Page 67 of Filtration Play
“Can I crash here tonight?” he asked, bracing himself for the no. It wasn’t like they had plans. He’d dropped in on them and invaded their space.
“You fucking better,” they said with a confidence that fueled the hope.
“Thanks.” He settled in beside them as the show started. Fin’s breathing grew slower and more measured as they got comfortable against him, and their face softened as if they could let go of the mask they tried to hide behind on a constant basis.
One word and it meant so much more than Fin could’ve fathomed.
Tonight meant more than Ollie could put into words. That he could be the support for someone else, that he could be their steady instead of just a mess.
He was so in love with Finley Williams, and he didn’t want to ever let go.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Fin’s phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.
They pulled themselves upright, Ollie’s arm shifting from around them. He’d fallen asleep clutching them tight like they might vanish, and the action had wormed into their heart a little more. They grabbed their phone, only to see an insane amount of notifications on the screen. Panic flared through them.
What the fuck had happened?
Their cheek still ached, but the icing they’d done had taken it down to a dull throb instead of an intense one. Nothing they hadn’t dealt with before. They opened their socials and clicked on the main post that seemed to be generatingall the responses.
At first, they didn’t soak in everything stated. Something about Whipped. Hera.
Their name was mentioned.
Fin sat there staring, reading through several times until the gist of the post sank in.
Hera had been the one who posted, and it had gone viral.
She denounced Whipped, said she was cutting ties with them and everyone from there. Said Meg was a bitch who abused her power, that the core group who ran the café were exclusionary and unfair anddangerous.
Fin’s show was canceled.
And the comment that came along with it socked them in the gut.
Finley used me for the chance to get their show featured in my art space. They’re an unsafe person, and not only am I canceling the show, but I’d recommend you think twice before getting involved with them.
Unsafe person.
Fucking unsafe person.
Their stomach dropped. They were going to be sick.
They’d fuckingtrustedHera. Enough to play with her, enough to bring such a personal matter as their photography to her.
They swallowed, staring at the words, trying to get them to make sense. Hundreds of comments lay below the post, and Fin skimmed through fast, seeing people agree with Hera, badmouth Whipped, bring up grievances of shit that had happened at public parties they’d hosted.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
They dropped their phone onto the comforter, their hands shaking.
Whipped was the only safe haven they had.
The crew at Whipped were their only family.
Yesterday curdled like sour milk in their stomach, mixing around with the rot that this brought to the surface. Fuck. They were going to be sick. They surged out of bed and rushed to their bathroom. Fin kneeled in front of the toilet, the cold tile biting into their knees, and the contents of their stomach spewed out. Even after it stopped convulsing, that didn’t take away the hollow ache that remained.
In the kink community, reputation was everything. They’d been careful from the start to be a safe person in the scene. They’d seen so many of the opposite walking through and leaving destruction in their wake, but it wasn’t until they’d integrated into Meg’s crew, where those casualties were less common. Where the red flags got tossed out on their asses.
