'cause dirt on you is dirt on me, and we both know our hands ain't clean
The second Finch lets go, Calan slips sideways until his shoulder is nearly brushing Carlo’s, not hiding behind him exactly, because hiding is for people who are in trouble and Calan is only in the middle of a business disagreement. "So then what do I do with the peel? Just spit it out and hide it?" He wants to know, tilting his head as if this is the most important part of the entire afternoon, which for his poor stomach, it might be.
"He wasn’t saying we have don't have a mom because we have a mom anymore," he says, shaking his head as if Finch has missed a very obvious piece of craft. "He was trying to make your lie accurate." His brows lift, serious despite the orange-sour shine still wetting his lower lip. "We have two dads." He shrugs before adding, "we learned lies are more believable the more true they are, that's all." So when Finch mentions wombs and mothers again, Calan shakes his head more firmly. "No, we were grown, not wombed," he corrects, with the easy confidence of a boy for whom this is simply family history and not the sort of sentence that might make strangers blink a few times. "No mothers involved."
For a moment after Finch asks how long they’ve been thieving, Calan’s mouth twists to one side. He glances toward Carlo, then looks back at Finch with a small shrug. "Errr," he says, drawing it out while he counts backward through memories that are mostly running, climbing, taking, hiding, and adults making the wrong noises afterward. "Since we learned how to walk?" He lifts a finger quickly after. "But the first time we didn’t know that’s what we were doing, though."
"He wasn’t saying we have don't have a mom because we have a mom anymore," he says, shaking his head as if Finch has missed a very obvious piece of craft. "He was trying to make your lie accurate." His brows lift, serious despite the orange-sour shine still wetting his lower lip. "We have two dads." He shrugs before adding, "we learned lies are more believable the more true they are, that's all." So when Finch mentions wombs and mothers again, Calan shakes his head more firmly. "No, we were grown, not wombed," he corrects, with the easy confidence of a boy for whom this is simply family history and not the sort of sentence that might make strangers blink a few times. "No mothers involved."
For a moment after Finch asks how long they’ve been thieving, Calan’s mouth twists to one side. He glances toward Carlo, then looks back at Finch with a small shrug. "Errr," he says, drawing it out while he counts backward through memories that are mostly running, climbing, taking, hiding, and adults making the wrong noises afterward. "Since we learned how to walk?" He lifts a finger quickly after. "But the first time we didn’t know that’s what we were doing, though."
if it all goes wrong and we end up on the news, if you go down I'm goin' down too
