Archive of Our Own

Turning away from the light
Becoming adult
Turning into my soul
I wanted to bite not destroy
To feel her underneath
Turning into the light
And if you feel a little left behind
We'll wait for you on the other side

*

Four-twenty got nothin’—nothin’—on three o’clock.

Three o’clock is special. Three o’clock is fuckin’ magical. Three o’clock is the best hour that ever was or ever will be, at least until tomorrow, when three o’clock will come again and with it, that incredible, indescribable post-work high.

“Alright, I’m out!” Finn says, giving his boss a two-fingered salute. He walks backwards to the door, and it feels like one of those trust exercises they do at kiddie camp, letting himself fall blindly into someone’s arms.

But Boss slams on receipt on the counter. Finn’s trust-buddy lets him drop to the floor.

“One more, then you can go.”

“Aww, c’mon!” Finn says. “I gotta pick up my brothers from school!”

Boss ignores him. She scoops a pizza out of the oven with an overlarge spatula and dumps it into a cardboard box. As she folds down the lid, Finn feels like he’s the one being sealed in tight. He should be in his car by now, pulling out of the parking lot and cranking the radio.

“C’mon,” he says again, more softly this time. “I can’t be late. One’a ‘em’s nine!”

Boss gives him a look that reminds him of Hannah. A look that says: I don’t have time for your bullshit. It’s not the kind of look you argue with, unless you wanna work until midnight—or watch Hannah drink all your beer.

Finn forces himself to smile.

“Oh, hey, what am I talkin’ ‘bout? Pizza’s my life!”

Finn saunters to the counter and picks up the receipt, folding it over his heart. “There’s nothin’ I like more’n bringin’ a hot, cheesy pizza to someone’s door! Seriously! It’s like bein’ Santa, ev’ry damn day!”

Boss rolls her eyes. She thrusts the pizza box at Finn, saying, “Don’t forget your hat.”

“Right you are, boss-lady!” Finn replies. He snatches a baseball cap from a hook on the wall and crams it atop his head. It matches his uniform perfectly and hides his blue hair. Company fuckin’ policy.

Delivering pizzas ain’t the worst job in the world, but it ain’t exactly fun, either. There’s a lot more yelling than Finn thought there’d be; pissy customers who think their order came too slow or too cold or with too much cheese. The pay is shit, too. Such complete, utter shit that Finn kinda wishes he was dealing weed instead.

Only kinda, though. Yeah, the customers suck and the smell of pizza grease is getting real fuckin’ old, but Pop gets this like… really proud smile, every time Finn brings home a paycheck. Finn would do just about anything for that smile. He’d jack a car. Lie to the cops. Break into a goddamn bank.

But Pop—Esteban—doesn’t ask for any of that. Not like Dad—Finn’s first dad. His shit dad. Pop just wants him to put his dishes in the sink and work a job without guns and drugs, and boom—instant pride. He doesn’t even take a cut of Finn’s paychecks. How fuckin’ insane is that?!

Finn delivers his last pizza without much trouble. The customer doesn’t yell at him, but doesn’t tip him either. Fuckin’ asshole.

Sean’s waiting in the high school parking lot. The whole place is empty, and Sean’s tapping on his phone, bored as fuck. Finn pulls right up to the sidewalk. Two of his tires hit the curb, but it doesn’t make Sean jump anymore. He doesn’t even look up from his phone.

“No Lyla?” Finn asks.

“Skate park,” Sean replies, still tapping on his phone, even as he settles into the passenger’s seat. He sounds weird. Not just distracted but… restrained. Like he’s tryna hide how jealous he is that Lyla gets to shred rails while he sits in the sun.

Finn looks at Sean’s leg. He’s been out of his cast for a few weeks, but he still has to take things easy. No track. No skateboard. No family trip to Mount Baker.

Finn hasn’t forgotten whose fault that is.

“Sorry I’m late,” he mumbles. Sean shrugs, and finally puts down his phone.

“No worries,” he says. A snort immediately follows. “Nice hat.”

Finn snatches the cap off his head. Shit. He was in such a hurry to get here, he forgot all about it.

He smiles, though. “Aww, you’re just jealous ‘cause I’mma fuckin’ business tycoon!”

Finn plucks at his nametag, making Sean laugh again. It’s a dry sound, really just a rumble in his throat, so reserved and so perfectly Sean that Finn suddenly wants to kiss him. He wants it so badly, he can taste the heat of Sean’s mouth.

Instead, he places a hand on Sean’s thigh. He’s rewarded with a small, shy smile.

They crank the radio on the way to Daniel’s school. It makes things easier; they don’t have to honk, or chase Daniel down or anything. He just hears them coming and darts across the playground.

“Hey, I remember this song!” Daniel says, climbing into the back seat. “It was in Guitar Fighter! Remember, Sean?”

“Yeah,” Sean replies.

“What?”

“I remember, dude!” Sean shouts, still barely audible over the music. Daniel leans forward, wedging himself between the front seats.

“Sean never beat my high score!”

“Yeah, because you were on Easy Mode!” Sean smirks.

“Did you ever play Guitar Fighter, Finn?”

He wanted to. Finn remembers staring at it behind a glass case at Z-Mart; it looked cool, but way too expensive. Not only did you have to buy the game, but the plastic guitars to go with it. Drums and a keyboard, too, if you wanted a full band, which Finn wouldn’t have had anyway because Hannah and Cassidy hated video games.

Finn shoots Daniel a grin, trying to keep his eyes on the road. “Nah. I like my air-guitar just fine.”

“Huh?”

“Air-guitar!” Finn repeats. He turns the radio as loud as it’ll go and grinds an imaginary guitar. Daniel smiles. He flails in the back seat, pounding a set of invisible drums.

Even Sean gets into it—as much as Sean ever gets into anything. He bobs his head in tune with the beat and mouths the words. The song is rad as hell; Finn always thought it was about some girl getting her v-card stamped, but probably not if it was in a kiddie game. He tries to hear it different this time. Maybe it’s about getting old, getting left behind and used up. Or… something. Whatever.

It’s just a song on the radio.

*

Home.

Finn’s home. Finn’s house. He has a key and everything. His own room. His own spot in the driveway. His name on the chore wheel and his favorite cereal in the cupboard, which Pop actually wrote down on the grocery list and picked up special.

Finn remembers the first time he walked through the front door. He felt like a mouse being lured into an elaborate trap, like there was no way he could be surrounded by so many nice things without having to pay for it. He kept waiting for the trap to go off, the cage to slam shut—and when he touched Sean’s knee, Finn honest to god thought that Sean’s dad and thirty cops were gonna kick down the front door, point their guns at him and shout: Step away from the sixteen-year-old boy!

It doesn’t feel like that anymore, though. The house, at least. Finn still feels like a fuckin’ perv sometimes—especially when Sean sighs from across the room and suddenly all Finn wants to do is make him sigh like that again—but the house feels safe. Like a hideout. A bunker. A secret base where Merrill and Big Joe and Shit Dad can’t find him, and the rain can’t reach him. Shit, a whole fuckin’ tornado could blow Seattle away and this house would still be here, and Finn and Sean and Pop and Daniel would all be inside it, drinking milkshakes and playing video games.

Finn changes out of his work clothes. He pulls on a shirt that might have once belonged to Sean (it’s hard to tell the difference anymore) and a pair of jeans decorated with rips and patches. One of them says HOMESICK, but Finn scribbled out the last four letters a while ago. The last thing he grabs is his knife, which goes in a small sheath at his waist, and boom. Finn is himself again.

He finds Sean in the living room, sitting on the couch with his eyes closed, pinching the bridge of his nose. Pop does the exact same thing when he’s stressed. Sean probably doesn’t even realize where he gets it from.

“Ev’rythin’ alright, sweetheart?” Finn asks, sinking into the couch beside him.

“Yeah.” Sean’s hand falls into his lap. “Just… long fucking day, you know?”

“We talkin’ too much homework or too much drama?”

“It’s high school, man. All of the above.”

“Dayum. That sucks.” Finn reaches out and lets his hand settle on the back of Sean’s neck. “You wanna tell me ‘bout it?”

Sean half-smiles, leaning into the weight of Finn’s touch. “Nah.”

“You wanna tell Mary Jane ‘bout it?” Finn smirks. They got time to land before Esteban gets home, if Sean wants to get high.

“Nah,” Sean says again. He seems calmer already, like even just admitting he had a rough day makes it better. “It’ll be fine. I’m just really sick of everyone’s bullshit, you know?”

“Yeah, I feel you, Sean. As always.” Finn rubs the back of Sean’s neck, wanting to kiss him just like in the car, but again holding back. Fuck, if he kissed Sean even half as often as he thought about it, that’s all they’d ever do.

Sean shifts against the cushions. “So… what about you? Did you have fun at work?”

“Pfft, no.” Finn pulls away and rubs at his nose. “Boss still treats me like shit. An’ I made fuck all in tips. I know deliverin’ pizza sounds like an easy gig, but…” Finn sighs. “Would not recommend.”

“Better than sitting on your ass all day.”

“Yeah… maybe. Can’t wait to fuckin’ quit, though.”

He would have already, if literally anywhere else would take him. Like a book store. Or a coffee shop. Fuckin’ Z-Mart. But they all turned him down. They didn’t like his ink, or his piercings. They liked his arrest record even less.

Fuck ‘em. Once Finn has his ASD certification, none of that will matter. It’ll all be in the fuckin’ past. He can just… work in Pop’s garage, and listen to Pop’s old, crazy cool music all day, and play with Daniel in the afternoon and hang with Sean every night.

He just needs to get his shit together. Earn a little more cash, pass a few exams. Fuckin’ easy.

A cry of excitement makes Finn and Sean turn around. Daniel emerges from the garage, holding two plastic guitars.

“I found Guitar Fighter!” he cheers. “Can we play? Please?”

Finn looks at Sean. A good Big Bro would probably say something like, Homework first, video games later!

Luckily, Sean’s a terrible Big Bro. And Finn’s even worse.

*

When Pop gets home, he brings in the mail. There’s a lot of bills, and letter from Chris (Daniel got nuts) but nothing for Finn. That’s fine. His textbooks are supposed to take a few weeks to arrive, and it’s only been, like, two. Patience is a fuckin’ virtue, right?

Esteban plays Guitar Fighter with them, because of course he does, he’s the actual Coolest Dad on the planet. He’s good at it, too! While Finn and Daniel are stuck on Easy Mode, Pop shreds on Hardcore and doesn’t miss a single note.

“Are you seein’ this?!” Finn cries. Sean smiles, but doesn’t look up from his sketchbook. He’s drawing Esteban as 80’s rockstar, while a cartoon Daniel plays the drums and Finn smashes a keyboard.

“Yeah, I see it,” Sean says quietly. He catches Finn staring at the open sketchbook, but he doesn’t slam it shut. That’s how Finn knows Sean’s really, really happy right now.

Fuckin’ A, Finn wants to kiss him.

Esteban makes dinner after he demolishes his own high score. Finn sits on the counter and watches. Sometimes, Pop gives him a job to do, like peel potatoes or crack eggs. It makes him feel five, but in a good way.

“How was your day, mijo?”

Finn shrugs. He makes it as playful as he can. “’Nuther great day at the office!”

“Yeah?”

Finn can tell that Esteban is trying to meet his eye. He pretends to be really interested in how dinner’s getting made, which isn’t a lie, exactly. Everything about cooking fascinates Finn, because he never really thought about how you’d, like… get all those holes in your waffles. Or fry a chicken, the way Esteban’s doing now. He actually dunks the chicken meat into raw egg before rolling it in flour, then he fries it up all golden-brown. Blows Finn’s fuckin’ mind.

“Everything okay?” Pop asks.

Finn shrugs again. There’s no point in complaining to Esteban the way he complained to Sean. It’s not like there’s anything Pop can do about it. And Finn doesn’t want him to think that… you know… he’s gonna fuck it up, or something.

“Same old, same old,” Finn says, before remembering to meet Esteban’s eye. “I… keep gettin’ screwed outta tips, y’know?”

Esteban’s frown is full of sympathy. “People can be jerks.”

Yeah. And his boss can be a real bitch.

“Sticking at it, though?”

Finn looks away, head bobbing. Pop pats his shoulder.

“Ese es mi hijo,” he says with devasting warmth, and suddenly, Finn is even younger than five. He’s so small that if he tried to jump the off the counter right now, he’d break every bone in his body.

*

The next day goes better. For a while. Some of Finn’s coworkers are okay. They’re the kinda guys he would get blazed with if he still dealt weed. Nowadays, though, he only does that shit with Sean—and sometimes Lyla and Eric.

One of the other delivery guys gets stranded in the parking lot, right as the lunch rush starts up. While Boss scrambles to figure out who should take his deliveries, Finn finds the problem with his engine and fixes it up, no problem. He saves the fuckin’ day, basically—but Boss doesn’t say anything more than, Great and Get back to work.

She calls Finn into her office later. It’s no big deal; she just needs to make another copy of his driver’s license. Finn stands there while her busted photocopier grunts in the background, trying real hard not to look at this room the way his dad would. The empty lockboxes on Boss’ desk. The safe with four of its buttons rubbed clean, practically shouting, You’ll never guess what the passcode is!

Shit. What would Pop see, if he was standing in this room? He probably wouldn’t even notice that stuff. He’d just be, like… reading the safety posters on the wall. Or something. Something Finn can’t even imagine, because he doesn’t know how to think about things in nice, not-shitty ways.

“Birthday coming up,” Boss says suddenly. She holds out Finn’s license and it takes him a second to realize that she’s talking about him.

“Oh… yeah.” Finn rubs the back of his neck. “In ‘bout… two weeks, I guess?”

“How old?”

Finn shrugs. “Twen’y.”

“Mm.”

The fuck is she doin’? Just sitting there, nodding, asking him about his fuckin’ birthday? Boss doesn’t… do that. She doesn’t do small talk.

Oh shit, that’s exactly what she’s doing. She’s… tryna be nice.

Finn can’t help but smile. Boss really is just like Hannah. That’s cool, because Finn really liked Hannah; she was tough, and direct, and honest. She always knew what she wanted, and Finn always knew where he stood with her. That’s why they worked.

 “Gonna need you ‘til six today,” Boss says. Whatever warmth Finn might have felt for her goes cold.

“But my brothers—!”

“Figure it out,” Boss says, and Finn can’t even argue, because he needs this job and she knows it.

Finn plays it out in his head, though. Just for a second. He imagines quitting, and it feels real fuckin’ good, but then Boss just replaces him with another high school dropout, and Finn has to go back home and explain to Pop why he couldn’t hold a job for longer than a few weeks.

Finn turns to walk away.

“And put on your hat!” Boss calls after him.

*

Traffic sucks. Finn doesn’t get home until the sun’s going down, and when he gets there, he just sits in his car and stares at the house.

Sean was real cool about getting ditched. He was able to catch his old bus with Lyla, and Esteban picked up Daniel. He didn’t even mind. He actually sent Finn a bunch of encouraging messages (Don’t worry, hijo! I’m proud of you!) but that made it worse, somehow.

Finn goes inside through the garage. He kinda hopes Pop will be down there, working on the junker he’s been fixing up for Sean, but of course he’s not. He’s probably making dinner, if it’s not already on the table.

For a moment, Finn stands there, all alone in the garage. The smell of pizza grease has seeped into the fabric of his uniform and the pores of his skin, but if he closes his eyes and concentrates, he can block it out with the scent of oil and rust.

His first memory is of that smell. He was sitting in some sort of wooden crate, chewing on a ring of plastic keys. He dropped them over the side of his box and couldn’t reach them, so he cried until one of his brothers came over and dumped the keys in his lap.

There are other memories in that same garage, with that same oil-rust smell. Fetching tools for his brothers. Toddling around with no shoes. The first time Dad picked him up and held him over an engine, letting him tighten a bolt. The guts of the car were dark and scary; Finn thought he was going to fall into it, and all the wires would swallow him up and strangle him.

But Dad held him tight. Dad was the safe place. And when Finn tightened the bolt, his brothers were so proud. They told him what a good job he did, and Finn just stood in the middle of that garage, shaking from how relieved he was, how happy.

Finn walks up the staircase. He can tell that dinner’s ready, because he can hear soft voices and clinking silverware, and when Finn gets to the top step, he freezes again, struck by how perfect the family looks, framed by the doorway.

He can’t see their faces. Esteban is on a stool at the end of the counter; Sean and Daniel are facing the kitchen, their backs to the living room and the garage staircase. Finn’s only like, four feet away from them, but he might as well not be here at all.

Fuck… Why is he here? What does he even bring to that table? To this family? He doesn’t… add anything. He just sleeps in their house. Eats their food. Uses their shower.

He smiles, though, when Daniel notices him, ‘cause how could you not smile for Daniel? His face gets all bright and he wiggles on his stool, which makes Sean roll his eyes. Finn can’t decide which one is cuter.

“Hey, just in time!” Esteban says, waving him over. Finn’s smile gets bigger, though his self-pity doesn’t get any smaller.

“What’re we havin’?” he asks.

“Spaghetti a la Diaz,” Daniel laughs, as Finn helps himself to a pot of ravioli. Sean says something about truffle sauce, and they laugh again, and it’s obvious Finn missed out on some joke. He’s pretty sure the ravioli came out of a can. Pop must’ve been strapped for time, chasing Daniel around just because Finn’s boss couldn’t let him go home at three.

“Looks good!”

Finn slides onto a stool, sitting across from Sean. He wishes he was next to Sean. Wishes his hand was on Sean’s thigh. Wishes his hand was on Sean’s everything.

“Long day?” Pop asks.

“Too fuckin’ long,” Finn mumbles, before remembering he’s not supposed to swear around Esteban. “Sorry,” he winces.

Pop’s cool about it, though. “I know it’s hard, but staying late is a good sign! If they’re giving you more responsibilities, it means they trust you.”

Finn thinks about Hannah, and how if she trusted you, she fuckin’ said so. He’s pretty sure Boss would do the same.

But Pop’s smiling at him, so Finn shrugs. “Yeah, maybe.”

There’s a beat, a stretch of silence where no one speaks. Then Pop says, “What do you want for your birthday, mijo?”

Finn’s fork freezes half-way to his mouth.

“A puppy!” Daniel says. Pop laughs, and Daniel adds, “A puppy you’re not allergic to!”

“Pretty sure they don’t make those, dude,” Sean says. He smirks at Finn, and Finn smiles back, like haha, yeah, Daniel’s the clueless one, not the guy sitting here in a greasy uniform, still tryna figure out what the hell’s going on.

“You gotta birthday comin’ up, little man?” he asks, pushing the ravioli around his plate.

“Next Saturday!” Daniel beams. “I’m gonna be ten!”

Exactly one week before Finn turns twenty. Holy shit.

“Hells yeah! Double digits!” Finn says. He offers a high-five, and Daniel stretches across the counter to slap his hand.

He looks so proud of himself. Like, Way to go me, existing a whole decade on this planet! Finn remembers feeling like that. Turning ten, becoming a Big Boy. Still not as big as his brothers, but big enough that he could do more than be a lookout when they boosted cars.

That was probably the last birthday Finn actually liked. He turned eleven and twelve in juvie. Thirteen through fifteen in a half-dozen foster homes… Sixteen, though, sixteen was alright. He had Cass, then. But that was also the year Shit Dad showed up, gave him a six-pack with a bow on top (He remembered! Finn thought back then, so grateful, so impressed) and convinced him to drop outta school ‘cause he could make more money dealing weed then reading his stupid books.

By seventeen, Finn was pretty much over the whole birthdays thing. He had his own crew who would’ve made a big deal of it but he never wanted them to. Instead, Cassidy would just sing him a song, and he’d lean back with Hannah and Jinx and Penny, and scarf a whole box of snack cakes.

“What do you think, Finn?”

Daniel’s looking at him. Pop and Sean, too. Finn blinks.

“Whazzat, sweetie?” he asks, again poking his food. Dang, has he even taken a single bite?

“Laser tag!” Daniel repeats. “For my birthday!”

“Only if I can be on your team,” Finn says, making Daniel smirk.

“Duh! It’ll be you and me and Noah, against Sean and Lyla.” He thinks for a moment. “Can we invite Chris, too?”

“That might be hard, mijo,” says Esteban. Daniel frowns, but he nods his head in understanding.

“Yeah, I know. I just thought it’d be cool if he could meet Noah.”

“Maybe he can stay with us this Summer,” Esteban offers, and a whole basket of puppies couldn’t’ve made Daniel so excited.

*

After dinner, Sean spreads out his homework on the kitchen counter and bunkers down. He puts in his earbuds and forgets about the rest of the world, bobbing his head as he reads all about history, or geometry or whatever the fuck.

Daniel does homework, too. Pop helps him. They huddle together at the table they never use, because it’s more Esteban’s office than a dinning room. Finn only really goes in there to look at the framed certificate on the wall; Pop’s Automotive Service Distinction, the same one Finn’s going to earn, maybe, someday, if his textbooks ever arrive.

Finn actually hates this time of night, even on a good day, when he gets out at three o’clock. It just becomes really obvious that he has nothing to do, no life of his own beyond what these people give him. He’s like the puppy Daniel keeps asking for, always needing their attention, and pretty much useless when he doesn’t have it.

Finn helps by staying out of the way. He hides in his bedroom and locks the door.

This room used to be Daniel’s. It’s filled with Finn’s shit now (everything worth taking from his old apartment; his books, clothes, and a yellow mattress) but you can still tell it once belonged to a little kid, ‘cause there’s a mural on the wall of some storybook forest, with little trees and fluffy white clouds. Finn likes it. He’s never been camping but he thinks he’d be good at it. Just… squatting in the woods around a campfire? Singing songs and getting high? Yeah. Yeah, he could make that work.

Finn changes out of his uniform and tells himself it’s as good as a shower. Band shirt, ripped jeans, knife.

Good to go.

Finn eases open his window and slips outside. He lands softly, but the grass is starting to die anyway, trampled by a pair of shoes that fall here far, far too often.

The sun is long gone. Sean’s neighbor always gives them shit about staying on their side of the yard, but it’s dark enough now that he won’t notice Finn, slipping around his porch.

Finn walks to the park. It’s not far. And fuckin’ dead, obviously. Finn could climb up the jungle gym and declare himself King of the Castle if he wanted, but he never has. He usually just drinks a beer or rolls a joint; not enough to get wasted, just enough to… feel normal, you know?

Tonight, Finn throws his knife at a tree. He has a favorite; it’s all marked up now, from weeks and weeks of being his target. There’s a streetlamp nearby, so his aim’s pretty good, even at night. He doesn’t always hit the right spot, but he never misses the tree.

There were hours like this in his old life, too. After his crew bounced for the night and Cass crawled back to her foster home, or passed out on his couch. Hours that Finn used to fill with weed and beer, ‘cause that’s all his brothers ever did, and when Finn was little he thought that’s what everyone did, until he stepped into his first foster house and the mom made it very clear that everything Finn thought was normal was actually really, really wrong.

It took him a while to figure out the game. Learn all the rules. Not like, the kind of rules Sean’s grandma wrote up; a big, long list sayin’ Do This, Don’t Do That. Those kind of rules don’t matter. Not really. ‘Cause here’s the thing—you can put all your dishes in the sink, fold up your laundry and put it away, but if you’re an angry fuckin’ kid yelling all the time and getting into fights at school, no one wants you. They just kick you to the next house, and the next, and the next, until you’ve slept in so many rooms that nothing feels like yours any more. Not even your clothes. All you own, really, is your skin. Your bones. Everything else, you just… borrow from other people.

Finn wants this new family to work. He wants their house to be his house, for real and forever. He wants to see his name hanging on the wall.

And he can. He will. If he doesn’t fuck it up.

Finn throws his knife again. It buries itself in the tree trunk, and Finn walks over to dig it out. About a hundred times he does it—he just keeps throwing and walking and throwing until his arm wants to fall off. The rest of him feels really good, though. Calmer. Safer. Like he can finally fuckin’ breathe. Like… if he got arrested right now, yeah it would suck, but he could live with it, ‘cause at least Pop wouldn’t know and Daniel wouldn’t have to watch, the way Finn had to watch when those cops slammed his brothers to the ground and wrestled them into handcuffs.

Finn jogs back home, all the way to the patch of dirt beneath his bedroom window. No one hears him slip inside, and no one looks up when he emerges into the living room.

*

The week finishes off with more of the same shit. Long hours. Angry customers. Video games on the couch and smokes at the park after sunset.

Saturday is chill, though. It usually is. Finn doesn’t have work, so he pours himself a giant bowl of cereal and watches cartoons with Daniel. He’s a really cool kid. Cooler than Sean gives him credit for. To Sean, Daniel will always be a little pup, but Finn can see the Big Bad Wolf he’s gonna be one day, huffin’ and puffin’ and blowin’ the house down.

“What time’s it?” Finn asks. He could check his phone, but his phone isn’t here. He’s still wearing his pajamas, which are actually just boxers and a Misty Mice shirt. If he doesn’t wake up Sean before noon, Pop will do it instead, and the way Finn wakes up Sean is… nicer.

Daniel shrugs. He’s on his like, fifth bowl of Chock-O-Puffs. “I dunno.”

“D’ju forget your watch?” Finn asks. Daniel loves checking the time. Loves reminding Pop that it’s only 8:56 and he technically has four more minutes until bedtime.

“Nah, it’s just too tight on me now,” Daniel says. He rubs his wrist. “Feels kinda weird, though, not wearing anything.”

Finn knows the feeling. “Yeah, that’ll happen. S’why I hate takin’ out my nosering. Makes me feel like I gotta giant hole in my face.”

“You do have giant holes in your face,” Daniel laughs, poking him in the cheek. Once, he actually stuck his finger through the plug in Finn’s earlobe, but he recoiled instantly, like it bit him or something. Maybe he’s not scared of it anymore.

Finn twists around, still curious about the time, but a word from Daniel pulls his attention.

“Hey Finn? Can I… see your tattoos again?”

“Uh… sure, little man.”

He holds out his arms. Daniel spreads his hand flat and examines the circle on his palm, then the letters on his knuckles. Some of them are obscured by rings, which Daniel removes, and Finn experiences that weird, empty feeling they talked about, the one that happens when you take off something you’ve worn for a very, very long time. All of Finn’s rings are like that—his bracelets, too, still jangling at his wrists. He always wears them, even when he sleeps. When he showers.

“Sean has a lot of your old rings,” Daniel says suddenly. He gives back the ones he removed, though. Slides them right into place.

“Yeah. He needed to look cool for a party,” Finn replies. Seems like a hundred years ago now, that party—dressing up Sean in his old clothes, then undressing Sean in the woods while fifty teenagers got shitfaced off Finn’s beer. Back then, Finn thought that he was dragging Sean down, pulling Sean into his world, his way of life—but that wasn’t it. That wasn’t it at all.

“Sean gets to wear your clothes, too,” Daniel says. “And… you cut his hair.”

Finn doesn’t reply. He thinks he knows what Daniel’s getting at, but it’ll be better if he hears it out loud.

Daniel sighs. His whole body deflates. “It’s not fair that Sean gets to be like you but I don’t.”

Shit. That’s… a lot. Finn rubs the ring at his forefinger, unsure of where to start.

“You think Sean wants to be like me?” he says at last.

“Everyone wants to be like you,” Daniel replies. Finn almost laughs, but he doesn’t, because he knows Daniel will take it wrong. He looks down at his lap and ends up staring at the Misty Mice logo, the shirt he stole from Sean back when Finn thought he’d never get to spend another night in this house.

“I wanna be like Sean,” Finn says.

Daniel’s quiet, and Finn knows that was probably the wrong thing to say. He takes everything so seriously, feels everything so deeply, and every word he hears has the power to build him up or break him down. This was probably the latter. And Finn hates it ‘cause he’s been there, he’s been that kid, the little guy tryna not get stepped on by a dad and big brothers who walk around the house like giants, fuckin’ terrified he’s gonna let them down, or grow into someone they don’t like.

Finn holds out his arms again.

“Pick a bracelet,” he says. Daniel sits up, suddenly alert. If he had a tail, it would be wagging.

“Really?!”

“Yeah. Not as cool as a watch, but…”

“It’s way cooler than a watch!” Daniel says. He leans forward, looking over Finn’s bracelets like they’re the most valuable things in the world, and not just junk he shoplifted from Pop Topic.

Daniel picks one made out of an old bandana that Finn cut in into strips and braided into a chain. He unwinds the knot at his wrist and ties it new again around Daniel’s—not too loose, but with enough room to grow.

“How’s that?” Finn asks. Already, his wrist feels too cold. Too light. He’ll get used to it.

“Perfect!” Daniel replies. He throws his arms around Finn. “I’ll keep it forever!”

Finn lets himself laugh this time. Daniel probably said the same thing about his watch.

*

Monday’s alright. Sean texts him when he’s bored in class, which makes just any day more tolerable, and Boss actually lets Finn go home on time. He gets to play school bus for Sean and Daniel, and they’re so happy to see him that Finn remembers why he liked getting out at three o’clock in the first place. It ain’t about working shorter hours—well, okay, that’s part of it, but mostly it’s about Sean, passing up Jenn Murphy’s Lexus so he can climb into Finn’s busted ass car. And Daniel, face smug as points to Finn from across the playground, and all the kids looking at Daniel like they can’t believe how lucky he is.

It’s about feeling like he’s part of their family. A vital part. The guy who picks them up from school and takes them for milkshakes after, the way he used to take Cass for burgers because her foster momma couldn’t cook worth shit and she was just gonna end up sleeping on his couch anyway. It’s about… pretending that they need him, just like he used to pretend that Cass needed him, before Cass proved that she never needed anyone, and really Sean and Daniel don’t need him, either. If he weren’t here, they’d just find another way home and eat dinner around the counter with their dad until Finn crawls through the doggy-door.

He does take them for milkshakes, though. They go to that same old burger place with plastic Aweso toys. Finn finished his collection a while ago, but he’s working on a second one for Daniel. Maybe they’ll finish it this Summer, when Chris comes to visit.

Daniel starts going nuts as they get close to the house. Too much sugar, Finn thinks, but then he realizes there’s a box on the porch and it’s like, six days until Daniel’s birthday. Ten years ago, Finn would’ve been exactly the same.

Daniel’s halfway to the door before Sean and Finn are even out of the car. He picks up the box and lets out a long, exaggerated groan.

“It’s for Finn,” he says, and Finn almost trips over the porch. Who the fuck would send him a birthday present? Who even knows he’s here?! Cass, maybe. But she never got him a gift before, ‘cept a song and a couple tattoos.

Sean’s hand slides over Finn’s shoulders. “I think it’s your books, man.”

Oh, shit. He’s right. Fuckin’ A! There’s Finn’s name on the package, right under The Seattle Institute of Automotive Distinction.

It’s real. It’s really fuckin’ real.

Finn takes the box inside and lays it on the counter, just like Sean always does with his homework. Sean and Daniel crowd around him while he opens it, and he almost wants to tell them to stand back, ‘cause he’s afraid it’s gonna melt their faces off, like in that old movie.

It doesn’t, though, and inside Finn finds three textbooks that cost twice as many paychecks, a stack of practice exams, and some sort of like, official list of the shit he has to do to get ASD certified. It’s all the shit Esteban told him; read the books, sit the exams, provide proof of work hours in a real garage. And now he can. His certificate is basically on the wall.

“Fuckin’ A!” he says, picking up one of the books and turning it in his hands. It’s wrapped in plastic and really stiff, and Finn’s beaming because he’s never owned anything so nice, so crisp and new. He grins at Sean. “I feel like… I should get glasses, or somethin’! I’m like a real fuckin’ college kid!”

“You basically are, dude,” Sean replies. He’s smiling, too, which makes Finn beam even more, ‘cause seeing Sean actually smile instead of just half-grin is about as rare as looking inside his sketchbook. “You’re gonna have tests and everything.”

“Test aren’t that great,” Daniel mumbles. Finn rocks him by the shoulders.

“Aw, you’d miss ‘em if you didn’t have ‘em! Trust me.”

Daniel makes a doubtful sound, but Finn hardly hears it. He’s too enraptured by his books. The logo on the cover is the same as Esteban’s certificate; orange, with the letters ASD stamped in the middle. It’s so official. So fuckin’ cool.

Pop’s pretty excited about it, too, when he gets home. He’s real curious about the books, because he used to have ones just like them ten years ago and he wants to see what’s different, but Finn hasn’t opened them yet. He’s saving that for after dinner. When Sean and Daniel spread out their homework, Finn’s gonna do the same thing. He’s gonna put in his earbuds just like Sean and study his damn ass off, instead of sneaking out the window.

It’s Taco Night. Pop lets him shred the cheese and chop the onions. Lyla comes over, and Daniel talks to her about laser tag on Saturday, and shows off his new bracelet.

“I think bracelets are cooler than rings, don’t you?”

“They’re pretty much the same,” Lyla shrugs.

“Okay, but what would you rather have: A few little rings, or one big bracelet?”

Sean rolls his eyes so hard, his whole head tilts back. “Dude, you’re so obvious.”

Daniel snarls at him, flashing his teeth like a little pup. Finn can feel Sean giving him a look, but he can’t think of anything funny to say, can’t think of anything really except the books on the counter, wrapped in plastic.

Finally, fuckin’ finally, Lyla goes home. Pop starts cleaning the dishes and Sean and Daniel sit down with their homework; Sean at the counter, Daniel at the table. Finn could join them, and maybe some other night he will, but right now, he kinda wants to be alone. Just this time. The first time.

He doesn’t have a desk, so spreads the books on his yellow mattress, before remembering he probably needs a pen. And a highlighter. That’s what you’re supposed to do, right? Read through your books and highlight the words?

Okay. Pens, check. Highlighters. Music, too. All he has is an ancient MP3 player that Sean would laugh at because it’s the size of an actual brick, but it still works. What else?

Nothin’. He’s all set. Just gotta… get started.

Book One. Automotive Safety. Looks less than two-hundred pages; he’s crushed bigger books in less than a day. Maybe he can finish this one before tomorrow. All three of them by the weekend. Pop will get all proud. Sean will—

Shit, man! Fuckin’ focus.

Finn sits a little straighter. A lot straighter. He’s gotta stop slouching so much. He’s got this. He’s not gonna fuck it up this time. He’s not gonna quit half-way, not gonna let Shit Dad get inside his head and make all of this look stupid and pointless. He’s gonna straight fuckin’ A’s.

Hands trembling, Finn peels back the plastic, and turns to the first page.

*

Finn looked inside Sean’s textbooks, once. He wanted to see what he was missing out on—and maybe he wanted to see if he was smart enough to figure them out.

He wasn’t.

The math book used symbols Finn didn’t even know existed. The history book talked about places he’d never heard of, and the Chemistry book assumed he had the whole periodic table memorized, which he didn’t.

They made him feel small, and really fuckin’ stupid. They made him feel sixteen again, drinking Birthday Beer with Shit Dad, knowing that he was never gonna be more than the pizza delivery guy and that tryna pass his next algebra test would just delay the inevitable.

That’s how these books make him feel, too.

Fuckin’ goddamn shit.

This was supposed to be easy! He knows how a goddamn car works. He’s known since he was three, when his biggest, oldest, coolest brother showed him how to start an engine without the keys, and his whole brain lit up because he could like, see it, all of it, every piece of the engine connecting to make the car go.

But this… this next level bullshit. This is Esteban, grinding on Hardcore while Finn struggles with Easy Mode.

He tries a practice exam, but that’s even worse than the books. He doesn’t even understand what the questions are asking, let alone how to answer them. If he took the real test right now, they’d fail his ass in a heartbeat. They’d probably never let him touch another car in his life.

Fuck.

Fuck everything.

Of course he sucks at this. Of fuckin’ course he does. The one thing he’s good at, he’s not actually good at, because he never learned how to fix a car, he just learned how to make it go. How to drive away real fast ‘cause if you hesitate you’re gonna get caught and you don’t ever, ever wanna get caught.

This is just like everything else. All those things he learned wrong. How to listen, how to behave, how to stay outta trouble and play nice with the other kids—he couldn’t get the hang of any of it because it was too late to teach him any better, and he was too old to become anything different.

Finn throws the book down on his mattress and stands up. He paces around the room, staring at the trees on the wall and wishing he was in a real forest, far away from all this bullshit. He could make his own rules. Be his own person.

A knock at the door. The sound startles Finn so bad, he almost jumps out the window, like he’s been caught breaking in or something.

“Finn?” Daniel says, voice muffled. “I have to go to bed…”

Shit. What time is it? Was he really reading those books for two hours? Two fuckin’ hours, and he didn’t learn anything at all?!

Finn takes a deep breath. Finds a smile.

Daniel brightens when the door opens. Esteban is behind him, shuffling into Sean and Daniel’s room so he can read Daniel a bedtime story. The boy’s already in his pajamas; blue with superheroes punching each other.

He wants his goodnight hug. Finn gives it to him and makes it extra tight.

Daniel hurries off. Finn can hear him climb up into the bunk above Sean’s bed. Esteban begins his story; Sean’s at the kitchen counter, oblivious, turning the pages of a textbook Finn couldn’t figure out.

Finn shuts his door and locks it again. Then he climbs out the window and slinks down to the park, and throws his knife until he can breathe.

*

Later that week, Daniel gets a birthday card from Chris, and another from his grandma and grandpa. Chris sends him Power Bear stickers and a whole bunch of Spirit Squad drawings, and the grandparents send a check for fifty dollars.

“Holy shit!” Sean says, snatching the check out of Daniel’s hands. He holds it up to the light, as if to make sure it’s real. That’s not really how checks work, but Finn ain’t gonna tell him. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

Daniel grabs it back. “It’s ‘cause I’m ten!”

Sean’s twists his mouth into a really cute frown. Finn guesses they never sent him Birthday Money, not while Esteban was throwing all their letters away. They’ll probably send him one twice as big when he turns seventeen, to make up for a decade of missed birthdays.

Finn wonders if he should tell Sean that his birthday’s coming up, too. Might be kinda cool to celebrate just with him, like it’s their own special, secret thing. They could have, like, a beer on the porch, when no one’s looking. And then Sean could sneak into his room after everyone else goes to bed, and give him a gift he can open real slow…

He decides against it. Sean would want to tell his dad, and then Daniel would find out too, and it’d be a whole… thing. Probably. Finn doesn’t want them to make a fuss, but weirdly, frustratingly, he doesn’t want them to not make a fuss, either. Both would devastate him, so he’d rather just pretend it’s not happening.

Saturday comes. Daniel’s big day. He’s up at sunrise, bouncing on Finn’s mattress, then getting pulled down and tickled.

Everyone else is already awake. Sean sits at the counter looking half-dead (has he ever gotten up this early? in his life?) and Pop makes chocolate chip pancakes. Daniel gets a huge stack topped with whipped cream.

“¡Felicidades mijo!”

“Yeah,” Sean says, yawning. “Happy Birthday, enano.”

Finn knows it’s selfish, but he tries to remember where he was ten years ago, when Daniel was being born. He was the same age Daniel is now, getting excited about packages on the porch because maybe they were gifts for him. They never were.

He remembers that birthday really well. He woke up all his brothers and jumped on their beds. Dad wasn’t around though. He didn’t come home the night before, but that was fine, because when Dad didn’t come home Finn could stay up super late, and sometimes his brothers would give him a joint or a beer ‘cause they thought it was funny when he got wasted and couldn’t figure out how to get off the floor.

They piled into the truck and Finn got to drive. His feet barely reached the pedals, which made his brothers laugh, and then they bought him donuts and sang him Happy Birthday and took him to the batting cages. And when Dad got home that night, he gave Finn his first knife ‘cause he was ten now, fuckin’ double digits. A Big Boy. A Real Man.

It was the happiest day of his life. The best birthday he ever had.

Dad—Pop slides a plate of pancakes in front of him. The whipped cream forms a smiley face.

“Didn’t sleep well, mijo?”

“Guess not,” Finn replies. Shit, does he look tired? He stayed up with his textbooks but he’d’ve had better luck slamming his head against the wall. Finn straightens up though, and tries to look like his breakfast, all smiles and sweetness. “Still gonna kick ass at laser tag!”

Esteban chuckles, and Daniel pesters him for pancakes with extra chocolate chips.

The arcade is downtown, near Noah’s house and Finn’s old apartment. There’s too many people to fit in one car, so Daniel rides in the truck with Esteban. Lyla does, too, because when they picked her up, her mom came out into the driveway and insisted, even though Finn’s driven Lyla home at least a hundred times and never got into a wreck even once.

Hard to stay mad about it, though, when it means he gets to drive downtown with a hand on Sean’s thigh. Not that he wouldn’t have done that with Lyla or Daniel around, but Sean only leans into the touch when they’re alone. He’s so fuckin’ shy; hates kissing when other people can see.

Sean catches Finn staring. He lets out a small, dry laugh. “What?”

“Aww, it’s nothin’.” Finn tightens his grip on Sean’s leg. “You just look really cute today.”

“Thanks,” Sean says, looking down but clearly pleased. He’s wearing the rings Finn gave him for the Halloween party.

Noah meets them at the arcade with his mom. Finn’s seen Noah at Daniel’s school—cool kid, but pretty quiet until Daniel gets him going—but this is his first time seeing the mom. She only speaks Spanish, so the introduction is short. She shakes his hand. Stares at his tattoos.

Then there’s this, like… weird moment, where Esteban is clearly trying to explain Finn to her, but he can’t understand what they’re saying. Maybe that’s a good thing. Finn focuses on turning his five-dollar bill into a handful of tokens, and then playing arcade games with Daniel and letting him win.

Sean and Lyla go for the dancing game with arrows on the floor that you have to step on. They’re pretty good at it, moving together like long-lost twins or something. Best Freakin’ Fighters, forever.

“Go easy on yourself,” Esteban says. He’s still worried about Sean’s leg.

“I’m fine!” Sean replies, drawing out the last word the way Daniel would.

A voice on the intercom calls for the Diaz Family. It’s their turn for laser tag. Daniel breaks them up into teams, just like he said he would. Him, Noah and Finn against Sean and Lyla.

Everyone straps on a plastic vest filled with lights. Daniel’s team is red; Sean’s is green. If you get shot with the laser gun, the lights in your vest turn off and you’re out of the game. Finn’s never played before but he’s ready to go fuckin’ Rambo in that maze.

Finn slings his plastic gun over his shoulder. “Hope you’re ready to lose,” he tells Sean.

“Yeah right,” Sean smirks. “With Daniel watching your back? You won’t last two minutes.”

“Hey!” Daniel says, but Finn’s got this.

“Daniel has a secret weapon,” he says mysteriously. The boy looks up at him, brows arched.

“I do?”

“Hells yeah. You’re small. Harder to hit. Harder to find.” Finn winks at him. “They can’t shoot’chu if they can’t see you, little man.”

Daniel brightens. “Yeah! I’m gonna, um… Find a place to hide, and be a sniper!”

“Oooh, thanks for the tip,” Lyla teases.

The game starts and they all rush into a dark room. It’s like a giant, indoor maze, illuminated with glow-in-the-dark paint and nothing else. Everyone darts in different directions and suddenly, Finn’s all alone. He can hear Daniel and Noah shrieking with laughter, and he shakes his head. So much for being a sniper.

He rounds a corner and actually screams in surprise; Lyla’s there, and she does the same thing. They take shots at each other (their blasters make fake little pew pew sounds) but they both miss and run away. Finn feels alive, like when he’s at the park, throwing knives at his tree.

He sneaks through the maze, and around the next corner he finds another enemy, glowing green in the darkness. Sean.

Finn doesn’t scream this time, and Sean doesn’t notice him. Not at first. By the time he turns around, Finn’s arms are raised in surrender.

Sean wavers, like he’s tryna figure out Finn’s scheme. Like he’s the distraction and Daniel’s gonna burst out of hiding and shoot Sean square in the chest. But as Finn walks forward, hands still raised, Sean doesn’t take the shot, and Sean doesn’t run away.

Finn draws close enough to pin Sean against the wall, hands planted on either side of Sean’s head.

“No fair,” Sean whispers, eyes half-lidded, and Finn laughs in his throat because what’s unfair? What’s Finn ever done to make Sean so defenseless, so utterly and devastatingly disarmed? Sean’s the one with all the power here. The one with the blaster between them, pressed against Finn’s glowing red vest.

Finn leans forward and their lips come together. Sean sighs into Finn’s mouth, and holy shit does he know, does he even know what he does to Finn, how much Finn wants him every moment of every day, and all the crazy, fucked-up shit Finn would do just to keep Sean by his side?

No. He doesn’t know, and he can’t even imagine, because Sean had a good dad who taught him how to look at things in good ways, to see a busted car as something to fix instead of just taking it for himself.

Pew pew.

Sean jerks underneath him, eyes wide and confused. Finn’s vest has gone dark. He’s out of the game.

Sean looks down between them, terrified that he pulled the trigger on accident—but no. Finn’s hand on Sean’s blaster, and it wasn’t an accident at all.

“Changed my mind,” Finn shrugs. “I couldn’t letchu lose.”

Sean doesn’t respond. He still looks confused, like he can’t decide if he’s touched or not. Finn kisses him again, and strokes his cheek. This is a nice moment. Playful. Sweet.

“You should get goin’, ‘fore Daniel kicks your ass.”

Sean nods, then ducks under Finn’s arm and runs off. Finn stands there in the dark, watching him go. It’s only a few seconds before Daniel and Noah come sprinting around the corner.

“He went that way!” Finn says, pointing the wrong direction.

*

Daniel wins, eventually. Finn thinks Lyla must’ve gone easy on him, and Sean got hit in the back by Noah while chasing down his brother.

After laser tag, there’s pizza and presents. The smell of grease makes Finn’s stomach churn so his slices go untouched. Sean gives Daniel a new watch and even though bracelets are way cooler than watches, Daniel loves it. He wears it on his empty wrist, opposite Finn’s bandana.

Pop surprises Daniel with a Power Bear birthday cake. He surprises all of them, really, because he called the arcade a week ago to arrange it. He lights the candles, and then there’s this big, show-stopping moment where he pulls out his phone and Chris is on the other end, and they all sing Happy Birthday while Daniel glows brighter than the sun.

It’s the happiest day of his life. The best birthday he’s ever had.

And Finn is the corner of the booth, wedged between Sean and the wall, and his pizza’s getting cold and ten years ago he was in a booth just like this one, and all his brothers were singing over donuts.

Finn can feel himself holding back tears. His face is burning and his mouth is tight, but no one notices. No one looks at him. Of course they don’t, ‘cause it ain’t his big day.

Not yet.

*

New week. Same crap.

Except it’s Birthday Week. On Saturday, Finn will be twenty. No longer a teenager. An official piece of shit.

He takes his textbooks to work. Tries to read them during his lunch break but they just make him feel bad, and when he feels bad he wants a beer and a joint and since he can’t have either of those he just starts leaving the books at home. When Sean and Daniel bunker down with their homework, Finn pretends to do the same, but really he just crawls out the window and puts more holes in his favorite tree.

He texts Sean during his breaks. He texts Sean when he’s supposed to working, too. Hearing about Sean’s high school drama makes him feel better, somehow. Like, there’s actually people whose biggest problem is that the dreamy football player won’t talk to you, or some cheerleader made fun of your hoop earrings. It’s kinda comforting. Like one of Daniel’s bedtime stories.

My hair’s growing out, Sean texts. Finn’s sitting in the alley behind the pizza place, next to the dumpsters. He takes a drag from a cigarette and before he can exhale, Sean adds: Can you cut it again?

Finn texts him back. Sure <3

That’ll be cool. Cutting Sean’s hair—that’s one of the things that makes Finn feel useful, like picking Sean up from school. Who else is gonna make Sean look so cool, give him the confidence to talk to all the Jenns and Dereks of the world?

Finn needs to enjoy that, while it lasts. Before Sean figures out that the haircut was never what made him cool, and he don’t need rings on his fingers to talk to anybody.

Finn gets out late again. Too late to play school bus, but not late enough that dinner’s ready. When he pulls into driveway, Esteban’s truck is there, and Esteban himself is in the garage, flat on his back beneath the brown junker.

“That you, Finn?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s me,” Finn says, looking at Esteban’s shoes and breathing in that oil-rust smell.

“Perfect! I could really use some help. Go get changed first—you don’t wanna get your uniform dirty!”

Pffft, yeah. A little dirt would really mess up all the marinara stains he’s got goin’ on.

Finn runs up the stairs anyway. Shouts hi to Sean and Daniel, then rushes back down to the garage once he’s himself again, wearing a shirt he can splatter with oil and no one’s gonna give a shit.

Working on the car is pretty chill. It feels good to remember that he does know what he’s doing, even if his books don’t think so. There are a lot of moments when Pop doesn’t even have to say anything, because Finn’s already there, holding the exact right tool he was gonna ask for.

“How’re the books coming?”

Finn wishes Pop was talking about one of his fantasy books, like that twenty-part series he keeps tryna get to Sean to read. He thinks about how cool it would be to have like a… book club with Esteban. Instead of homework, Finn could read about hot girls with flaming swords and geek out about it with Pop over some busted old engine.

“¿Hola? Finn?”

Finn blinks. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, uh—it’s goin’ great!”

“Yeah?” Esteban folds his arms, leaning against the car. He and Finn aren’t under it anymore, but bent over the engine instead. Finn keeps working.

Esteban stays silent, though, so Finn tries to think of something to say. Something true, or at least true enough that he can say it with a smile and Esteban won’t smell bullshit. “Yeah! It’s, uh… not what I expected, but, y’know…” He rocks his shoulders. “You gotta keep on keepin’ on, right?”

“Don’t I know it,” Esteban grins. “So… Do you think you want to sit the exam? At the end of the month?”

Right. They offer it, like… every six weeks, or something? There’s a schedule on that official paper that came with Finn’s books, but he hasn’t looked at it in a while. Just made him sad. Beer-drinking, spliff-craving sad.

Finn shrugs again, smiling. “Don’t see why not.”

“Alright, it’s a plan!” Esteban pats his shoulder, so fuckin’ proud that Finn wants lie down and let his whole body turn to rust. “We’ll get you signed up, send them a check... You’ll be good to go.”

Yeah. Good to go. Spending all his money on a test that’s gonna tell him what a loser he is, like that ain’t why Finn dropped outta school in the first place.

“Careful!”

Shit—what?

Finn’s not paying attention. He tries to put his hand somewhere he shouldn’t, and almost gets his fingers snapped off. Esteban’s hand shoots out, grabbing him by the wrist. His grip is tight—so tight that Finn jerks backwards.

A lot happens in Finn’s brain really fast. Like wires all goin’ off at once. He’s in juvie, and getting grabbed like that means someone’s about to fuck up his shit, and he can’t roll over, not even once, ‘cause if you cry in front of those guys you’re done, you don’t make it out alive.

“Back off!” he says, the words coming out like a reflex, like gettin’ punched and punching back.

Esteban jolts, alarmed, and Finn’s whole face is on fire. Shit— Fuck—

Esteban drops his wrist. His eyes are sad; large, brown eyes just like Sean’s and Daniel’s, looking at Finn like he’s a stray dog caught in the rain.

“I’m sorry—"

“No stress,” Finn says automatically. His hands raise in surrender, like he’s playing laser tag with Sean. “Forget it.”

“Finn-“

“It’s cool,” Finn says, his face still burning, a smile quirking his lips ‘cause it’s nothin’, no big deal. “Really. I just… overreacted.”

Finn looks for his wrench. It fell to the floor when he jerked backward, and landed near Esteban’s shoe. Finn bends down to pick it up; fumbles it; it clatters to the ground again and it takes him an embarrassingly long time to stand up again.

Esteban shuffles, like he’s afraid he’s gonna step on Finn’s hand.

“I didn’t mean to, um…” Esteban searches for the right word, but no matter which one he picks, it’s gonna land like a punch. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Yup. A punch. Right to the gut.

“We’re good!” Finn says, tapping Esteban’s shoulder like he’s Penny, and all he did was drink the last beer. “Let’s forget ‘bout it.”

Finn rubs his wrist, though he tries really hard not to. It just feels weird. Empty. Like something should be there; the bracelet he gave Daniel, maybe. Or handcuffs.

Esteban crosses his arms. He tries to meet Finn’s eye but Finn stares at the engine. All those car guts, waiting to strangle him.

“Your old man… was pretty rough on you, huh?”

Finn lets out a hollow laugh. Everyone always assumes that. Like the answer’s obvious. Like they’ve done the math and there’s only one equation that adds up to Finn.

“It weren’t like that,” Finn says. “Not… the way you’re thinkin’. My old man was cool, but… selfish. He hated hearin’ no. If you didn’t see things his way, he made you see it his way. Eventually.”

Finn’s sitting on the wrong side of the prison glass with a phone pressed to his ear, and Shit Dad’s on the other end. And he’s talking about how long he’ll go away for if you boys don’t take the fall, he’ll be a frail old grandpa by the time gets out, if ever, and Finn just has to serve two years. What’s two years? Two years is nothing. Two years is a blink and then it’ll all be over. You’ll be fine, Finn, please, do this for me, do it for your old man.

Esteban nods, slowly. Makes a small hmm in his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says at last.

“It is what it is,” Finn replies. “No changin’ it, so you just gotta… go with it.”

Like a river. Or whatever.

Esteban grips his shoulder. It’s comforting, but not enough to make Finn meet his eye.

“Fathers should put their kids first. I’m sorry yours didn’t.”

Yeah. Yeah, we’re all real sorry ‘bout that one.

“Mijo.”

Finn finally looks up.

“You’re better than him,” Esteban says. “You hear me?”

Finn makes a half-grin. Like Sean. Like Esteban’s real son.

“Thanks, Pop,” he says, because that was real nice of Esteban to say, even if it ain’t true.

*

When Finn wakes up on Friday, he just lies on his yellow mattress and stares at the ceiling. This is it. His last day to be nineteen.

Daniel’s in the kitchen, packing up his homework and making up a song about Friday, the best day, better than the rest day. Usually about now Sean tells him to calm down, but Sean’s distracted, staring into the distance and letting his cereal get all soggy.

“Ready for the weekend?” Finn asks, like tomorrow’s any other Saturday, ‘cause that’s exactly what it’s gonna be.

“Oh… yeah,” Sean replies. He blinks, as if waking himself. “Can’t wait.”

There’s something on his mind. He won’t say it ‘til he’s ready, though. That’s just how Sean is. He needs to a take a deep breath before he speaks, and sometimes that breath takes days.

Finn drives them to school. Then he heads to work and helps with the lunch prep, doing dishes and prying open cans of marinara sauce. For some reason, it’s not as cool as helping Esteban make dinner.

The lunch rush is insane. It usually is on Friday. Boss is in fine form. After she hands Finn a stack of pizzas, she actually takes his hat off the wall and throws it at him.

Pissy customers. Shitty tips. Finn wants to text Sean so bad. Who is he eating lunch with today? Is Lyla wearing her new skirt and did that band geek notice?

Finn jogs to the next door, pizza in hand. He’s like, ten minutes late but please be cool about it, please be cool about it…

The door opens.

“Delivery for, uh… Dean?” Finn says, reading the receipt.

“Holy shit, I must be toasted, ‘cause this delivery guy looks just like Finn!”

Finn looks up. And up, and up.

“Penny?!” he cries.

Penny drapes himself across the doorway, every bit as long and willowy as Finn remembers. He rubs at a nosering really similar to Finn’s and blinks hard.

“Finn, man, that really you? I ain’t trippin’?”

“It’s me, brother!” Finn says. It’s been weeks since he’s smiled this hard. “Fuckin’ A, it’s good to see you!”

“Yeah, you too, man. Thought you, like, vanished, y’know? Zoom. Beamed right on up.”

Finn falters. “Shit, man, really? I’m sorry. I kinda thought’chu knew that I…”

He shrugs, unable to end the sentence. He isn’t really sure how it was gonna end, anyway. He used to be tight with Penny—tight with Penny’s whole crew—but losing Cass really fucked Finn up, and the crew wasn’t… there for him. Not the way Sean was there for him.

“Jinx here, too?” Finn asks. Penny motions vaguely into the apartment.

“Yeah. He’s ‘round… somewhere.”

“Good! That’s good. I’m glad you guys’re okay.”

They’ve had it hard. Probably as hard as Finn. That’s why he was so tight with ‘em. His fellow misfits, you know? Castaways. People no one else wanted, sticking together. Watching each other’s backs.

Another figure draws up to the doorway.

“Jeezus, Penny, do you gotta blow every delivery guy?” Hannah says.

“Girl, you seein’ this?” Penny responds. “It’s Finn!”

“No fucking way.”

Hannah slouches against the doorframe, arms crossed. Her eyes roam over Finn’s uniform and suddenly the pizza box is too hot in his hands, and he wants to rip the stupid hat off his head.

Hannah smirks, like this is the best thing that’s gonna happen to her all damn day. “You know, I was pretty pissed at you for bailing on us, but this? This might just make us even.”

“Hey, Hanns,” Finn says. “Listen, I wasn’t tryna bail on anybody-“

“Yeah, yeah,” Hannah says, giving Finn a look that makes him think she and Boss are secretly related.

“I gotta sit down,” Penny says, rubbing his temples. He either just woke up, or he needs to land. Either way, he disappears into the apartment but doesn’t take the pizza. Finn shuffles on the dirty Welcome mat.

“Cass left me, Hanns,” he says. Her expression doesn’t change.

“We all got scars,” she says.

Finn nods. Yeah. Yeah, they do.

“You still shacking up with that kid? That one you brought to Cassidy’s party?”

“Hey now—it ain’t like that,” Finn says, resenting the curl in Hannah’s lip, because she’s four years older than him and she sure as hell didn’t wait for Finn to turn eighteen before they started hooking up. “It’s a family, Hanns. I gotta family.”

“We were family,” Hannah shoots back. “And you passed us over for a child-bride and goddamn nine-to-five.”

Finn’s mouth falls open, but no words come out. That ain’t fair. Hannah says that like it was easy, like he won the lotto and drove away, laughing. She doesn’t know, she didn’t see how hard it was, all the work that went into it, all the arguments, the broken bones. Esteban, embracing him at the hospital; calling him mijo; signing Dad on his Christmas card. It was hard, and it’s still hard, working a shit job to pay for books he doesn’t understand, watching every single word he says so he can be a good example for Daniel.

It’s the hardest goddamn thing Finn’s ever done, and Hannah don’t get to talk about his family like that.

“Just take your fuckin’ pizza, Hanns.”

Hannah unwinds her arms. Takes the box out of Finn’s hands. Somehow, he feels heavier without it. His arms are made of lead, dragging him down and wrestling him into handcuffs. Despite everything, he wants to follow Hannah inside. He wants to lie on the floor with Penny and Jinx, and Hannah will sit on the couch with her dog, Blackflag, and Cassidy will play them a song, and they’ll all be okay, forever, because if the world doesn’t want them, they’ll all just take care of each other.

“Hey, Finn,” Hannah calls, and Finn realizes he’s half-way back to his car. Back to work and bitchy bosses and textbooks that don’t make sense.

“Yeah?”

He knows what she’s gonna say, just a split second before she says it. Of course she remembers. They were real close, once.

“Happy Birthday.”

*

Finn doesn’t get off work until after dinner. He grabs a burger and fries on the way home and eats them right out of the bag. It’s empty by the time he gets home.

He walks in through the garage again. Esteban’s truck isn’t in the driveway, and Finn wonders if he’s working late too, and if so, how did Daniel get home? Sean must’ve walked him. His leg’s all healed up now.

There’s a tag on the garage wall, right next to the staircase; a big ol’ mural of an octopus with screwdrivers and wrenches in its tentacles. Sean said he did it years ago; Daniel added all the fish and bubbles. Finn stares at it for a while before heading up the stairs.

“What up, Little Caesar!”

Lyla smiles at Finn from the couch. Sean’s there, too. He twists around and raises a beer in greeting.

“Hey,” Finn replies. His brow crinkles slightly at the beer can. “Where’s Daniel?”

“Uh… Lucha Libre, remember?” Sean replies. His brow crinkles, too. “With Dad?”

“Diazblos Locos,” Lyla snickers.

“It’s been on the calendar forever, dude.”

Right, yeah. The calendar, pinned above the chore wheel. Finn ain’t sure if he forgot, or never noticed in the first place. He’s kinda been avoiding the calendar lately. Trying real hard not to think about the birthday cake Daniel drew on there.

Sean’s frowning a little, like he’s disappointed. Like Finn let him down somehow. It’s barely a frown at all, hardly any different that Sean’s usual I’m sixteen and nothing makes me happy face, but it’s still a knife in Finn’s heart. Of course he’s been looking forward to this. Lucha Libre basically translates to Do whatever you want for three hours, Sean and if he was just a little crazier, just a little less stuck in his own head, he’d be at a party right now, not sneaking a few beers with his best friend.

“Come on, sit down!” Lyla says. She folds her elbows over the back of the couch and cradles her chin there, still smiling at Finn. “We need your expert opinion.”

“Hit me,” Finn replies. He’s still by the stairway, unable to make himself step forward.

Lyla tilts her head downward, making her gaze all suggestive. “When pizza’s on a bagel… can you have pizza any time?”

Finn laughs, but Sean rolls back his head. “Oh my god…”

“Inquiring minds want to know!” Lyla insists. She shoves Sean, almost making him spill his beer. She might be a little buzzed. “Come on, Finn! We saved you a Tall Boy!”

“Maybe in a bit,” Finn says. “I’m all gross. Gonna hit the shower.”

Lyla gives Sean a smile, and Sean suddenly looks like he wants to sink into the couch and disappear like loose change, and fuck Finn wants to join them. He probably would—definitely would—if he hadn’t seen Hannah today, or if his birthday wasn’t tomorrow and he could sit on that couch without thinking about how in a few hours, he won’t be a teenager any more. He’ll be a grown-ass adult, getting wasted with a buncha sixteen-year-olds like the creep he was always gonna turn into.

He disappears into the bathroom and peels off his uniform. The shower feels really good, and when Finn lathers up his hair, the suds turn pale blue in his hand.

Finn remembers the first time he used this shower. That night when he stood at Sean’s window and watched the rain pelt against it, soaked, freezing, hating his life, wanting to crawl inside and lie down with Sean and delay the inevitable.

He turns off the shower and watches the blue suds run down the drain, and it’s like… the exact opposite of everything else in this house. The octopus tag. The forest with fluffy clouds. Esteban’s certificate and all those framed photos on the walls. Finn isn’t a part of this house the way Sean and Daniel and Esteban are. He isn’t built into the bricks; he just lives inside of them. If he disappeared down the drain, Sean could just throw out all of Finn’s stuff and forget he was ever here.

Finn emerges from the bathroom dressed like himself. The shirt he’s wearing never belonged to Sean, though Sean’s worn it few times, and the bandana around his neck is just one loose thread away from getting cut into strips and braided into a chain.

“Hey,” Sean says from the counter. “I walked Lyla home. She didn’t wanna get in trouble with her mom.”

“Smart,” Finn replies, head bobbing. Sean shuffles on his stool.

“You wanna, um… cut my hair?”

Fuckin’ A. This is it, ain’t it? This is what Sean’s been tryna say. The long breath he’s been taking for days, texting Finn from school, marking the calendar, being shy at breakfast and coy as hell right now. He’s seducing Finn. Kinda. In his own way.

And Finn is into it.

“C’mere, sweetheart,” he says, tugging Sean towards his bedroom.

Finn sits on the edge of his bed. Sean settles on the floor between Finn’s knees and hums when Finn brushes his fingers through Sean’s hair. He doesn’t need a full buzz, just a bit of a trim to clean up the sides. Still, Finn takes his time with it, because Sean gets off on being spoiled, and Finn gets off on spoiling him.

Finn has really good memories of that afternoon, when Sean said, outta nowhere, I want you to cut my hair. It was a sacred experience; one of those mundane things that becomes magical when you look at it right, like watching a sunrise, or seeing a butterfly break out of its cocoon. Sean cried after, and Finn held him, and Sean didn’t try to stop himself or act cool or anything, and Finn could tell that this was his first good cry in years, the most honest he’d been with himself in a long, long time. Finn likes to think maybe that was moment Sean fell in love with him.

“Almost done…” Finn says. Sean hums again, barely louder than the low buzz of the razor, and Finn smooths a hand up the back of Sean’s neck, making sure he didn’t miss anything. “And… voila! What’chu think, sweetie?”

“Metal as fuck,” Sean replies, turning back in forth in front of his phone, using selfie mode to examine his cut. “Thanks, Finn.”

“My pleasure.”

Finn wraps his arms around Sean’s shoulders and dips his head down, sliding into view of the camera. They look cute together, crammed cheek-to-cheek on Sean’s phone screen—so fuckin’ cute that Finn taps the screen, taking the selfie.

“Oh shit, send me that!”

“No way, dude!” Sean says, looking embarrassed but pleased. “I’m making such a stupid face…”

“Then let’s take a better one!”

Finn lifts the phone out of Sean’s hand and spams the button, snapping picture after picture of his chin resting on Sean’s shoulder. Sean smiles in one of them. Sticks out his tongue in another. Laughs, when Finn kisses his cheek.

Damn. That’s gonna be the background on Finn’s phone. He’s gonna print it out and carry it in his wallet and stick it on billboards.

“C’mere,” Finn says again, sliding backwards across his mattress. Sean is next to him in a heartbeat, then on his back soon after, moaning into Finn’s mouth.

“Fuck…” Sean breathes, like he’s so goddamn surprised, or maybe just relieved. And Finn smiles against Sean’s lips because that’s that’s so like him, that’s so Sean, thinkin’ he was gonna mess this up and get sent to bed with blue balls. Like there’s anything he could do that Finn wouldn’t like. Anything he could ask that Finn wouldn’t give.

“Been thinkin’ ‘bout ‘chu…” Finn says, because it’s true, and because it’ll drive Sean wild. The effect is instant—Sean whines and tightens his grip on Finn’s shoulders. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout what I’d do once I finally got you under me…”

“Fuck, yes…”

Finn eases Sean out of shirt and jeans before ripping off his own. Stripped completely bare, Sean arches into Finn’s touch and begs with his whole body.

“How you want it, sweetie?”

Finn doesn’t always ask, because Sean likes being surprised and Finn likes how Sean’s mouth falls open, as if everything Finn does is new and exciting even though they’ve done this a hundred times before. But Sean’s been planning this night for a while, and Finn wants to know what he was daydreaming about over his cereal.

Sean keens, undone by a pinch of his nipple. “You, inside me…”

“Can do, sweetheart.”

With one hand on Sean’s chest, Finn digs through a milk crate at the foot of his bed and finds a bottle of lube.

“Gonna open you real slow…”

“Yes!” Sean tosses back his head; his thighs are already trembling, his hole twitching under Finn’s wet, slick finger. “Make it last hours, fuck…”

Sometimes, Sean plays shy, pressing his hands over his mouth and screwing eyes shut real tight—but tonight he’s shameless, arms stretched out over his head, legs spread wide as Finn’s fingers slip in and out of his ass, stretching him, teasing him, making him leak all over his belly.

Finn wants this to last as long as he can, because Sean said hours, and Finn’s up for the challenge, because starting tomorrow he’ll be twenty and Sean will still be sixteen, and he doesn’t want it to happen, can’t let this end.

But Sean lets out a frustrated moan and flips onto his knees, face down, ass up. He presses his cheek into Finn’s pillow and smiles back at him, rocking his hips, clutching the sheets.

Holy fuckin’ shit.

“Fuck me,” Sean says, and though it sounds more like a swear than a request, Finn can’t deny him. He pushes into Sean’s ass and Sean wails, burying his face in the pillow. “Fuck, fuck, fuck…”

Finn grips Sean by the hips and does just that. He fucks Sean hard, and Sean gives as good as he gets, thrusting backwards into Finn, meeting Finn’s hips with his hot, tight ass.

“Fuckin’ A…!”

Sean feels so good around his cock, so eager and slick. Finn wants to fill him up, mark him, make him dirty. He want to come so deeply inside of Sean that he’ll never forget the feeling, never want anyone else.

But then he remembers hours—hours—and Finn relaxes his pace, dragging out of Sean with purpose and pushing in just as slow, all the way to his balls. Sean sighs with appreciation, but after a few steady thrusts, Finn starts pulling out even slower, until he stops completely, only the head of his dick remaining inside.

Sean whines. “No, don’t stop-”

His ass clenches, trying to pull Finn back inside of him, but Finn’s fingers dig into his hips, keeping him still.

“C’mon, man-“

“Only if you ask real nice,” Finn says sweetly.

“Please, Finn, fuck, holy shit—!”

Maybe it’s mean to make Sean beg, but Finn savors it, letting himself believe that Sean needs him, that Sean isn’t complete without him.

He drives back in and Sean screams, coming hard only seconds later. Finn snaps his hips, thrusting wildly now, and when he climaxes, he gets to watch his own come leak out of Sean’s ass and roll down his thighs.

Afterwards, with Sean all boneless in Finn’s arms, Sean sighs and says, “This is perfect… For once, my whole life is perfect…”

And Finn stares at the trees on the wall, pretending they’re in a real forest, and this is all he’ll ever need. No books, no beer, just his breath and bones and the feel of Sean’s heartbeat.

*

By the time Esteban and Daniel get home, Finn and Sean are on the couch. Finn’s fully dressed even though Sean’s in his pajamas, and they’re sharing the same earbuds, listening to that song from Guitar Fighter, the one that played on the radio.

Daniel’s all hyped up from Lucha Libre, and Pop is too, but he says it’s getting late, at least for a nine-year-old. Ten-year-old, sorry.

“You didn’t tell Sean to go to bed!” Daniel whines, as if he shouldn’t have to sleep unless his roommate does, too.

“He doesn’t need to, dude,” Sean says, stretching as he stands up. “I’m wiped. I’ll probably fall asleep before you do.”

This satisfies Daniel. He’s no longer the baby gettin’ sent off to bed all alone; he’s the guy who gets to have a sleepover with Sean and listen to his stories in the dark.

Daniel gets his goodnight hug from Pop, then Finn; and Sean does the same except with Finn the goodnight hug becomes a goodnight wave, because the lights are on and now he’s back to being all shy, like Esteban doesn’t know what they did, like he can’t figure it out.

“Buenas noches, Sean!” Finn says from the couch. “Lovin’ on the hair!”

Sean rubs the side of his head, smilingly faintly. “Yeah… thanks again.”

Esteban watches Sean and Daniel disappear into their room before turning his full attention to Finn. “Staying up?”

“Yeah. Thought I’d tear Netflix a new one.”

A half-formed joke floats through Finn’s head and he laughs; something about Netflix and chill and Sean, except Sean’s not here so it’s just Netflix and couch. 

Esteban pats his shoulder. “You’ve been working really hard. I’m proud of you.”

Finn stares at the remote. His throat is tight. “Thanks.”

“The long hours, the exams—it’ll be worth it, I promise.”

“I know.” He finds a smile. Looks Esteban in the face, if not the eye. “’Night, Pop.”

“Goodnight, mijo.”

Finn turns on the television, but after an episode or two of some stupid cooking show, he turns it off again and reaches for his phone. He changes the background to that photo of him and Sean; the number 11:49 hovers above their heads.

The house is quiet. Finn stares at that photo as the last few minutes of his nineteenth year slip away.

And then… it’s midnight.

He’s twenty.

He’s twenty, and he’ll never be nineteen again. Nineteen is gone, just like eleven and twelve, and all those birthdays he spent in foster care, and all the rest he spent on the floor of his crappy apartment, smoking weed and listening to Cassidy’s guitar. He just turned twenty inside a new house, no different from all the houses that came before it, and when he turns twenty-one he’ll be somewhere else, some other house that’s not this one, because he’s going to fuck it up. He’s fucking it up right now.

Finn is on his feet, pacing. Hands jangling. He needs to do something, go somewhere. The park, maybe. To the tree that his tree because he marked it all up. Doesn’t matter, really, so long as he’s not under this roof or Esteban’s watchful eye.

He doesn’t slip through the window, though.

He walks out the front door.

*

His old parking space is empty. Makes Finn wonder if the apartment is empty, too.

He knocks on the door. Doesn’t know what he’ll say if someone answers. Maybe something like, Oh, sorry, just lookin’ for the guy that used to live here. Heard he got abducted by aliens. Beamed right on up. Zoom.

No one answers though, and Finn knows, he just knows that the apartment is empty, waiting for him to come back. He turns the handle. Locked. Goddamnit.

The window, then. The one in his living room never shut right, and Finn didn’t give enough shits to fix it. He presses against the glass and it swings open, like an old friend tellin’ him to come right on in.

Finn crawls inside. It’s not hard to find a light switch; if he can navigate this place wasted—which he did, a lot—he sure as fuck can manage it in the dark.

He blinks under the light. The place is empty, just like he knew it’d be. He stands in that hollow living room and it feels like a coffin, one built especially for him, just waiting for his corpse to fill it. This is where he’ll end up, eventually, inevitably, because this is what his equation adds up to, the only answer he’ll ever have.

He lies down on the floor, curled on his side. The carpet is just as stiff and dirty as he left it, and it still smells like cigarettes and pizza. Finn closes his eyes but he doesn’t sleep; doesn’t know what he’s waiting for, really. Maybe Cassidy will sing him a song. Or Shit Dad will show up with Birthday Beer and tell him that giving up his books is the right thing, the smart thing. Or Merrill will pull the trigger, turning off all of Finn’s lights and taking him out of the game.

Finn was really proud of this place, when he first got the keys. He’d been dealing weed for while by then (two, three years?) so when he aged out of his foster house, he had enough cash to get his own apartment. Yeah, it was shitty and there were holes in the walls but it was his, and it was happening. He had a home, his own home, his own forever house to fill up with all the people no one else wanted, like Cass and Hanns and Penny and Jinx, and Sean too once he started hanging around all sad and sweet, needing a safe place, needing sanctuary.

But Cass wanted to travel, wanted to see redwoods and beaches and Mardi Gras, and that was cool with Finn so long as they could have a base, somewhere to go back to, somewhere to hang all their travel photos and frame Cassidy’s diploma.

Fuck. Why’d he make her go to school? Why’d he need her to graduate, to be better than him, to have what he wanted so bad and threw away so easy?

Why couldn’t she just… talk to him? Tell him she was so unhappy, that she wanted to leave? Maybe she did. Maybe he just didn’t listen. Maybe he’s just like his dad, unable to hear no, tryna force people to see things his way.

Outside, a car door slams shut. Finn hears movement on the sidewalk, and curls himself into a tight ball, because he never paid Merrill back for his weed, and Big Joe’s here to kick his ass for it. Finn will have to go home with a black eye and a broken nose, and Pop will be so mad and Daniel will be so scared, and tomorrow night Finn will be right back here, kicked out for good this time.

But whoever’s outside keeps walking. Finn uncurls himself and sits up. He should go, before he gets caught. Before Sean realizes he left and loses his shit, because Sean still hasn’t figured out that this doesn’t end with Finn leaving him, this ends when Sean stops needing haircuts and rings to feel good about himself.

Finn takes a last look around, remembering. Absorbing. The door to his bedroom. The kitchen he never used, because he didn’t know how do anything except reheat pizza and make cup-o-noodles. The living room where he first cut Sean’s hair, where Cassidy played her guitar and Hannah got trashed and the closet where Penny would hold Jinx until he felt calm enough to come out.

Finn stood in this living room just a few weeks ago, remembering all those exact same things. Esteban was in the truck with all of Finn’s stuff, waiting to take him to a better life, and Finn couldn’t figure out why he felt so bad about leaving.

He had to live in Esteban’s house for a while to figure it out. Had to spend time surrounded by framed pictures and Sean’s artwork and Daniel’s storybook forest. Finn was sad to leave this place because he knew it would forget him, and as much as he loved it, it never loved him back.

Finn opens the closet door, half-expecting to find Jinx inside, or maybe even Daniel, giggling ‘cause he loves hide-and-seek. Finn draws his knife and carves four letters into the back wall.

F I N N

There. Now this place won’t forget him. Even if someone covers up his name, even if they sand it down and paint it over, this place is still different because of Finn, because he was here, because he touched it and changed it, for better or worse.

Finn drives back to his house. His home. His sort-of home. His for-now home. He unlocks the front door with the key Esteban gave him, dangling from the keyring that Cassidy picked out; a rabbit’s foot that made her laugh because it was blue like his hair, and she swore that it would bring him luck, keep his car from breaking down.

He kinda hopes that Esteban will be at the kitchen counter, all worried, but the house is just as quiet as when he left, unaffected by his absence, indifferent to his return.

*

Esteban marks the date of Finn’s exam on the calendar. Something about seeing it circled in red makes Finn want to bunker down with his books and highlighters again, so instead of sneaking out to the park one night, he opens up a practice exam. Gives it his goddamn best shot.

And fails real hard.

He doesn’t bother sending in the check. No point in paying for an exam he isn’t gonna take. Finn doesn’t actually know what he’s gonna do when Exam Day comes, but it’ll definitely be something stupid, something that will feel smart at the time but afterwards he’ll look back and think Nope, that was pretty bad. Maybe Sean won’t get a broken leg this time.

The Monday after Finn’s birthday, Daniel gets into a fight at school. Finn doesn’t get off work until six, so most of the drama is over by the time he steps through the front door, but Daniel’s eyes are still red from crying.

“You wanna tell Finn what happened?” Esteban asks, his back hunched over the kitchen counter. Dinner is mac-and-cheese. Comfort food.

Daniel’s quiet for a while, kicking the counter in sullen defiance.

“Everythin’ cool, little man?” Finn asks, when the silence stretches to long.

Daniel plucks at the bracelet on his wrist. Then, like a burst of thunder, he cries, “Harry Thompson was picking on Noah!”

He launches into a whole story about how Noah didn’t do anything, and Daniel was just standing up for him. Finn’s heard it before. Harry picks on Daniel a lot—well, mostly he picks on Noah, ‘cause Noah’s the kinda kid who begs to be teased, but Daniel can never sit by and watch his friends get bullied. Finn wonders what would happen if Harry ever picked on Chris. Super Wolf would probably bite his head off.

Finn would’ve done the same thing, at Daniel’s age. He’d probably do it now. Not to like, a little boy like Harry, but maybe Sean’s neighbor, that high school kid who hurls insults at them from his porch. His words are easy to ignore, even the ones that land a little too close, asking Sean if Finn is his new Step-Dad. But if that asshole ever got off his porch? Ever started shit with Sean—or worse, Daniel? Finn would fuckin’ kill him. No question.

Daniel’s whole face is red now, almost crying again from how unfair it all is, how much Harry Thompson deserved it. And Finn just sits there, feeling guilty, like this is his fault somehow, like Daniel breathed in Finn's secondhand smoke and now his soul is spotted black.

When Daniel finishes, the room goes quiet again. Daniel and Esteban stare at Finn while Sean tries not to; they’re all waiting to hear what Finn will say, what wisdom he’ll impart on this small, angry wolf.

It feels like a test. One he’s been studying for since he moved into this house, but the books just didn’t make sense.

“That’s hard, little man,” he says at last. He places a hand on Daniel’s back. “It sucks when you… just wanna help, an’ then it all goes wrong.”

“Fighting is not the right way to help,” Esteban adds, and it feels like a big red X on Finn’s exam, marking a wrong answer.

“Yeah!” he says, scrambling. “You gotta, y’know…”

Finn doesn’t know. He has no idea what you’re supposed to do when you see your friend getting picked on, your brothers thrown to the ground and handcuffed. What are you supposed to do with that anger? How do you live with the horrible, crushing unfairness of the world?

Finn exhales. “Just gotta be zen. Go with it, like a river.”

One of Finn’s foster brothers said that. He was only a year older than Finn but he already knew how to kiss and what to do with his tongue. They were lying in a bunkbed, Finn on top, staring at glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling and wondering if this is what it would feel like to sleep in the woods, when his foster brother suddenly said, You can’t change the past. You can’t swim upstream. You have to go with the river.

And that sounded so cool. So wise. It helped Finn back then. Not so much, right now.

Daniel groans, rolling back his head. “What does that even mean?”

Finn doesn’t remember. Maybe he never really knew.

*

Finn is little. Really little. Too big for his ring of plastic keys but not big enough to know how to start a car, and someone leaves him on the kitchen counter. Stay here.

His brothers are arguing about who has to watch him. They can’t put him in the wooden crate anymore, because he knows how to get out, but he doesn’t know how to get off the counter and he’s stuck there, all alone and up high. Too high. He wants down. Someone get him down!

He cries. No one comes. His brothers are still arguing and they don’t even look, they don’t even care.

Maybe he can… get down on his own. He’s seen them do it. They just slide right off and land on their feet and that’s not hard. He can do it. He’s not a baby.

His whole body smacks the floor.

Finn wails. There’s so much blood. He bit his tongue, or his lip, or something. There are nerves in his mouth that he didn’t even know existed, all of them hot and stinging, and his tongue feels fat and he’s heaving and crying and bleeding—

And all of his brothers rush over. No more arguments. Doesn’t matter whose turn it is to watch him because suddenly they’re all on duty, and there are hugs and tissues and I’m sorry Finn and kisses in his hair.

Dad comes in to see what he’s crying about and everyone goes still, and Finn’s tears bubble up again because if Dad starts shouting it’ll be his fault. No one likes it when Dad shouts. He’s as loud and bone-shaking as a thunderstorm.

But there’s no shouting today. Dad scoops Finn off the floor and whispers, Shh, no more tears.

Finn hiccups into Dad’s shoulder. Dad rubs his back with slow, soft circles.

That’s my boy.

Dad gives him a sip of whiskey. It burns Finn’s throat but then it makes him feel comfortable and sleepy, and his head doesn’t hurt so much. They all watch television for a while; Finn lies against Dad’s chest while Dad holds an icepack to his face, and Finn falls asleep wondering how his cheek can feel so cold while his insides feel so warm.

*

The dye is starting to wash out of Finn’s hair. Only the tips are blue; the rest is boring, ordinary brown.

He searches under the bathroom sink for a bottle of dye, but can’t find any. He’ll need to make a trip to the store, when he has time. Maybe this weekend. After the exam he never signed up for.

Or maybe he should just let it all wash out. If his hair ain’t blue anymore, he won’t have to wear that stupid hat.

He’s at work for less than an hour before Boss calls him into her office. The guys doing lunch prep go Ooooh like Finn’s gonna get lectured by the Principal, or like he and Boss are gonna fuck. Finn’s not sure which he’d hate more.

He plays nice, though, while Boss falls into the metal chair behind her desk and rummages through the drawers. He reads the safety posters on the wall and definitely doesn’t think about the safe with four buttons rubbed clean.

“You’ve been doin’ good work,” Boss says. “Stayin’ late. Savin’ our asses.”

“You know it, Boss!” Finn says, smiling he’s just been named Employee of the Month. “Does that mean I getta raise?”

“That’s the idea,” Boss says, before dropping a ring of silver keys on her desk.

Finn stares. Suddenly, this whole room feels like a safe, sealed up tight and running outta air.

“Whazzat ‘sposed to be?” Finn asks.

“A promotion. To Assistant Manager.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Boss starts talking about overseeing prep each morning, and locking up at night, and keepin’ the guys in line. He’s got leadership potential, and all those other words that would make Pop smile if he were here, but all Finn can see is those keys and all he can hear is Shit Dad. Big score. Easy money.

It seems like a bad idea right now. But on Exam Day, it’ll seem like a great idea, the best idea, because Dad always made you see things his way eventually, and in the dead of night Finn will be in this office, cracking the safe code and stuffing his pockets with cash.

It’s inevitable. Like his apartment. Like his grave.

“I quit,” he says, still staring at those keys.

“What?”

“I quit,” he says, louder this time. He takes off his hat and drops it on Boss’ desk. Boss hardly even blinks.

“Is this a joke?”

“’Fraid not,” Finn says, walking backwards towards the door. It ain’t even a trust exercise this time. He knows he’s gonna hit the floor. “I fuckin’ quit!”

Boss reaches for a paper timesheet and crosses off his name—the only evidence that he ever existed inside these walls.

“Your check will be in the mail,” she says coolly.

He flips her off with both hands.

*

Finn has a good day. A great fuckin’ day.

He goes to the bookstore. The one that didn’t like his ink, and threw his application in the trash. He picks up all the books he hasn’t had time for—awesome books, not textbooks. Books with Best Seller on the cover or busty chicks with flaming swords. Sean’s never gonna read Esteban’s favorite series, but Finn will.

He stretches out on the hood of his car, reading and smoking in the Z-Mart parking lot. He got himself a box of snack cakes. Happy Birthday, Finn.

He thinks about going to his old apartment. Breaking in again just to see his name on the wall. Finn wishes he’d had that idea sooner—not the breaking in part, but the name-carving part. He’d’ve left a mark in every room he’d ever slept in, written himself into the history of all those houses that didn’t love him back.

Suddenly, Finn sits up. Cake wrappers and crumbs slide off his shirt. He has an idea. Not the kinda idea that Shit Dad needs to talk him into, but a truly magnificent idea. An idea that sends him scrambling for the steering wheel, and then racing down the road.

This is only the second time he’s ever been in a tattoo parlor. The triangles under his eye, and the line on his chin—those, he wanted done right. Professional. Clean. But everything else—the letters on his fingers, the markings on his arms—were stick-and-poke gifts from Cass, usually when she was bored. Finn liked being her sketchbook. Thought it meant something. Like she’d wanna spend her whole life filling him up with ink.

The new tattoo doesn’t take very long. Finn gets it on his wrist, where Daniel’s bracelet used to be, and where Esteban grabbed him. It sure as hell don’t feel empty anymore, not with a bandage slapped over it, and a bandana slapped over that, so that no one will know what’s there.

When Sean gets outta school, Finn’s already waiting at the curb. He leans against his door as all the kids swarm into the parking lot. Some of them recognize Finn from various parties, and the braver ones step forward to bump his fists. They look at Finn almost hopefully, like just being near him will do for them what it did for Sean, and tomorrow they’ll be in Jenn Murphy’s Lexus, getting off-campus lunch. They think Sean wasn’t anybody before Finn cut his hair, and it’s fuckin’ hilarious because one day they’ll realize that the opposite is true, that Finn wasn’t anybody until he met Sean.

Sean waves backwards to Lyla, who’s getting a ride home from that band geek who finally noticed her. She looks really happy, practically floating through the parking lot, coasting on that new-relationship high. It makes Finn wanna grab Sean right there and kiss him. But he doesn’t, because it’s Sean, and telling his friends that Finn is his boyfriend ain’t the same as making out in front of the entire school.

They get to the first stoplight before Finn can’t hold back anymore. He leans across the front seat and grabs Sean’s face, kissing him hard.

Sean makes a sound of surprise, then laughs when Finn pulls away. “Dude, what was that?”

Finn’s hand tightens around the steering wheel, while the other falls to Sean’s thigh. “Remember when you said your life was perfect?”

“Y-Yeah…” Sean stammers, embarrassed by what he said when he was all well-fucked and delirious.

“That’s me right now. Enjoyin’ it while it lasts!”

He blares the radio. Plays the air-guitar with Daniel and then plastic guitars soon after. His wrist stings, the new tattoo chaffing beneath its bandage.

Esteban comes home with bags full of groceries. When he starts dinner, Finn doesn’t sit on the counter.

“Can I help?”

Esteban looks for something he can do. Something easy. Onions to chop or potatoes to peel.

“Nah, man—” Finn rocks on his heels, filled with an energy he can’t dispel. “I mean really help. Put me to work!”

They make a stir-fry. Esteban says it’s perfect for a beginner, but Finn is still blown away by how many steps there are. Measuring the rice, then leaving it to boil; frying the chicken first but then adding the vegetables later, because if you add them at the same time the vegetables will get all soggy. Who knew?

“Hey, you got it!” Esteban says, his hand between Finn’s shoulders. “You could be a master chef!”

“It smells really good, Finn,” says Sean. He can tell something’s up. He watches Finn like he’s tryna solve a riddle, connect the dots between Finn’s spatula and that kiss in the car.

It’s not enough to spoil the mood, though. They all sit at the counter, and Daniel says, “This is even better than Dad’s!”

Laughter. Esteban’s exaggerated frown. Finn feels warm and comfortable, but his wrist still burns, and it’s like drinking whiskey after falling off the counter. Good, but painful. Really right, but probably, definitely wrong.

Dinner ends. The dishes get cleaned. And then it’s time to do homework, and all the warmth drains away. Finn just feels bad.

Real, real bad.

Beer-drinking bad.

*

Finn slides out his window, onto the brown patch of dirt. He left his bedroom light on and locked the door; no one will bother him until it’s time for Daniel’s goodnight hug.

He’s just gonna hang at the park for a while. Drink a beer under his tree. There’s a gas station down the road that never cards him—come to think of it, the tattoo place didn’t card him, either. You only gotta be eighteen to get a tattoo anyway, but it’s the principle of the fuckin’ matter. Just how old do people think he is? How old does he look to all them kids at Sean’s school? Twenty-five? Thirty?

Finn pushes into the gas station and goes straight for the cooler. He’s just gonna get one beer, but somehow he ends up at the register with a six-pack. The cans are tall and green; the same brand that Esteban drinks, the same brand Shit Dad brought him with a bow on top.

He finishes two before he even reaches the park. He lets the empty cans drop to the sidewalk because who gives an actual fuck, and cracks open a third. He kicks a rock and follows it, then kicks it again and catches up, kicking and walking and drinking until oh hey, look at that, he’s at the park and it’s a time for another beer.

He’s drinkin’ ‘em too fast. Scarfin’ ‘em down like snack cakes out’uva box. Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday to you.

One more song, Cass. C’mon. One more song.

Why’s he here? Oh, right. His tree. The one he carved his name into, except wait, that was the wall. Wasn’t supposed to be his name, though. Was supposed to be Cassidy’s, stamped all official on her diploma, framed on the wall of his shitty, awesome, kick-ass apartment.

Or wait—no. The name is right, but the wall is wrong. It was supposed to go right below Esteban’s. Be it known that FINN McNAMARA is hereby ASD CERTIFIED. Yeah. That was gonna be it. That was gonna be real cool.

Finn sits on a picnic table. Like, actually on the table, with his feet resting on the bench. He hunches over with his elbows on his knees and drinks his beer and stares out at the jungle gym, the tree, the swings. It all looks wrong in the darkness. Empty. Useless. This place belongs to happy little kids, not some twenty-maybe-thirty-year-old guy.

Shit, what time is it? Daniel would know. He needs his goodnight hug.

Finn checks his phone, but forgets who he was gonna call as soon as he sees the photo of him and Sean. Wow. That was really fuckin’ it, huh? The perfect moment. Sean said so. Said his whole life was perfect, and maybe Finn’s was, too. Kinda. Boss and Hannah were kickin’ his ass but he was okay, and what’s wrong with just bein’ okay? That’s all he ever wanted, really. Not just for himself, but for Hannah and Cassidy and Penny and Jinx and Sean and Daniel and Chris. All those people the world didn’t want, kicked around by Shit Dads or dumped by their mommas—Finn just wants them to be okay.

Shit. Fuck. He shoulda taken those keys. Could be breakin’ into that safe right now, grabbin’ enough cash to build a whole house, and everyone could live inside and drink and sing and paint on the walls and play hide-and-seek. Goddamnit.

Finn puts his phone away. Oh, someone’s coming. Walking right towards him, cutting across the playground’s fresh-cut grass. Hard to tell who it is, with only a streetlight nearby, but Finn’s pretty sure he can guess.

“Have a seat!” he says, smiling, maybe laughing. “Have a beer.”

Dad— Pop— Esteban stops just short of Finn’s table. Doesn’t sit. His arms are crossed but he don’t look mad, just… kinda cold, maybe? Like when he takes out the trash at night and doesn’t put on his shoes, and comes back inside slightly breathless. Is that what’s happening right now? He just gotta toss Finn out real quick and then he’ll back on the couch, hoggin’ the PlayBox?

“Alright… How bad is it?” Esteban asks.

Finn snorts. “Why anythin’ gotta be bad? This is a celebration!”

He lifts his beer to toast Esteban, but it’s empty. He reaches for another and that’s when Esteban finally sits. He slides the beer out of Finn’s reach and takes its place.

“Aww, you’re no fun,” Finn says, but there’s no anger in his voice. It’s funny, actually. Dads.

“Let’s talk,” Esteban says, and Finn laughs again because he can tell Esteban doesn’t wanna be here. It’s obvious. The way he slouches, the way he sighs, just like Sean when he’s sick of everyone’s bullshit. Esteban wants to be in his house, with his sons, with his family.

“I told you, I’m celebratin’,” Finn insists. “I got promoted today.”

He raises his empty beer again, as if to say Cheers! but Esteban is real quiet.

“You think I’m bullshittin’ you?” Finn says, then he snorts again. Goddamn hilarious. “I coulda been Assistant Manager. I got leadership potential.”

Esteban’s brow twitches at the words coulda been.

“So, what happened?”

Finn shrugs. “Fuckin’ quit.”

“Why?”

“Oh, y’know…”

Finn looks sideways at Esteban. He doesn’t know, and he won’t understand. But Finn’s gotta tell him something.

“There were these keys,” he says, shoulders rocking, hands jangling. “An’ I was lookin’ at ‘em, knowin’ all the things I was gonna do with ‘em...”

“What were going to do with them?” Esteban asks, and Finn laughs again. Yeah. He doesn’t get it. Finn is a book Esteban will never figure out.

“Don’t matter. S’all in the past. We just gotta keep goin’ down the river.” Finn tosses his beer away.

“Finn.” Esteban places a hand on his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

Finn doesn’t feel like he’s on a river. He’s in a drain, circling the edges, and if he gets too close to the center, it’ll pull him down, down into the dark.

“Nothin’,” he says. “Swear. Just… needed a break, y’know?”

Esteban smells bullshit—Finn can tell by the crinkle in his brow. Finn tries to reassure him with a smile. It’s not so hard to believe, is it? Sneakin’ out for a beer? Pop’s too used to Sean, whose biggest act of rebellion was runnin’ off to bake cookies with his grandma.

Something about that memory scratches Finn’s brain. Sneaking off to Beaver Creek with Sean and Daniel. Esteban, texting Sean like crazy, tryna find out where they went.

“How’d’ju find me?” he asks.

Esteban half-smiles. “You’re not exactly subtle. Kid like you, stumbling around with a case of beer… tends to draw attention.”

“Who narced on me?” Finn frowns. If it was that punk from next door, he’s gonna lose his shit.

“Only the whole neighborhood,” Esteban chuckles.

Fuckers. Nosey goddamn narcs. Takin’ somethin’ nice, takin’ somethin’ that makes Finn feel good and normal and turnin’ it into a crime.

Finn waves his middle fingers in the air, flipping off the entire state of Washington. They can all go to hell. He doesn’t need their bullshit, all their stupid, fake, fucked-up rules. Screw society. Screw the system. Screw everything that’s not him and his family and his skin and his bones. He’s gonna go live in the forest. Be king of his own damn kingdom.

Finn surges to his feet, inspired. He walks a few short steps to the jungle gym and climbs up. It’s just a platform, with a ladder and a slide and pretend steering wheel, but Finn stands at the top and raises his arms in victory. He owns this place. Get fucked, Soccer Moms.

Esteban stands at the foot of the ladder, hands in his pockets. Shit. Why is he still here? He can go home if he wants. Finn will come back eventually. He’ll slip through the doggy door and sleep at the foot of Sean’s bed until Sean outgrows him and doesn’t wanna wear his shirts anymore.

“Is this about your test?” Esteban asks. “Too much pressure? Stress?”

Right. That.

Finn needs to sit down. So he does, right there on the jungle gym. He sits with his back pressed against a wall of bars, knees bent towards his chest. Another set of bars separate him and Esteban, who’s tall enough to rest his elbows on the platform.

“Yeah… I’m, uh…” Finn gestures uselessly. “I ain’t takin’ the exam.”

“Of course you are—”

“No, I’m not. I never sent the check. I never even signed up.”

Esteban’s mouth tightens, and his brow creases. He looks sad, and confused, but mostly concerned, like he’s the one who did something wrong, and for some reason that’s so, so much worse than letting him down.

“The books were too hard,” Finn explains. “I couldn’t figure ‘em out. It’s… been too long, y’know? Since I studied for anythin’. Wasn’t even that good at it to start.” He rubs at his nose. Shakes his head. “’S too late for me.”

“Bullshit,” Esteban says, surprising Finn with his harshness. “I was twice your age when I got certified. And I was a single parent, juggling two kids and a job. So, I don’t wanna hear that it’s too hard.”

Finn’s hands tighten around his knees. He can feel his mouth stretching into a not-frown. Don’t cry. If you cry, and you don’t make it out alive.

Esteban sighs. He leans forward, arms folding atop the platform. “What I’m trying to say is, nothing worth having comes easy. But if you work at it, really work at it—”

“It ain’t ‘bout workin’ hard!” Finn says. “Shit, don’t’chu know? I do anythin’ for you guys. Anythin’.”

He rubs his thumb over a patch on his jeans. The one that says HOMESICK, with the last four letters scribbled out. Those letters are still there, though, and they always will be, like the four letters Finn carved into his apartment, and the four new ones tattooed on his wrist.

“This is somethin’ I just ain’t gonna get right. I’m gonna fuck it up somehow, in some way I don’t even know, couldn’t even guess, ‘cause shiny keys don’t look like a promotion to me. They look like an easy score.”

Finn stares at Esteban from behind those metal bars, willing him to remember Sean’s broken leg and Daniel’s fight at school, and all the other wrong answers on Finn’s exam.

“I’m never gonna be what’chu guys need me to be.”

Esteban reaches out, laying a hand on Finn’s ankle. “I don’t need you to be anything, mijo. You can be a mechanic, or a master chef. You can… go to beauty school! Cut hair for a living!” Esteban flashes a smile. “I don’t care, so long as you’re happy and safe.”

Shit.

Fuckin’ shit.

Finn covers his face. Pop ain’t hearin’ him. Pop just wants him to be okay—but Finn’s never gonna be okay. At least, not an okay that lasts, an okay that builds a house. Not for real okay. Not forever okay.

“You don’t fuckin’ geddit…” he whispers, muffled behind his hands.

A thumb rubs his ankle, coaxing. Encouraging. “Help me understand, mijo.”

Finn’s arms flop to his sides. He just lets ‘em go limp like a ragdoll, which is fitting because his head is full of cotton, hazy with beer and bad memories. Right about now is when he’s supposed to start talking about rivers, and moving on, and forgetting, but the hand on his ankle is so reassuring, rubbing back and forth, soft and slow.

Ese es mi hijo.

That’s my boy.

“My dad… used to give us whiskey, when we got hurt. Now don’t—just wait, okay?” Finn says, even though Esteban hasn’t moved at all, hasn’t tried to interject. “I know what you’re thinkin’. Wow, what a Grade A asshole! But it weren’t like that. It was nice. Like a… Like a big ol’ hug, all warm and cozy.”

Finn shakes his head, eyes closed. No matter how he says it, Esteban won’t understand. All he’ll see is a deadbeat getting his kid shitfaced, not the comfort, not the kind words, not falling asleep in Dad’s arms.

“When I got outta juvie, I got my nose broke, fightin’ at school. I asked my foster momma for a shot’a whiskey an’ she got so mad, like… Fuck no, you can’t have whiskey! Ev’ryone knows that! The fuck is wrong with you that you don’t know that?!”

Finn’s eyelashes are wet, remembering the harshness of it, the cruel realization that one of your best memories is actually real fucked up.

“I know my dad was an asshole. I know. But it’s all mixed up. The bad stuff, an’ good stuff—it ain’t divided, all nice an’ neat. I can’t tell the diff’rence, sometimes, ‘tween lovin’ someone right, and lovin’ ‘em wrong.”

Esteban’s thumb strokes back and forth, and Finn realizes his own thumb is moving, too. He’s holding something—when did that happen? What’s this, in his hand?

Keys. Not plastic keys or shiny silver keys but just his ordinary everyday car keys, and he’s stroking the blue rabbit’s foot, the one Cassidy gave him, the one that’s supposed to keep him from breaking down.

“Okay,” Esteban says softly. “I hear you.”

Fuckin’ how? Finn doesn’t even hear himself. He can barely make sense of it all, and he was there, he lived it.

“You’ve been hurt a lot—but you’ve been loved a lot, too. And now that you’ve found love again, you’re waiting for the hurt to happen.”

Finn makes a strange sound. Fuck, is he crying? His lucky charm ain’t working. He feels—shit, he doesn’t even know. It’s like Esteban can actually hear him, except those are words Finn didn’t even say, and Esteban is in his brain, pulling out the thoughts that don’t make sense and speaking them out loud.

Everyone always thinks they know the answer. They take one look at Finn and think they got him all figured out, that he must be this way because there wasn’t any love in his life. But there was. There were songs, and donuts, and kisses in his hair, and maybe he’s not angry because of what he didn’t have, but because of what was taken away.

“Sean told me about your… sister?” Esteban says.

Finn exhales. He leans his head back against the metal bars and looks upwards. He can’t see the stars. “Yeah. Cass. We was real tight… ‘til she turned eighteen. Then she was up an’ gone.”

“You think it’s your fault she left,” Esteban says quietly. “You think… you must have loved her wrong, or not enough, or… something.”

There’s a pause, a moment where Finn is still caught in that hazy, starless sky. But then his gaze snaps down, and he meets Esteban’s eye, and he can hear what Esteban is saying, because he’s in Esteban’s brain.

Holy shit.

“What, uh…” Finn swallows, hesitating. “What was she like? Sean’s momma?”

Esteban takes a real deep breath. “She was… a lot like Sean.”

“Shit, man. Is that… hard?”

“It can be,” Esteban sighs. “When he withdraws, when he won’t talk… When he ran off to Oregon.”

Finn looks at his hands. His car keys. That’s another red X on his paper, isn’t it? Helping Sean run to his grandma’s house. Bein’ the getaway vehicle.

“I just kept thinking… I did it again. Missed the signs. Held him too tight, or not tight enough.” Esteban looks down. His hand slips from Finn’s ankle and he grips the bars between them. “But you can’t do that to yourself, mijo. You can’t be so afraid to get it wrong that you stop trying. You have to do your best for the people right in front of you.”

You gotta move forward.

Like a river.

“What happens when I fuck it up?” Finn asks, feeling the soft blue fur between his fingers.

“We’ll throw a big party,” Esteban grins.

Finn lets out a single laugh. “Great! A big ol’ Finn Fucked Up party. Love it.”

“No, I mean it,” Esteban says. “It’ll be like—oh, I guess you’ve never been to one of Sean’s track meets, huh?”

He quirks his brow like that’s the strangest goddamn thing, like it’s hard to imagine a time before Finn.

“We always have a big dinner after. Win, lose—doesn’t matter. The point is he tried, and that’s what family does. Supports you. Celebrates you.”

Cuts your hair.

“You’re gonna be okay, mijo. We’ll figure it out, together. You’re a Diaz—right?”

A smile. One that comes all on its own, not one Finn has to search for.

“Right.”

Esteban reaches out. “Let’s get you down.”

The platform isn’t very high up, but Finn’s head is still kinda fuzzy. He scoots forward, letting his legs dangle over the side, then he just slides right off and lands on his feet. Esteban holds his hands, making sure he doesn’t fall.

Someone finally came to help him off the counter.

*

Finn left through his window, but he returns through the front door.

It’s late. Past Daniel’s bedtime. Sean’s usually in his pajamas by now, but he’s on the couch, fully dressed. He stands up when Finn enters—Esteban close behind—and doesn’t say anything. He’s pissed—that special kind of pissed that makes him go all quiet and stern and Sean. 

Finn doesn’t say anything either. He just walks into the house and crosses the living room and wraps himself around Sean. Practically falls into Sean, like he’s a mattress. A warm place to sleep.

“Never goin’ anywhere, baby,” he whispers.

Sean… returns the embrace. Holds him so tight that Finn closes his eyes and almost actually does falls asleep, right there. He feels heavy. Good heavy. Home-cooked meal heavy, like when your belly’s full and your heart’s even fuller.

Oh, wait—he can’t—he’s actually really heavy, and he can’t stand up anymore, but the couch is right here and that’s cool, that’s fine. That’s better than fine. That’s perfect.

Sean eases him into the cushions. Finn sinks down and it feels so right that he starts thinkin’ this is the best choice he’s ever made in his life, until Daniel pops into view, ‘cause he’s still awake. He’s still awake and it’s a school night.

“Are you drunk?” Daniel asks. “Is Finn drunk?”

“Nah,” Finn says, because he wants to have the right answers, but he don’t—he just—damnit. “I mean… Yeah. I’m drunk. I’m drunk, so Dad came to get me.”

Finn slides a hand over his face. He doesn’t mean Dad, he means—fuckin’ A. Whatever.

“You ever get drunk, you call your dad. Okay, little man? You call him. He’s a good dad.”

He squeezes Daniel’s wrist—the bandana, braided into a chain.

“Okaaay,” Daniel says, dragging out the word, like he knows, like he’s heard this before and don’t need the reminder. Finn sighs with relief. Good.

He lets himself lie back. Closes his eyes, and lets fuzzy, incomplete thoughts come to him like Cassidy tuning her guitar, each string plucked one at a time.

“Was it bad?” Sean asks, somewhere far away. The counter, probably. An island, with sand and coconuts, and Finn’s drifting on a raft, bobbing on the waves.

“Not really,” Esteban replies. “But I think I understand now, why you said you need each other.”

“Y…Yeah?”

“Mm. He has a hard time letting himself be sad. And I don’t know if you realize it, Seanie-boy, but you have a hard time letting yourself be happy.”

Sean doesn’t respond. Or if he does, Finn doesn’t hear it. He falls asleep thinking how lucky he is to be the guy who lets Sean be happy.

*

When Finn wakes up, Sean is in the kitchen, pouring a bowl of cereal.

“Hey. Want some?” he says.

“Nah,” Finn replies. Shit, what time is it? Must be pretty late, if Sean’s up before him.

It’s not, though. It’s barely midmorning. But, wait—where’s Daniel? At school? Why isn’t Sean?

Finn’s still trying to put the pieces together when Sean sits down next to him.

“Hungover?” he asks. Finn laughs.

“Nah, sweetie, I just drank too fast. You’re gonna need more’n a six-pack to see me good an’ wasted.”

“Hm,” Sean says, unimpressed. Finn notices a bottle of water next to his feet and reaches for it, writing Thank Pop on a post-it note inside his head.

“No school?”

“Dad called in sick for me,” Sean shrugs. “No big deal, since it was gonna be a half-day anyway.”

Finn stares. Half-day?

“My physical?” Sean prompts, like that’s supposed to jog Finn’s memory. “So I can run track next year? Dude—we have a calendar for a reason!”

“I know, I know, sorry,” Finn says, rubbing his face with both hands. “I been kind’uva shit Big Bro lately.”

Sean doesn’t reply. Finn doesn’t look at him. He just hides behind his hands because he knows what’s coming, knows how spectacularly he fucked up.

“Dad got a call last night,” Sean says. “He said he just needed to go out real quick, but I… could tell something was up. Daniel could, too.”

Shit.

“Didn’t take us long to figure out you weren’t here. That really fucked with us, man.”

“I’m sorry,” Finn says automatically, hands falling into his lap. “I didn’t… think ‘bout… I’m sorry.”

“I thought things were good. What the fuck happened?”

They talk about it. Kinda. Finn doesn’t go off about whiskey and donuts, but he tells Sean about the silver keys, and textbooks, and quitting his job. The safe with four buttons rubbed clean. Hannah, seeing him in that stupid hat.

Sean gets it. Or at least, he tries to. Sean’s always been pretty cool like that. He’s good at taking in the picture. Sketching what’s really there, even if it ain’t what most people see.

Finn unwinds the bandana at his wrist. He peels back the bandage, too, revealing the four letters tattooed in blue ink.

DIAZ

Sean stares at those letters. He looks… uncomfortable. Anxious. Like the pistol’s about to go off and everyone’s gonna dash to the finish line, leaving him in the dust.

He think it’s like his momma. Or Cass. Takin’ a piece of him and runnin’ off, but it ain’t… This ain’t the same.

“I needed to… to carve your name into me,” Finn says, staring at those letters, just like Sean. “So that even if you didn’t need me anymore, found a better life an’ left me all empty, I could… I dunno. Remember you. An’ how you changed me. How you kinda… lived inside me, for a while.”

Finn laughs, shaking his head. That sounds dirty. “Shit. Am I even makin’ sense?”

He looks up at the exact same time as Sean. A split second later, Sean presses a kiss to his lips.

Finn can’t help but lean into it. He misses Sean so bad it hurts, his whole body aching like that week he spent on this couch wracked with fever and drinking medicine outta Sean’s hands.

“Sean?” he says, breaking the kiss. “I wanna… tell you somethin’.”

A pause. Round, brown eyes that Finn suddenly can’t meet.

“I turned twen’y few weeks ago.”

Sean’s quiet. Finn keeps staring at his hands.

“Are you… cool with that? I mean, s’okay if you’re not. I geddit. No, uh… no pressure.”

Sean shifts against the couch. “I’m… cool.”

He don’t sound so sure.

“You can think ‘bout it for a while. You don’t gotta… rush anythin’.”

“Nah, man, it’s…”

Finn can’t look at Sean’s face, so he watches the way Sean moves his hands, bringing them together and separating them again like he’s building his words outta blocks.

“I just wish I wasn’t such a noob,” Sean says at last.

Finn smiles. “That’s what you’re worried ‘bout? Not some grown-ass guy creepin’ on you?”

“Dude, you are… the opposite of a creep. You’re like this… really hot… punk-rock… porn star, living in my house? Sleeping ten feet away? And I don’t even know what to do with you, half the time.” Sean runs a hand through his strip of hair, tugging at the strands. “That’s how fucking clueless I am.”

Finn’s smile is twice as wide now, his hand on the back of Sean’s neck.

“Shit, sweetie, dont’chu know? You can do whatever you want with me.”

Sean laughs through his nose. He kisses Finn again, deeper this time, and sweeter, too. Another warm, soft ache. Another sip of medicine.

Sean pulls away, slightly. His brushes Finn’s bangs from his brow. “We need to fix your hair. It’s practically brown.”

“Yeah, I ran outta dye,” Finn shrugs.

“Dude, Dad got you like, three bottles yesterday. With the groceries. Didn’t you see?”

What? No! Finn must’ve been distracted, too hyped up from quitting his job and cooking his first actual meal.

The bottles of dye are under the bathroom sink. There really are three of ‘em—extra, in case he runs out again. Finn’s throat goes unexpectedly tight. This is, like… ten-thousand times better than Birthday Beer. Birthday Beer can get fucked. Birthday Beer is what you give your kid when you’re a sad old man who don’t wanna drink alone, but blue dye you pick out ‘cause the color’s runnin’ outta your son’s hair, and you noticed, and you want him to feel good about himself.

Sean helps. He’s never done this before, but like Finn in the kitchen, he’s eager to learn. Finn sits on the edge of the tub wearing nothing but his boxers, and a towel wrapped around his shoulders. He lets Sean brush the dye into his hair and just enjoys being spoiled.

“Oh shit—!”

Sean drops the bottle. It splatters against the floor, the tub. Finn’s toes. It’s a huge fuckin’ mess, one that only gets bigger when they bring in paper towels, and by the end of it, half the bathroom floor is stained blue.

“Dad’s gonna kill me,” Sean groans, but Finn’s eyes are wide. He left footprints on the floor, surrounding the stain like little fish jumping out of a big, blue puddle.

“Nah, sweetie…” Finn says, unable to tear his eyes away. “He’s gonna love it. It’s art.”

It’s a whole damn mural.

*

Daniel doesn’t come running when Finn blasts his radio. He stands next to his teacher on the playground, wearing a frown so big he must’ve borrowed it from Sean. Finn actually has to get outta his car and go talk.

The teacher gives Finn that look—that I gotchu all figured out look, but it don’t land as hard as it usually does. Not with his hair all freshly dyed and the name Diaz on his wrist. Finn’s done his own math. He knows his own answers.

“This is for his father,” the teacher says, handing Finn a sealed note. Daniel stares at the ground.

“Sure thing,” Finn says.

“He’ll have to sign it,” the teacher insists, like Finn ain’t actually gonna do what she says. It makes him wanna be stupid, so he slings Daniel over his shoulder and runs off like he’s stealing him. Daniel’s laughter is even louder than the radio.

“Harry Thompson again?” Finn asks, once they’re safe and alone in the driveway. Pop’s truck ain’t here—he must still be at the doctor, with Sean.

Daniel kicks at the dashboard. “Yeah.”

“That little asshole.”

Daniel laughs. His relief is audible, like a long exhale. It’s like… Finn gets it, and Daniel knows he gets it, and Finn knows that Daniel knows, because they’re inside each other’s brains. 

“Could you kick his ass for me?” Daniel asks, not really meaning it, he’s just gotta say it out loud.

“Love to,” Finn says, also not really meaning it, but maybe kinda. “But y’know that ain’t how it works, right?”

“Yeah, I know. It’s against the Super Hero Code.”

“Right!”

Damn, why didn’t Finn think of that?

“He’s just such a jerk!” Daniel says, flexing his hands. “I just wanna… beat him up, just once, so he’ll never pick on Noah or anybody ever again.”

Finn leans an elbow on the steering wheel, chin propped on his hand. Now’s when Pop would start talkin’ about responsibility or somethin’, or Sean would be all, Hey man, don’t feed the beast. But Finn don’t have it in him to lecture anybody, especially not Daniel, ‘cause lecturing Daniel is too much like lecturing himself—his ten-year-old self, who coulda used a lot less advice and a lot more understanding.

“C’mon. I got an idea.”

There’s a tree in the backyard, right outside Finn’s window. It’s not as big as the one at the park, but it’s tall, and sturdy, and outta the way. Finn spray paints a target on its trunk, and Daniel’s eyes go all wide with excitement. He’s seen this before, in the woods behind Chris’ house.

Finn shows him how to aim. Reminds him how to hold the knife and be safe about it. Daniel takes his first shot and hits the edge of the target. Finn gives him a high-five.

“I want’chu to keep doin’ that ‘til you can breathe again, and you remember that Harry fuckin’ Thompson ain’t nobody. Cool?”

Daniel bobs his head. “Cool.”

They take turns throwing for a while. Finn works on how he’s gonna explain this to Pop, because this is probably gonna be a big red X on Finn’s exam. Or maybe Pop will just get it, because for once Daniel ain’t screaming about how unfair everything is. Maybe Pop will see that Daniel’s gotta lot of anger inside of him, and there’s a lot worse ways he can get rid of it than throwing knives at a tree.

“Hey Daniel?”

“Yeah?”

“D’ju know we basically got the same birthday?”

“…what?!”

*

It becomes a thing. They go out to dinner, all four of them, Sean and Pop and Finn and Daniel all sitting in the booth of some restaurant where the waiters gotta do a stupid dance if you tell ‘em it’s your birthday. There’s chocolate cake, and singing, and Sean looking mortified, and it’s the happiest moment of Finn’s life, the best birthday he’s ever had.

Late that night, after Sean and Daniel go to bed, Esteban digs a dusty bottle of whiskey outta the cupboard.

“¡Salud!” he says, clinking his glass against Finn’s. They drink together on the couch, and it’s warm and cozy. A big ol’ hug.

Pop looks thoughtful. Finn asks why.

“I was just thinking about where I was twenty years ago, when my son was born.”

“Yeah?” Finn says.

“Yeah. Guess I was… twenty-five? Damn. Just a kid.”

Finn thinks about Hannah, and how old she seems sometimes, like she’s watched the entire planet crumble into dust and turn new again, over and over, never changing. Would she look like a kid to Esteban?

“I didn’t have any of my shit together,” Esteban continues. “I hadn’t even met Karen. I was just… wandering around, trying to figure out what I wanted. Where I belonged.”

Finn smiles at his whiskey. The name on his wrist.

A heavy hand settles on his shoulder. “You have time, mijo. All the time you need.”

For once, Finn doesn’t feel like he’d lagging behind. He’s got a goddamn head start.

*

“Delivery for one super cool, bad-ass chick.”

Hannah leans against her doorway, arms crossed. Finn holds three pizzas in his hands, but he’s not wearing a uniform or a hat. He got these pizzas himself.

“What do you want?” Hannah says. Right to the fuckin’ chase.

“To say I’m sorry,” Finn replies. “We was ‘sposed to be family and I treated you like a fuckin’ bus stop. Ditched you soon as somethin’ better came along. That weren’t cool.”

Hannah’s expression doesn’t change. Finn shuffles.

“I gotchu pineapple?” he says hopefully. If that don’t win her over, nothin’ will.

Hannah steps back, waving him inside.

“Penny! Jinx! Come see what the fucking cat dragged in.”

*

Finn actually kinda loves the night shift.

Hanns hooks him up at this, like, fake-fancy restaurant where college kids impress their dates and soccer moms drink cheap cocktails. They’d probably lose their shit if they saw the gutter-punks that actually make their food, though Finn mostly just washes dishes. It’s awesome. He gets to smoke with Hanns out back and complain about their boss, who doesn’t give a fuck what they wear.

He sleeps all morning. Picks up Sean and Daniel after school. He’s never late anymore, which is the actual best, and they get milkshakes and play video games and throw knives in their back yard. Funny how that little shit next door doesn’t have much to say about that.

Pop helps him with his books. Finn feels really stupid at first, standing in the garage like he’s three, unable to figure out why the words in his books don’t match up with the car right in front of him.

But then Esteban tells him about, like… how he struggled with the books, too, because everything he knew about cars, he knew in Spanish. How tryna match up the answers in his head with the answers on his test was the fuckin’ worst, and how bad it feels to have a piece of paper tell you you’re stupid, when you know you’re not.

“You’ve got this,” Esteban says, both hands on Finn’s shoulder, and this time it actually sounds true.

Finn spreads his books across the counter. It’s like, five in the morning, because the night shift really fucked with his sleep schedule, so the house is all peaceful and quiet. Makes it easier to study; no pressure. No ticking clock.

The house starts waking up around him. Esteban brews coffee and stirs a pot of oatmeal. Daniel scurries around the house, looking for his shoes and homework. Finn yawns over his books.

A mug of coffee slides in front of him. A kiss settles in his hair.

“Good morning,” Sean whispers.

“Thanks, sweetie,” Finn says, grinning wide enough for both of them. Sean looks like he wants to kiss Finn again, so Finn presses their lips together real slow and sweet, and when Esteban chuckles across the kitchen, Sean gets all embarrassed but doesn’t pull away.

He’s getting better at letting himself be happy.

*

Finn hasn’t been this hyped about Summer vacation since… ever.

They’re gonna go camping. Sleep under the stars and sing around the campfire. Finn can’t fuckin’ wait. He’s gonna own that forest.

Finn’s exam ends up the on the last week of school, the Saturday after Sean’s finals. It was actually kinda fun, bein’ his study-buddy, both of them hunkered down at the counter, sharing the same earbuds.

It’s a three-hour exam. Sean gets to play school bus with Finn’s car; drops him off, kisses him good luck, then picks him up after.

“How you think you did?” Sean asks.

“Crushed it!” Finn replies, though a part of him can’t help but doubt. He knows he can just take the exam again if he failed, but he really, really wants to get it right the first time.

Sean tosses Finn his keys. He catches it by the blue rabbit’s foot.

“C’mon. Party’s already started.”

*

Pop does this every year—or so Finn’s told. Big School’s Out barbeque. His friend Sam comes and helps him drink beer. Lyla’s there, too, and few other guys from Sean’s crew, and Noah—and Chris, who’s staying with them for a few weeks. He and Daniel already turned the living room into a pillow fort.

“So wait, which ones are yours?” Hannah laughs. Penny and Jinx aren’t here, though. Penny’s always down for a party, but this is too much noise for Jinx, so they’ll hang out later with music and cigarettes.

“Um, all’uv ‘em, I guess?” Finn grins. “But if you wanna get technical ‘bout it… That’s my dad—”

He points to Esteban, laughing with Sam over the grill.

“An’ my little bros—”

Chris and Daniel at the table, using mustard to make their hot dogs look like Hawt Dog Man.

“An’ my sweet piece’a ass,” Finn concludes, squeezing Sean around the waist.

Sean bumps their hips together and says, “Dude, shut up.”

“Hanns, you can be the mean aunt who keeps us in line.”

“Pfft, thanks,” Hannah says, but Finn can tell she appreciates it. She looks over the party like something new, a corner of the world she hasn’t charted yet.

Hannah knocks back her beer. Sean and Finn have sodas, because they’re still underage and, y’know, Pop’s right there. They watch Chris run across the lawn to show his hot dog to Lyla, and her jaw drops open, all impressed.

Sean leans his head on Finn’s shoulder. The hand that says Diaz tightens on Sean’s waist. And that moment, right there, just keeps on goin’ and goin’, keeps buildin’ more and more rooms in the house.

It feels real, y’know?

It feels like forever.