Chapter Twenty-Three #2
There was a bitter taste in my mouth, bile and fear. “You don’t understand,” I insisted.
“Maybe not,” Flynn agreed. “But I don’t think you do, either. You’ve convinced yourself that leaving is some sort of defeat, even though you’re the only person who’s losing when you stay.”
“So, what,” I spat, “I move in with you, and we play happy families, and pretend either of us has a fucking clue what we’re doing?”
I expected him to shout back, to match my volume. But instead he just smiled. “Maybe. I mean, what’s the worst that can happen?”
It was ridiculous, that my body could shudder at the thought of all those possibilities, and yet my brain couldn’t put a name to one. I sat down, heavily. “It might not work... it might all be another William situation.”
Flynn shook his head. “If it all fucks up, it’ll be for different reasons. Its own reasons. But I don’t think it will.”
I took a deep breath. “I... I want to, but...”
His hand felt heavy on my shoulder. Grounding.
“That’s enough. To start with, I mean. Wanting to is enough.”
#
We ended up in the living room. Flynn knew the house; had run through it almost as much as I had, when we were little kids. He had a familiarity with the foundations of my life that was simultaneously reassuring and terrifying.
He scooped my hand out of my lap, lacing his fingers with mine.
“You don’t have to live with me,” he said, softly. “You can accept the new job, and move, and live on your own or with different roommates.”
I squeezed his hand. “Honestly, that’s not the part which I’m freaking out over.”
Flynn laughed. “I’m not sure if I should be flattered by that, or insulted.”
“I take it all back,” I teased, “the thought of living with you is pants-wettingly scary.”
“Better.”
“You’re welcome.” I lifted his hand to my mouth, to kiss it.
“So which part is the freaking-out part, then?”
I thought for a moment. More to find the words than the sentiment. “I think, after a while, the shorthand everyone uses gets too easy to take for granted. Like, here everyone knows I’m my parents’ son; everyone knows I work at the thrift; most people knew me from when I was a little kid.”
He grunted. “Everyone in everyone else’s business.” It didn’t sound like a happy concept to him.
“Right, and that can be a pain in the ass, sometimes,” I conceded, “but it can also make life so much easier. Because you know everyone’s speaking the same language already. They all have the same...”
“Frame of reference?”
I nudged him with my shoulder. “See, you know what I’m talking about.”
“That’s partly why I left,” Flynn admitted. “There was something stifling, suffocating even, about it. The pressure of everyone around you.”
It wasn’t like I couldn’t see his point. “Yeah, I get that. I think it’s like those deep ocean fish, maybe. Somehow they evolved to deal with the pressure around them, and if you tried to take them out of it, their bodies couldn’t stand the change.”
Flynn grimaced. “Why do those things always have so many teeth?”
I gnashed mine at him, playfully. Chuckled at his feigned horror. “Don’t ask me, all I bring to the table are excuses and deadpan humor, remember.”
“Oh, that’s not true.” He leaned into me. “You’ve got a nice dick and a hot ass, too.”
It didn’t seem so forward, not really, to reach up and tug down on his zipper. Relishing the soft, metallic purr, as I bared his chest. Flynn wasn’t wearing anything under the hoodie.
So little encouragement required, to have him straddle my lap.
I pushed the hoodie back, the soft knitted fabric easing off his shoulders. His skin smooth beneath my fingertips, until I found the rough burr of a scar.
“You don’t remember?” He was watching my face with amusement.
I shook my head.
Flynn laughed. “We were playing jousting, in the street. On our bikes, with broomsticks for lances.”
The sudden recollection, of pedaling as fast as I could while the outstretched pole wavered and wobbled. How loud Flynn’s cry had been, as I sent him toppling back off his bike. If I’d been able to hold the broomstick level, I’d not even have hit him.
“That game was your idea,” I reminded him.
“Wow. Whatever happened to honor among knights?”
I made a face. “Unless I’m mistaken, this knight got grounded for a week over that.”
“And this knight got stitches, and a sexy scar to show off.”
“I’m sure all the boys are impressed when they hear the story behind it.”
Flynn winked. “I tell them it was a shark attack, it plays better.”
“Such a tiny shark,” I mused, leaning in and pressing my teeth against the slightly paler patch. I bit down, gently; enjoying the way his hand felt, sliding behind my neck.
His fingers kneaded as I worked my way up. Over the ridge of his collarbone; along the long, smooth curve of his neck, until my lips were pressed under his jaw and I could feel the throb of his pulse against them. Savoring Flynn’s heat and the scent of him.
“All that history together, and I’m still not sure I know you,” he mused, quietly.
The words were as much vibration against my face as something I heard. I wrapped my arms around his chest, hugging us closer together. As if greater proximity meant we could understand each other better.
“But maybe that’s the point,” he continued, as I licked and nuzzled in the hollow under his chin. “Maybe it doesn’t really matter how much you knew someone before. It’s always going to be different, when they’re your boyfriend.”
I stiffened, shocked somehow - despite everything, despite what we’d done already - at what felt like the presumption of his words. A declaration about what we were to each other, that some voice in my head insisted we’d barely even begun to negotiate.
Flynn stroked the back of my head, as though pacifying a startled animal. Only to suddenly stiffen himself, in my arms.
“Oh.” A voice from the doorway.
My mother’s voice.
I pulled back, horror sloshing through me like a torrent. Flynn’s weight on my lap akin to granite; a boulder pinning me to the spot, no way to move and so nothing I could do but gape at my parents standing there. Watching us with expressions I was too terrified to decode.
I opened and closed my mouth, but no words came out.
My mom looked shocked: skin pale, her eyes wide. Next to her, my dad’s face a mask; blank and unreadable.
Awkwardly, Flynn twisted off my lap. I wanted to look at him, to see what level of dread had twisted his features, but I couldn’t drag my eyes away from my parents.
It seemed like a million years, all of us frozen, until my father nudged my mom in the arm.
“I owe you a dollar.”
She frowned, glancing to him in confusion. “What?”
He was still watching Flynn and I, even as he answered her. “You said you’d bet they’d be at each other’s throats by the end of the week, and I didn’t believe you.” His lips quirked, just slightly. “Though maybe that’s because I lacked imagination.”
“George!” She glared at him, then turned and stormed out of the room.
For a moment he stood there, still looking where his wife had just been. Then he sighed and turned to us. “You’d better...” A jerk of his head, to me, in the direction she’d gone.
I could hear the noises in the kitchen. Pots and pans being moved around angrily. When I shot a look at Flynn, his face was pale, lips drawn tight.
“I’ll keep Flynn here company,” my dad said, gently, from the doorway. “But I think your mom would appreciate a word, Oli.”
The tiniest of nods, from the guy who’d only just described me as his boyfriend.
I pushed myself upright, willing my legs to obey, not to buckle beneath me. Held my breath as I walked past my dad.
He winked at me then jerked his chin a second time, toward the hallway.
After one, last, plaintive glance at Flynn, I followed the sound of slamming drawers and cupboard doors.