I wasn’t going to say anything, but…” He plucked at the comforter, which, honestly, was nicer than his. Fin had a cozy apartment, even if their shelves overflowed. Seriously, who crammed books rows two deep and then stacked more on top? Maniacs, probably.
Fin knocked their shoulder against his. “You’re such a little shit.”
“Maybe you like that.”
