Video on the side of the duet performance. Warning: gay
Also I have such a bad headache rn but I'M POSTING ANYWAYS YAY
The theater was huge. Hundreds of seats fanned out from the center stage. I was sat in the mezzanine, in a nice spot where I could see everything clearly. The lights were dim, and I felt as if I was about to watch an actual play on broadway.
A line of old, pretentious looking people—judges, I assumed—were sat along the front of the stage, their backs to us. The closed curtains displayed the projected words: Nebraska State Theater Competition. All around me, excited parents, siblings, aunts, uncles, cousins, grandparents, and friends bragged about the competitor they were supporting. Occasionally, I listened in on conversations, or even got engaged in them. The family sitting next to me was apparently here for a girl named Dejá, and they had high expectations for her.
When they asked who I was supporting, and I told them Lucas Morgan, the mother's eyes lit up in recognition.
"Oh, that's that North Company boy!" She said. Her husband and son stared at her cluelessly, and she turned exasperatedly toward them. "He's the one who won best male solo last year, don't you remember?"
"Do you know him?" I asked curiously. The lady shook her head.
"No, but he's at just about every competition in Nebraska. I swear, I've never seen that boy walk away without a top three award in at least one category. He knows what he's doing, that's for sure."
Realization dawned on her husband's face. "Oh, I know who you mean." He smiled kindly at me. "Is he your brother?"
"Best friend," I said, because I figured it sounded better than something-between-friend-and-boyfriend. And it was true—Lucas was by far the closest friend I had.
"You should be proud," he said. "That kid's gonna be a star."
I returned his smile and nodded whole-heartedly. "He sure is."
Here, over an hour away from Nowhere, Nebraska, things were so different. People saw Lucas as a prodigy, not a problem. Nobody cared that I was friends with him—they probably didn't know he was gay, but it wasn't as if they cared regardless. I was fairly certain that several of the boys here were, and no one judged them for it. Simply being surrounded by people like this, who were all here to support each other and appreciate this form of art, made me want to hop on the first train to New York. This was just a tiny sample of my dream, and actually being immersed in it made that dream seem all the more sweet.
It wasn't long before the competition began. I had no idea how the whole operation worked, but I understood once the host explained. Young adults from different schools would perform, with and against each other, each being scored on a point system. At the end of each round, individual people or groups were ranked first, second, and third based on how many points they recorded. And at the very end, all of the points would be added to determine which school had done the best overall, and that school would be the winner.
Okay, maybe the scoring system was slightly more complicated than I was making it seem, but I didn't care to learn the details.
I watched as pair after pair performed the first round—the duets. I quickly realized that this wasn't some high school talent show—this was on an entirely new level. These were young adults who'd worked their entire lives to be as great in this art as they could be, and it showed. Each one of them was crazy impressive.
Three of the competing pairs were from Northern Nebraska Theater Company, and Lucas' duet fell somewhere in the middle. I unconsciously leaned forward in anticipation as he walked onto the stage, clad in a tight, black, graphic muscle shirt; leather boots; and jeans that hugged him so snugly, I was surprised he could breathe at all. He had the body to look really damn good in them, though—just putting that out there.
His partner was another boy, named Mark Glenwald according to the host, a little older than Lucas. He was a cute, insanely tall African-American boy, and he was wearing a white blazer and matching khaki pants. The look seemed very professional, especially next to Lucas'.
Their set was very simple. A white table with a chair pushed into it at either end was positioned in the center of the stage, and that was it. Mark was trailing behind Lucas, looking aggravated. The scene began, but with dialogue rather than singing.
"The line is 'Cyber Arts and its corporate sponsor, Grey Communications, would like to mitigate the Christmas Eve riots.' What is so difficult about that?"
Lucas pursed his lips. "It just doesn't . . . Roll of my tongue. I like my version."
Mark rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Right. You, dressed as a ground hog to protest the ground breaking."
"It's a metaphor!" Lucas insisted.
"It is less than brilliant!"
Lucas' eyes narrowed, and he snapped. "That's it, Miss Ivy League!"
"Uh," Mark gave Lucas a weird look. "What?"
Lucas stormed towards him, stopping only a foot away. "Ever since New Year's, I haven't said boo. I let you direct; I didn't pierce my nipples because it grossed you out; I didn't stay and dance at the Clit Club that night because you wanted to go home."
"You were flirting with the woman in rubber!" Mark exclaimed. Lucas' lips parted in a silent "oh".
"That's what this is about?" He chuckled. A piano tune started up behind him, soft at first but slowly growing louder. "There will always be women in rubber flirting with me, give me a break."
He began singing then, his voice as smooth and melodic as ever—even a bit sultry now. The entire scene was very homo-erotic, and I felt an uncomfortable pang in my gut whenever Lucas put his hand on Mark's chest, or got close to his face. It was dumb to feel jealous—we weren't together in the slightest, and he was playing a character for God's sake—but I couldn't help it. The mind does what the mind does.
Nevertheless, I loved the performance. Lucas was, as expected, amazing to watch—he hit every note and performed the role so well, he seemed to me more like Maureen Johnson than he did Lucas Morgan. And I would admit that watching him play a somewhat seductive character wasn't the worst way to spend the first Saturday night of winter break.
There were a few more duets before that sector of the competition was over. Lucas' duet ended up coming in third, behind two girls who'd done a song from Spring Awakening (whatever that was) and a boy and a girl who'd performed a duet from Grease. Maybe I was biased, but I thought that Lucas and Mark deserved first place. Still, judging by the sheer number of competitors and the celebration that went up among the NNTC kids, third place was pretty damn good.
The next round of the competition was the female individual numbers. There were several impressive performances, but I couldn't help but wait impatiently for their competition to end so I could watch Lucas perform his solo.
As luck would have it, even when the male individual numbers came around, Lucas' was the second to last. Every time I heard the words, "Coming from Northern Nebraska's Theater Company . . ." I would sit forward in my seat, only to recoil in disappointment when some other boy's name was called.
Lucas' time came eventually, though. He walked calmly onto the stage, dressed much more normally now—he wore gray shorts and a geeky graphic tea, and wide-rimmed glasses were perched on his nose.
I found myself smiling to myself as he confidently introduced himself—he was so in his element here, so unlike how he was at school. This was, in every meaning of the phrase, what he was born to do. When the music began, his expression shifted, and he was no longer Lucas Morgan.
One verse into the song, I knew I was screwed. The music itself was cute and sort of happy, but the lyrics were the opposite. Lucas immersed himself into the character so well, I genuinely felt bad for him. There was one point in the song, nearer to the end, when the music became urgent, and his words and gestures changed to match it perfectly. His expression was a mixture of anger and fear and sadness, his movements became frantic and frustrated. He was sweating, his body was visibly shaking. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He—or at least the character he was playing—was having a panic attack. I just wanted to run up onto that stage and give him a hug.
When he was done, the mother from before turned to me, shaking her head, and said, "He really is something special."
It was no shock that he won first place. His vocals were great, yeah, but it was his performance that left the other competitors in the dust. Nobody else had the stage presence he did, nobody even came close.
The group performance round was much shorter than the others, because each school could only have one participant. That said, it was by far the most exciting and diverse. Groups of three or more would go onto the stage and give their absolute best as to not let down their team.
Some had eccentric numbers with wild dancing and flashy costumes. Others had massive kick lines and wild hairstyles. Some of them were much more minimal, but they made up for the lack of fast-paced movement and eye-catching clothing with belting and harmonies that made me want to go watch something gay like Les Mis. There were instruments on stage in some, too—pianos, guitars, drums.
I was teeming with excitement by the time Northern Nebraska's Theater Academy was called. A flood of young men swarmed the stage, each wearing worn brown trousers and old-school cabbie caps. My gaze found Lucas first, in a striped white shirt, suspenders, and glasses. Jenna could probably take one look at him and tell me which Newsie he was, but I just knew him as The Guy Who Made My Heart Do Annoying Things (And Looked Really Cute In His Costume).
Somehow, despite the giant crowd, his eyes met mine for a brief moment, and I smiled encouragingly. Then the music began, and Lucas Morgan was a Newsie.
And fuck, he could dance.
The entire performance was fantastic. Every man on that stage knew what he was doing and did it well. They managed to do all of this exhausting-looking dancing and still sing, and that on its own was a phenomenon to me. They deserved every bit of the standing ovation they got. NNTC really did produce good students.
As great as they were as a whole, I could hardly stop focusing on Lucas. I'd had no idea that he could move so fluidly, or jump so high, or do flips like that. There was a point where he was center stage, doing those spinny-things that dancers do. He did so many, and so damn fast, I felt dizzy just watching. The audience went crazy for him.
After that number, the rest of the performances didn't matter. Their score had been so high, it would take a miracle of nature to beat them. Nobody was surprised when they came in first.
There was also little surprise when North Nebraska's Theater Company won the entire state competition. Their scores had been consistently high throughout, and they'd won for the last several years. They were the best, simple as that.
The event had taken the entirety of my day, but it was more than worth it. At a text from Lucas saying that he would meet me as soon as he could, I left the theater and made my way down to the lobby of the building, where I found a comfortable chair and relaxed.
"As soon as I can" turned out to be an hour and a half later, but I wasn't too annoyed. Being the impatient guy I was, I didn't love the wait, but it wasn't unexpected. He had to celebrate with his school and his family, and I was sure he'd been approached by several different scouts along the way—hopefully one from Juilliard.
It was nearly midnight when he found me, still waiting in the lobby. I was looking at my phone screen, headphones plugged into my ears, so I didn't know he was there until he tapped my shoulder. I may or may not have jumped when he did, but that detail wasn't important.
When I realized it was Lucas and not some creepy old man telling me to stop loitering, I hopped eagerly to my feet and threw my arms around him in a congratulatory hug. "You were so fucking good, oh my god!"
Lucas laughed and wrapped his arms around my neck. "Thank you," he said. "And thank you for coming. You didn't have to."
I pulled back and beamed at him. "I'm so glad I did. So fucking good, man. Those spinny things you did? So cool!'"
Lucas smiled wide, dimple and all, and said, "Let's go for a walk, yeah? Also, they're called pirouettes."
The air outside was frigid, and I knew Lucas must not have liked that too much. Still, he didn't complain. He'd changed since his last performance into proper winter-wear, gloves and beanie and all.
We walked in silence for a long while. The Company building was in the middle of a rather rural area, and soon the sidewalk turned to a dirt path and the buildings turned to trees. A very light snow fell, the kind that melted as soon as it landed on the ground but clung to the leaves of trees, creating a winter wonderland-esque picture. Between gaps in the clouds, a crescent moon luminesced, soft but bright and surrounded by scatters of stars.
Lucas' skin was nearly white in the dim glow. His cheeks and nose were dusted with pink from the cold, and flakes of snow dotted his shoulders, his eyelashes, the tips of his hair that peeked out from underneath his beanie. Beauty came so naturally to him, it was unfair. He didn't even have to try.
He turned to look at me, caught me staring. "What?" He asked.
I looked away from him and tried not to feel embarrassed. Then I felt something curl around my pinkie finger, and glanced down to see his own intertwined with mine.
We were utterly alone, yet I still, idiotically, felt bubbles of stress rise in my stomach. There was literally no chance that anybody we knew would see us out here, hidden in the trees an hour from home, but something in my brain refused to accept that. The mere fact was that we were in sort-of public, sort-of holding hands, and that made me sort-of anxious. I tried to shrug off the nagging feeling, tried to tell myself that it was ridiculous, but it persisted.
Lucas must have noticed the shift in my atmosphere, because his pinkie began to slip away from mine. I made a last second decision and flipped my pessimistic mind the bird, taking his entire hand in mine.
***
what do u mean ur sick????
-Shawn M
I rolled my eyes. What kind of question was that?
Sorry dude it just came out of nowhere
-Nate J
can't you just come anyways?
-Shawn M
Bro I'm puking enough without tossing booze down my throat
-Nate J
that's lame
-Shawn M
ur missing out
-Shawn M
I highly doubted that. If Shawn's New Year/birthday party was anything like it was last year, I was only missing out on alcohol poisoning and a one-night-stand I would seriously regret the next day.
These parties had been going on for years. On Shawn and Lucas' birthday, their parents would take them to do whatever they wanted. Then, on the day after, they would book a hotel room and let the boys have their fun at home. Of course, the booze was a more recently added element.
I left him on 'read' and moved on to text the better of the Morgan twins.
Come over?
-Nate J
A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with his response.
Don't you have a party to attend?
-Lucas M
Yeah, actually, I do. Come over
-Nate J
Okay, so maybe I wasn't exactly sick. But I needed some excuse to get out of going to Shawn's shit-fest.
It's like ten at night
-Lucas M
Is that a no??
-Nate J
I'll be there in twenty
-Lucas M
When Lucas arrived, I could tell right away that he wasn't in a good mood. His eyebrows were furrowed ever-so-slightly, and he didn't greet me with his usual smile.
"Someone looks happy," I joked. Lucas stepped past me into my house, apparently unamused.
"Wouldn't you be if your brother kicked you out because he doesn't want you around during a birthday party that's supposed to be yours, too?"
I frowned. What a prick. "You could've just said no. He doesn't control you. Or tell your parents about what a dick he's being."
"What's the point?" Lucas asked tiredly. "I wouldn't be wanted there anyways. And I don't drag my parents into his petty shit. They know he's not nice to me. They try to fix it, but he doesn't listen."
I wished I could argue, or give him some comfort, but it was pretty obvious that he was right. And how would I comfort him? Hey, it's okay that your brother makes your life a living hell, man. You'll be fine. Yeah, no. I settled for saying, "Good thing I hit you up then, huh?"
He offered a half-hearted smile, which was at least an improvement. "Yeah, it's better than driving around aimlessly. I hope you plan to entertain me."
I grinned. "Oh, I do. You hungry?"
Lucas shook his head. "Not really."
Dammit Lucas. Work with me here. "Well we're getting food anyways. Come on."
Lucas shot me a questioning look, but followed nonetheless as I led him to the kitchen. I flipped the light switch, illuminating the room, and he gasped softly.
"Nate . . ."
The kitchen was decked out from floor to ceiling with obnoxious, brightly colored, birthday-themed decorations. Across the wall cabinets were rainbow streamers and a big, colorful Happy Birthday! banner. Helium balloons were just about everywhere—tied to chairs, touching the ceiling, fastened to drawer knobs, even hanging from the microwave handle.
Below the banner was a huge stuffed bear holding a heart-shaped Happy Birthday! sign (I saw it and I had to buy it). And perched on the kitchen island, with a single lit candle at its center—the sparkling kind—was a small orange cake shaped like a cat's head—why not, you know?—next to a bottle of whiskey, because what party would be complete without underaged drinking?
"Happy birthday!" I exclaimed, laughing at his awed expression.
Lucas kept looking back and forth between his surroundings and me, his surroundings and me. Finally, he said, "Nathaniel Jean, you did not."
He stepped further into the kitchen, examining every detail, and I followed closely behind him. He chuckled when he looked at the teddy bear. "Clearly, I did." I gestured to the cake. "Make a wish."
"I can't blow out that candle," he pointed out.
"Make a wish anyways."
Lucas caught me by off-guard then, turning around and throwing himself onto me. I stumbled back in surprise, but managed to regain my footing and returned the warm embrace.
I could feel his distress radiating in waves as I held him. The way his fingers curled tightly around the fabric of my shirt, the way he was leaning into me for support. This was yet another rare moment in which he let himself be vulnerable. He still loved his brother, though he never said it. Shawn hurt him, over and over again, every single day.
Lucas received so much hate and so little love. He had his parents, sure, and his close friends. But the imbalance took a tole on him. I hated that. I really, really hated that, because he was hands-down the best person I'd ever met. There wasn't a single other person in this shit town who was as genuine or caring.
Suddenly, my mind was racing, because I realized just how much I cared about the boy in my arms. He deserved the world, and I would give it to him if I could. He was so damn important to me.
And that was really overwhelming, because I'd never valued another person so much. All of a sudden I felt sick—legitimately sick to my stomach—of waiting around in this awkward zone between friendship and something more.
There was still so much shit going on in my head. I was closer to satisfied, but far from happy. I liked Lucas a lot more than I liked myself, and that wasn't a good thing. My mindset wasn't healthy for me, let alone for a relationship.
The smartest choice would be to wait. Bad things would probably happen if I didn't.
But I wasn't sure I could. Not now, not with the way my heart was pounding against my throat. If I did, it just might burst out of my body.
It was a reckless decision, too impulsive to be smart. A thoughtless thought. But I wanted it, and I didn't want to wait.
I abruptly pulled away from Lucas and turned my back to him, running my hands through my hair and wishing my mind wasn't so fucked up.
"What?" He asked. He sounded so concerned, it made me even more confused.
The defiant words ringing in my head as I turned back around were fuck it. The words that came out of my mouth, probably because I was too frayed to work right, were "Fuck you."
Then, before I could think better of it, I grabbed Lucas' face and I kissed him.
There were none of those classically-described fireworks you hear about in books and movies. The only sparks in the room came from the candle on Lucas' cake. What I felt instead was a cold rush of something that shot down my spine and made me shiver. It felt absolutely terrible and absolutely amazing at the same time.
The kiss was short; the moment I felt his lips respond, when his fingers brushed my waist, I pulled back. I wasn't sure I could've handled another second.
His eyes fluttered open and he stared at me, blinking in surprise. "Well . . . fuck you, too."
With a shaky exhale, I leaned back against the kitchen island, using my palms to hold myself up, and tried to organize my mind. That had actually just happened. I'd just done that. "That was weird."
"Not that weird," Lucas pondered, looking annoyingly amused. I felt really nervous and jumpy all of a sudden, and I had no idea why. This giddy, unsure feeling in my stomach was new to me. I wasn't used to being self-conscious, at least not about matters like these. Not about one little kiss.
"I guess not. But you're, like, tall. I'm used to kissing people who are, you know, shorter than me. So it was weird, you know? Well maybe it wasn't weird but different, definitely different, and I guess since it was so different that kind of made it weird for me. I'm used to one thing, and that was another thing, so my body's all like 'Woah what's this thing?' Weird."
I was speaking way faster than normal, and talking with hands a lot. Unfamiliar nerves chewed at me, making it hard for me to keep my eyes in one place.
Lucas' eyebrows lifted in concern. "Are you alright?" He asked, tilting his head slightly.
I nodded, though I wasn't sure that I believed it myself. I wasn't not alright . . . I just wasn't alright, either. "I'm okay, just . . ." My lips were tingling. I lifted my fingers to touch them. "Woah."
"Good woah?" Lucas asked. "Or bad woah?"
"Everything woah."
He was silent for a moment, looking just as confused as I felt. Then he asked, "Where's your head at right now?"
I could hear hesitation in his voice. With a pang of guilt, I realized that he was scared now, scared that I'd changed my mind. That I'd decided I didn't want this. I pushed myself off from the counter and shoved my hands into my pockets. "I don't know, Lucas. I don't know, but . . . but I really like it."
He visibly relaxed, the smile returning to his expression. "Good," he sighed, "Because I like it, too."
He leaned forward, gently pressing his lips against mine. It was so nice, kissing him. He moved slowly, cautiously, as if he was afraid he'd scare me away, but I didn't mind. Tenderness was what we needed right now.
My hands found his neck, his my hips. He stepped closer to me, his chest pressing against mine, and tilted his head. There was something so romantic about the simplicity and sincerity of it all. We were just two boys who had crazy feelings for each other, finally acting on those feelings. There was nothing wrong or weird about it. And god knows, it was worth the wait.
"Also . . ." He murmured against my lips. "How'd you know my wish?"
"That was so fucking cliché, oh my god."
Lucas laughed and wrapped his arms tighter around me, pulling my body into his.
Three hours, two movies, one entire cake, and a half a bottle of whiskey later, Lucas and I were sat against the headboard of my bed, watching Riverdale on Netflix. We were watching Jughead's birthday episode, because it only seemed appropriate.
"You know," Lucas said out of the blue. He was sitting against my pillows next to me—half on top of me, more accurately—and our legs were a tangled mess. We were a little tipsy, but nowhere near hammered. "You never told me when your birthday is."
"It was right before school started," I told him. Literally, it was the day before.
Lucas pouted. "Well fuck."
I shrugged. "I don't really care much for birthdays. I just stay home and shit." Lucas nodded in understanding, though he still looked disappointed, so I changed the topic. "What'd you do yesterday?"
His face lit up with excitement and he sat upright. "Wanna see?"
I stammered in surprise at his sudden drastic change in demeanor. "Uh . . . yeah?"
He turned his body so that he was facing me from the side and sat cross-legged. He pulled his hoodie off over his head, and I immediately understood just why he was so excited. "Holy shit," I muttered. He nodded enthusiastically.
On the side of his torso, starting at his hip, was an image of a fully-bloomed, blood red rose. Above it, written sideways all the way to the base of his arm in a pretty cursive script, were words written in a language I didn't recognize.
I reached out and touched the tattoo in awe. It was still a bit red and irritated, but it was beautiful nonetheless. "That's incredible," I breathed. "What does it say?"
"It's Romanian," Lucas answered. "It says "and rain will make the flowers grow"—a lyric from Les Mis."
I could tell, just from the way he said it, that the words meant a lot to him. And rain will make the flowers grow. It was lovely.
Despite how captivating the tattoo was, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander. I'd seen him shirtless plenty of times, sure, but never this close up. He had the body of a dancer—slender and light, but defined from years of hard work. Freckles dusted his shoulders. I wasn't sure which piece of art was more captivating—the tattoo, or him.
Okay, that's a lie. It was definitely him, hands down.
I heard Lucas swallow. My hand was still on his side, and I wasn't exactly being discreet in admiring him. "There, er, there's more."
I forced myself to look up at his face and blinked away my distraction. "Huh?"
He turned around so that his back was facing me, and I gasped aloud. Depicted across the upper part of his back, from shoulder-blade to shoulder blade, was a sketch-like, intricate image of a city skyline. New York City skyline, to be specific. It was mostly done in black ink, but there were undertones of blue and white, too.
My fingers ghosted across the image, as if I would smudge it if I pressed too hard. Lucas shivered at my feather-light touch. "Do you like it?"
"Of course I like it," I said, still tracing the buildings with my fingertips. "It's so pretty. And so detailed. And so Lucas."
It really was. It was a dreamer's tattoo, and if Lucas Morgan was nothing else, he was a dreamer.
He smiled gratefully and turned back around to face me. "Thanks," he said as he took fistfuls of my shirt in his hands, pulling me towards him. He closed any distance between us, and I had to try hard not to blush at the fact that he was still shirtless, kissing me. I let myself fall back into the pillows, pulling him down with me, and when his body merged with mine, fitting into every curve like a skillfully carved puzzle, I knew this was something good.
And so it begins😈😈