18. i should apologize more

It's hard to slow my breathing when I make my way down the hallway, coming to a slow stop as I try to calm the anxiety swirling to the surface.

Because he's there. Lucas. He's a few feet away from his locker, bottom lip pulled beneath his teeth, eyes almost glazed over as he holds all his things to his chest. He runs a hand through his hair. Somehow, the movement tugs at my chest.

Go fucking talk to him, Jason.

It should be simple. 

It isn't. 

Because any oxygen is sucked out of my lungs when my eyes find him. I inhale, slowly, deeply. Exhale.

My shoulders sag as I roll them back, eyes carefully tracing over Lucas. My feet move, approaching him. My backpack swings behind me and my lips purse as I try to prevent my hands from shaking.

I can tell when he sees me. He hovers in spot, still holding his folders to his chest. He turns in my general direction but his eyes don't meet mine, they just stay distracted, flitting from locker to locker.

But he doesn't move, doesn't glare, so I continue to make my way over to him.

"Can I talk to you?" The question escapes my lips as soon as I'm only a couple of feet away from him. He still doesn't look at me, and I can't pretend it doesn't sting. Reaching out a hand, I stop once my hand's just inches away from his arm. 

Settling with an awkward tap, I gently guide Lucas away, right off to the side of the lockers, light dancing over his face, his gaze staying somewhere far away from me. My hands shake, because fuck, I have no idea what to say. Lucas sucks in a breath.

And that's one sign that I'm not completely dead to him. Not yet. 

"About Iridescence," I start, my arms swinging back and forth, almost like a strained attempt to calm myself the fuck down. Which is easier said than done. My hands run through my hair, again and again. Why is this so hard to do?

Lucas listens. No cold remarks, no anger etched into his features, no visible annoyance. And somehow, I can breathe a little more. Just a little. 

"I, uh, live with a guardian. One of many that I've had because my parents kind of," nervous laugh, "fell off the grid."

Lucas holds his folders to his chest almost tighter, too-big eyes already widening.

I continue, gaze drifting to the floor. "And uh, she's not the greatest as a person. The night of Iridescence, she wouldn't let me go."

I shift my weight from foot to foot, keeping my eyes off of Lucas. "She had me clean the entire house. You know, like Cinderella shit." It's a weak attempt at humor, and silence fills the air.

Lucas lets out a shaky breath, eyes almost widening further. A soft part of his lips.

"Personally, I think it was because she was in a shit mood or something." I'm rambling. "And she told me that she'd dump me back into the system, you know, if I tried leaving."

"But, Angie?" It's the first two words I've heard from Lucas' lips in weeks. There's a crease in his eyebrows, concern etched into his irises.

"Yeah," I say, a mirthless half-grin curving onto my lips. "Ms. Willis isn't the type to be upset about separating the two of us. Not really her main priority." Another strained laugh. "But I can't do any of this shit without Angie, and I couldn't just leave her behind with Willis."

Somethings painful rises to my chest. "I wanted to go. But fate said no." I don't believe in fate, but I say that, anyway. "Actually, Ms. Willis. And her saying no means that my entire life hangs in the balance. I couldn't afford that. But I did want to be there." 

A wistful smile curves onto my lips. Nostalgia for the event I never got to witness. "So fucking bad, Lucas." This time, when I laugh, it sounds like more of a sob.

"Shit." It's one of the few times I've ever heard Lucas Garcia swear. He falls back against the wall behind him, almost like he can't support his own body anymore. "Shit."

"I'm sorry," He says. And this time, Lucas Garcia looks at me. 

His eyes are wide, gentle. Brown. Honey-tinged, maybe. They carefully touch mine. And there's so much pure feeling inside of them that it hurts. I want to look away, because seeing that much care in someone's eyes is almost too much.

Especially when it's for me.

"I'm sorry, Jason." He says again. His chest heaves. He looks hurt, angry even. This time, though, it's not directed towards me. Weird how Lucas Garcia still looks so delicately beautiful, even with the pure emotion just dripping from him.

"I care about the GSA, Lucas." I say, blinking because I can't afford to be any more vulnerable. "And just this once, I actually don't want to fuck things up. Not this time." My eyes slightly widen. "But if you tell anyone I said all that, I'll deny that shit."

And then, there's a fragile laugh that escapes Lucas Garcia's lips. I want that laugh tattooed onto me. Right next to the rose. I want it in my playlist. Or scratch that, it'll have a playlist of it's own. I want it to ring in my mind over and over again. It'll make me cry, but it'll be worth it.

Just to hear it again.

But my entrancement is abruptly interrupted when Lucas Garcia's arms slide around me. I stiffen in pure surprise as his warm body is pressed against mine. There's a flutter. A plethora of flutters, actually.

His arms hooked around my neck, his head pressed against my shoulder, my eyes wide and completely taken off guard. His scent. A lemon one. "I'm sorry, too." Is what I say, and it comes out weak. Which is fair, given that I'm being drowned in pure Lucas, and it's almost too difficult for me to handle.

He holds me tighter. I'm on clouds. Then he pulls away. His hands still hold the sides of my arms though, his face is angled up towards mine. "You deserve better, Jason." He sounds sad.

I'm not sure whether I agree. But with his arms around me, his eyes on me. Just him, really. It makes me reconsider.

"Can I take you to the diner?" He asks, biting so tenderly on his bottom lip that I doubt he realizes he's doing it. "To apologize?"

"There's nothing to apologize for." I say. My voice is almost inaudible despite the fact that the hallway is practically empty.

"I want to apologize," He insists, and he says it with that hard-headed Lucas Garcia resolve that'll make it highly difficult to convince him otherwise.

But it's not just that. His eyes are soft. If I was a poet, maybe I'd say that there are universes in them. Everything. Light and dark and morning and night. However, due to my not being poetic in the least bit, I decide that Lucas Garcia just has hot eyes.

Fuck that. Magnetic ones.

"Okay." I say, eyes still lost in the forest of his. I doubt they'll find their way out.

And truthfully, when he's looking at me like that, I would let him take me anywhere.

***

The diner is dim as per usual.

As I sit across from Lucas, I take the occasional bite of a hamburger, washing it down with the bottle of Sprite in front of me. The food is fucking outstanding, always has been. That being said, it seems infinitely better while knowing that Lucas Garcia doesn't hate me.

His lips twitch slightly as he seats across from me, both of us in a little red booth, a little smile rising to Lucas' lips every time our feet nudge each other from underneath the table.

"Good?" He asks, ripping a piece of his quesadilla off and taking a small bite out of it.

"As usual," I say, smile curving onto my lips as Lucas' eyes sparkle.

Lucas seems about to say something when the door opens, interrupting whatever it is he was about to say. And of course, in walks David Harris. Because of course I can't be at peace for longer than five minutes.

This time when he walks in, his team is nowhere in sight, a girl right behind him. While David makes his way into the restaurant, in our direction, the girl stays up front at the counter, most likely ordering something.

Lucas catches sight of him, too. And while it shouldn't hurt me as much as it does, it's difficult to ignore David's overbearing presence in the space. 

David stops at our table. To Lucas, he sends a low hi, and to me, he gives a polite nod. I'm sure he's about to say more, but the girl from the counter makes her way over to him, cups in hand.

"You're still coming tonight, right?" She asks. David nods, albeit awkwardly. And the girl—Samantha's— eyes widen before turning towards Lucas and I.

"Hey!" She says, fingers wiggling in a wave. "I'm hosting a little thing at my parent's beach house tonight." A smile. "Did you guys want to come over?"

"Uh," Lucas says. He glances over towards me, almost mulling something over before turning back to David and Samantha. "I think Jason and I will just pass—"

"We'll be there." I say, earning a surprised glance from Lucas.

"Great," Samantha grins, David's arm slinging around her shoulders. "Can't wait to see you guys." Then they're both gone.

"Why'd you accept?" Lucas asks, but I can see the small smile rising to his lips, despite how hard he tries to fight it off.

"I know that you wanted to go." That you were only refusing for me. "And I think that I deserve a little treat after the shitfest I've been through."

There's a grin that appears on Lucas' lips at that. And even though I'm certain the main reason Lucas wants to go is to talk to David, I still give him a half-smile as the clattering of dining utensils fills the background.

***

The drive over to Lucas' house is light. Light smiles, light laughs, light music. We pass by the buildings, trees, everything blurring as Lucas drives by, still in his signature halting fashion that has me teasing him for the entire ride.

By the time we arrive at his home, I almost feel a wash of relief. The last time I was here wasn't necessarily a time that I'd like to remember. And it almost feels awkward stepping into the place after being gone from it for over a week.

A smile curves onto my lips at the bienvenidos mat. Somehow, this place has grown on me.

I trail behind Lucas as I shut the door behind us. The sound of a TV blasts from the living room. Lucas purses his lips as we wade further into his house, approaching the living room where the sounds are coming from.

Sure enough, the TV is on, a rowdy group of college boys seated in front of the screen, loudly swearing and barking out laughter as they fiddle with consoles for what I'm guessing is some video game.

At the sound of our footsteps, the entire group whips in our direction, Luis wiggling both his eyebrows at the two of us from where he's sprawled out next to his friends.

A good amount of the group sends casual nods our way before returning to their rowdy laughter and yelling. Lucas seems just about ready to head along his way when one of the members turn towards him.

One, however, keeps his attention on us, unpleasant smirk curving onto his lips.

"Ed," Lucas says, a tight-lipped grin rising to his lips.

"Hey, maricon." Ed responds. And by the way Lucas stiffens, it's clear the last word has a not-so-great meaning. 

My eyes flick between Lucas and the group of guys—all probably on Luis' team— as the rowdy laughter slows. A tension rises to the space, and most of the group chooses to ignore what Ed said, some sending him offhanded shoves.

Luis, however, does not. In seconds, he turns towards Ed with an instant, "shut the fuck up." One that's coated with so much venom that Ed's hands rise to the air as he lets out a chuckle. He does, however, shut the fuck up.

My mind still turns in confusion, and Lucas grabs my arm before beckoning for me to come upstairs with him.

"What'd he say?" I ask Lucas once we've made our way upstairs. Lucas makes his way into his room, falling back against his bed, his eyes traveling everywhere but me.

"Don't worry about it," He finally says, eyes hiding most of the emotion that threatens to appear.

"What'd he say?" I repeat, hands sliding into my pockets as Lucas lets out a breath.

"Don't worry about it," He repeats in response, voice increasingly strained.

Silence.

My mind whirs with thoughts. With Ed, with Luis' cutting reply, with the way Lucas stiffened. Then the smug look on Ed's face. My eyes widen.

Wait.

"He called you a fag, didn't he?" And I can feel the way my face reddens as the question leaves my lips.

"Drop it," Lucas says, voice half-hearted.

And in that second, we both know. He knows that I know. I know that he knows that. We know shit. I can't be certain whether or not I'd be better off having not known what maricon meant, but now that I do, I'm more than tempted to plant my fist in Ed's jaw.

Repeatedly.

However, Lucas says to drop it. And one thing I've found out about myself is that whatever Lucas asks of me usually gets done. Something that doesn't piss me off as much as it should.

My shoulders sag.

"The party starts in a few hours," Lucas says, pulling his laptop off of his bedside table. He glances up at me as he presses his back against the headboard of his bed. I nod, slowly, and he shifts over to the side, making room for me to sit down next to him.

Although I do hesitate for a few seconds too long, I end up sliding onto the bed next to him, one leg resting on the floor and the other sprawled across Lucas' mattress. I can feel his presence next to me as he makes a successful attempt to change the subject.

With that, we spend most of the remaining hours browsing through Netflix before finally settling on something to watch. And while the show is pretty intriguing, I'm more aware of how close Lucas is to me, the fact that every time I shift, my arm brushes against his.

And I spend my time keenly aware of that until the time for Samantha's party arrives, and we both get ready to leave, Lucas' increased distance allowing me to finally breathe again, slow my quickening heart rate.

***

The party isn't too chaotic when Lucas and I walk into Samantha Brown's beach house. I can see the excitement dripping from the guests, some of them inside, drinking from lighted cups, others outside and screwing around on the beach.

Lighting dances over moving people, music swirling in the space. As Lucas and I are invited further in, we glance around, maybe attempting to breathe in the entire atmosphere.

I can see Lucas sending nearly inconspicuous glances around the room, and a gentle half-smile curves onto my lips.

I'm more than certain that he wants to find David, so I give him a gentle nudge, urging him to go on in the party while I hang back, leaning against the wall, a cup of a—remarkably—non-alcoholic drink in my hands.  

Leaning against the side, I breathe in the scene as Lucas parts from me with a hesitant smile, wandering around the party.

I blink as the door to the house opens once more and Amir Karim makes his way in, nodding my way as he approaches me, leaning against the wall just a feet or so away from me.

"I didn't know you knew what parties were." I say, smirk rising to my lips as I take a generous swig of my soda.

"Wow," Amir drawls dryly, "you're comedic gold."

"I know," I say smugly as Amir rolls his eyes, the two of us taking sips out of our sodas in an easy silence.

In front, my eyes catch onto Lucas talking to David. Lucas has his hands linked behind his back, and David is glancing down at him, the two engaged in an easy conversation. Lucas is smiling.

He has a pretty smile.

"You like him, don't you?"

My heart runs a marathon at the question, eyeball threatening to pop out of my head as I turn to Amir whose eyebrows are raised in question.

Shit

My mind whirs with thoughts as I inhale, exhale, weighting over the question in my mind. I can't like him.

My mind seems to fumble for words for a few minutes before I finally mutter, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Silence.

And that silence is an Amir Karim signature: no, I am not taking your bullshit but okay silence.

Amir purses his lips before finally saying, "so, you're not going to talk to him. Not even going to try."

Seeing as there's no point in denying it given that Amir already knows—stupid smart bitch—I  choose to ignore him, turning over my own thoughts.

Because really, all I can think of is one Will fucking McClain, the closest thing that I've ever had to a real relationship. And even then, he got away, left me. I was too fucked up to keep him. And maybe, I'm too fucked up to keep anybody.

Maybe I'm just a fire that burns through everything I come across.

As if on cue, Will McClain walks into Samantha Brown's party, and now I really think the universe has it out for me.

And not just Will, but his boyfriend, James Jones. Surrounding them, their ever-so-faithful group, all confident and laughing and together.

As they walk into the space, Will catches my eye. And it's an uncomfortable glance to say the least.

I'm certain he's about to look away, pretend he never saw me. Instead, he lets out a tentative hi. I open my mouth, close it. Will whispers something to his boyfriend before making his way over to me.

"I'm sorry for all the shit I pulled," I say instantly, once he's a few feet away from me. "I'm sorry for being a terrible boyfriend—if we can even call it that— and I'm just—"

I search for the right words. Will grins a little. James approaches us from where he was standing just seconds ago.

And there's an aura about them that's just right. Will and James were supposed to fucking be together. Always.

"I wish you the best of luck," I say, hands shoved deep into my pockets. This time it's directed towards both of them. "I mean it."

An almost tentatively, slight half-grins rise to their lips. "You weren't a shit boyfriend. You just fucked up sometimes. But thank you," Will says. And with a few small nods exchanged between me and the boyfriends, they're off, returning back to their group, all letting out rings of laughter.

And for one fucking second in my life, I feel a sense of closure. Real closure.

From next to me, Amir gives me an approving nod. Given as the Amir nod of approval isn't a common thing he dishes out, I'm ready to respond with a smug comment.

That is, before Lucas Garcia stumbles up to me, completely shit-faced and disoriented.

"Hey," I say, eyes widening, my hands finding his arms in an attempt to steady him. "You okay?"

His eyes are watery, his gaze flicking around the space.

I think my breath hitches. "What the fuck happened?"

Lucas lets out a watery laugh. "I'm such a fucking idiot." His hands run down his face as he sways. He laughs again. "Stupid, so stupid. Idiota, idiota, idiota." He swears and mutters again, "siempre."

He falls into my arms, and I try to steady him as he continues murmuring.

And I hate everything about it. Hate everything about seeing a drunk Lucas because Lucas Garcia is responsible. He doesn't get drunk. He's always poised, in control, stable. And seeing him unstable is screwing with my mind in the worst way possible.

"Christ," I say, as Lucas' arms tighten around me. I glance over at Amir whose eyes are dotted in concern. "I've got to take Lucas home."

Amir Karim gives me a nod of understanding in return, and with that, I do my best to support Lucas' weight and his tearful mutters fill the air. Half in Spanish, half just in incomprehensible English.

I slide into Lucas' car after having helped him into the passengers seat next to me. He leans back in his seat.

"What happened, Lucas?" My question is gentle as we pull out of the front of Samantha's beach house, soon making our way back onto the road, the little red car travelling into the night.

Lucas says nothing for a few moments, just smiles whimsically, eyes on the window. I wait. Then he finally speaks.

"I was led on." 

David Harris is going to be six feet under by tomorrow.

I try to keep my emotion down, however, instead patiently waiting for Lucas to continue.

"I was kissed the other day!" Lucas exclaims, letting out a bubbly laugh. I try not to wince. "David kissed me." His tone becomes nearly emotionless. "Because he wanted to experiment."

Lucas pokes a finger at my cheek, giving me a crooked smile. "Don't worry, lovely, it didn't get that far."

I almost swerve into an oncoming vehicle at his drunken pet name for me. My eyes nearly pop out of their sockets as I try to brush it off. 

"Guess what happened today?" Lucas asks, not unlike a kindergartner about to tell his mom what happened at school that day.

"What, Lucas?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.

"David told me that he was straight." Lucas muses. "He looked scared. Then he said he was sorry but that 'it was never gonna happen'." Lucas bites his lip. "That shit hurt. It isn't supposed to hurt this much, is it Jason?"

I don't reply. It does hurt when someone you're into will probably never feel the same way about you. I know the feeling.

David Harris screwed around with Lucas' emotions. Like he always would. And while I might be jumping to conclusions due to the fact that I've never particularly liked the guy, the explanation sounds about right.

"I think he was confused about everything," Lucas says, waving a hand. "Sexuality's confusing. But even then, I didn't want to be some experiment, you know?"

Lucas' words burn into the air as we pull into the front of his house, wandering up to his room. Lucas is still unsteady, so I help him all the way, exhaling a relieved sigh as he falls back onto his bed, eyelids fluttering shut.

Making my way downstairs, I find some bread and peanut butter, slathering some peanut butter onto a simple slice of bread, placing it meticulously onto a plate. The house is silent, and I'm certain Lucas' siblings are off with friends, his parents running late from work.

When I arrive back at Lucas' room, Lucas sits up, swaying slightly. 

"Eat that shit," I say, handing him the plate. 

Lucas reaches for the slice of peanut butter and takes those little bites out of it. As he does so, I lower myself onto the bed next to him, leaving a few feet of space between us.

Lucas slowly but surely finishes the sandwich, looking a bit more wide-eyed by the time he's done. His eyes meet mine. I raise my eyebrows.

"You look hot," He states simply.

My breath hitches as his eyes carefully flicker over me, gaze slow and teasing.

Nerves climb at my insides as Lucas shifts closer to me, the space between us closing.

He's so close

But his eyes are wide and hurt and broken, his voice is slurred. Everything about him is destabilized and hurt and broken and it would be so fucking wrong for anyone to ever take advantage of that.

So, I give Lucas a light push away from me.

"You're drunk," I say, even though he's probably too far gone to care. "You're hurt. You don't really want this, just go to sleep."

Lucas blinks, stares at me all glassy-eyed. But with due time, he slowly falls back against the bed, his eyes fluttering shut. His side heaves up and down, his hand finding mine and somehow latching on, refusing to let go.

I exhale, watching him fall to a much-needed and well-deserved sleep. My heart tugs. Because Lucas Garcia is bound to be the end of me.

***

omg 4100+ words. i. am. appalled. 

and this chapter was such a roller coaster like,, it was a lot.

but i love it <3

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