Last but not least, the group number from the competition. This is one of my favorite videos of all time bc cute boys + cute costumes + epic dancing = I feel desolate (in a good way)
When Friday finally came around and practice was over, I was practically bouncing with anticipation. In my excitement, I showered extra fast; which made no difference, since I had to wait for the locker room to clear out before I could leave with Lucas anyways. I ended up sitting on a bench, silently glaring at everything as the other boys took their sweet damn time in leaving.
The seconds lasted an eternity. When the last freshmen left, laughing about dick-jokes on iFunny, I couldn't have been more relieved.
I stood from the bench and walk around the lockers until I found Lucas, packing his bags to leave. "Ready to go?" I asked, my hands clasped behind my back.
Lucas hummed in response, shrugged his bag onto his shoulder, and walked over to me. "Let's get out of here," he said with his dimpled smile. He placed his arms loosely around my neck and leaned in to kiss me.
And I panicked.
Something in my brain clicked and my hands shot up to push him away, much harder than I'd meant to. He stumbled back, and would've fallen over had he not smacked the lockers for support.
"What the hell?" He exclaimed, his eyes wide and alarmed. "Are you out of your mind?"
I couldn't do it. Not here. Paranoia paid me another visit, and he didn't try to be friendly this time. His fear became my anger. "What were you thinking?"
Lucas gaped incredulously at me. "I was thinking I'd kiss my boyfriend hello! Why are you acting so weird?"
"You can't just do shit like that!" I fretted, glancing around nervously.
"Why the hell not?" Aggravation was in his eyes now. "You already having second thoughts?"
"No! God, no, but you can't . . ." I didn't even know what I was saying. I sounded crazy. I was crazy. "Someone could see us!"
"Nobody's here!" Lucas snapped. "Nobody's fucking here!"
"There could be . . . There could be cameras," I breathed. Lucas scoffed.
"Right," he said, crossing his arms. "In a locker room."
I knew he was right. I knew I was acting like a freak. But I couldn't control the flood of stress that had crashed over my body when he'd nearly kissed me. This locker room, as obscure as it was, still counted as a public space. Coach Larmon, or a player who'd left a shin guard, or a custodian, could walk through those doors any moment. Maybe there were cameras, displaying the image to a watching eye who would call my parents and share with them the awful news: their perfect son is a fag.
The idea was so incredibly unreasonable, and I knew. I genuinely knew, but it wasn't something I could push away. After so many years of being here and listening to the unkind words so many students and teachers had to offer, this school had become linked in my mind to homophobia and hatred and exclusion. I physically could not stand the idea of getting caught doing anything with Lucas here.
I was freaking out just thinking about it. My breathing wasn't quite under control, and my hands were shaking. I had so much fucking anxiety, and Lucas didn't understand that.
"Can you just back off?" I snapped at him. It made me angry that he didn't understand, because he'd been the one person I thought I could count on to understand.
Lucas' jaw clenched. "Sorry I don't wanna back off after you shoved me away like some kind of freak. That was so unnecessary!"
"You don't get it!" I exclaimed. "You don't get it at all, so you can't say jack-shit!"
Lucas laughed sardonically. "There is literally no way anybody could see us right now! You've got no reason to be acting like this!"
"Maybe you're right!" I was practically yelling now. Maybe it wasn't necessary, but my body didn't seem to know that. I was acting purely on freaked out, stress-driven impulse. "Maybe there is no way! But either way it freaks me the fuck out and you need to respect that!"
"Fine!" He raised his voice to match mine. Then, after a deep breath, he lowered it again."Whatever. But get it into your head that nothing gives you the right to push me around like that. I'm not like all of those girl you played, Jean. I've taken enough shit from other people, I don't need it from you, too."
I couldn't deal with this. I genuinely couldn't. My hands were shaking so violently now, I had to shove them into my pockets. I didn't even want to respond to him when he was like this, when I was like this. I wasn't sure exactly what was wrong with me, but we both knew well enough that I struggled with a lot of crap. Whatever the hell it was, my emotions were just as real as his, even if they made much less sense.
Fed up with the argument, I turned and stormed towards the exit. I was only a foot away from the doors when Lucas called out, "Don't leave." Poorly hidden frustration was still clear in his voice.
Scoffing, I turned around and said, "You scared you'll lose your ride home?"
He rolled his eyes impatiently. "No, I'm scared I lose you, dumbass," he said dryly. "This thing we've got is too new and too good to already crash and burn. We're both just really pissed right now, so how about we just seethe for a bit before we try to figure shit out, okay?"
That was how I ended up driving, as per usual, to Lucas' house that Friday evening. Except the drive was anything but usual. Not a word was uttered the entire time—we were both too damn stubborn to give in and say something. Lucas glared out of his window, his fingers tapping annoyingly on the dashboard until I snapped at him to stop. I didn't like the tension in the air; it was thick and angry and unpleasant.
When we got to Lucas' house, he muttered about needing to clean his room and rushed upstairs, leaving me alone in the living room.
I was calmer now, now that we were out of that locker room and I could breathe properly again. But it wasn't okay. I was still angry. Lucas was still angry.
We'd both been jerks, sure. I hated the way he'd made me feel as if my emotions were stupid. I'd always seen him as the kind to be mindful of others' feelings, even if he didn't fully empathize with them. But he wasn't doing that now, and it hurt like a bitch.
I figured that I'd be sitting there, fuming, for hours. I'd think of all the things he did wrong and ignore my own faults as he did the same up in his room. That was how my arguments usually went, at least.
What I hadn't expected was the sudden sensation of loneliness that overcame me ten minutes in. Being angry with Lucas while he was right there next to me turned out to be way different that being angry with him while he was up in his room, seemingly a world away.
And goddammit, I hated it.
I considered his point of view. I really shouldn't have pushed him like that.
Jesus, this fight was so dumb . . .
And before I knew it, I was taking the stairs two at a time, rushing down the familiar path to Lucas' room to find him and fix things. Right as I raised my fist to knock on the closed door, it swung open.
Lucas jumped a little in surprise at my sudden appearance. "Nate!"
"I'm sorry."
My voice mingled with another, and after a moment, I realized it had been his. We'd spoken the exact same words at the exact same time.
We both opened our mouths to continue, but I was the first to speak. "I shouldn't have overreacted so much," I admitted. "Pushing you was really uncalled for. But there's still so much shit in my head that I can't help but sometimes . . . Freak out."
Lucas nodded. "I understand," he said. Then he backtracked. "Well actually, if I'm honest, I really don't understand, but . . . I'll try. If nothing else, I'll respect how you feel. I know you've got a lot of," he paused. "I don't want to ever invalidate your feelings, and I'm sorry that I did."
I couldn't help but smile, because once again Lucas Morgan had managed to say all of the right things. Just like that, we were okay again. Right then, at the peaceful closing of an argument, it seemed wrong not to kiss him, so that's exactly what I did.
Lucas took my hands as I pulled away, intertwining our fingers together. "This isn't going to be easy," he said gravely. "You and me. It won't even be close. But I really want it to work out, and I'm willing to fight for it."
I nodded. "Effort," I said. "It'll take effort."
He smiled. "I'm down for effort."
He hugged me then, and I returned it in earnest. We stood like that for a while, embracing and thinking to ourselves, and that was all we needed.
Lucas was right. This wasn't going to be easy, not one bit. He was out to the public, I was heavily closeted. He was fully okay with his sexuality, I was still a little fucked in the head. He was so brash and outspoken, I kept my true opinions to myself. He was so open, yet, at the same time so closed off. And as people, we were just so different. We had little in common.
To any outside perspective, we were doomed to fail. Maybe we were. But it would be a goddamn pity if we didn't at least take a shot.
The following Friday, Lucas kept his distance in the locker room. And during the drive home. We drove the same way we had when we were only friends—we talked, and nothing else. But the moment we'd shut his front door, he wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed me hard.
Which, of course, I was not opposed to.
But I was hungry.
"Mh, hold on," I murmured, backing away. "Food first."
Lucas snorted. "And they say romance is dead."
I was already halfway to his kitchen. "Shut up, I'm hungry."
The Morgans always had a shit ton of food at their place—maybe that was why I liked Lucas so much. I shuffled through the fridge and the pantries, pulling out anything that looked even slightly appetizing.
"Jesus," Lucas whistled, his eyes roaming over the pile of food forming on the counter. There were chips, fruits, cookies, salad, and every possible sandwich ingredient I could find. "You look like you're about to host a picnic."
I turned slowly toward Lucas, wide-eyed at his unintended genius. "Great idea!"
"Oh, no." He wagged his finger in instant refusal. "Oh no no no."
"C'mon!" I insisted with a childish pout. "It'll be like a date."
Lucas' expression was as dry and unimpressed as ever. "Outside," he deadpanned. "In the cold."
"It'll be cute," I insisted. Lucas sighed.
"I don't like the cold."
"Yes, but you like me, so it's worth it."
Lucas leaned against the wall with a huff—his way of silently giving in. With a sense of victory, I said, "Awesome. Now where can I find a cute little checkered blanket?"
"I think we have one in—"
"And a picnic basket," I added.
Lucas directed me reluctantly, and when I finally had a cliché, aesthetically pleasing setup together, I dragged him outside. "It's cold," was the first thing he said.
Indeed, it was. A thick layer of snow coated the ground, and a new light snowfall had just begun, slowly adding to it. His backyard was framed on three sides by tall hedges to which snow clung delicately; they made the space feel closed off and private. As cold as it was, it was a lovely sight, and when I added the quaint picnic setup, it only magnified the scene. Even Lucas had a small, hidden smile on his face. "Okay," he conceded as we sat down. "This is cute."
I grinned and wrapped an arm around his shoulder, pulling him into me and offering whatever bodily heat I had to share. We dug into the simple yet delicious assortment of food I'd prepared and chatted about whatever came to our minds. School, TV shows, people we couldn't stand, people we secretly didn't mind so much. States were approaching just this coming weekend, and his Heathers performance the next; there was a lot to be excited for. We talked about how shitty our grades were, how annoying our teachers were, how horny our friends were, how happy we were. Long after the food was gone, we continued talking.
Shawn somehow found his way into the conversation. It was almost sad how quickly Lucas' expression darkened. It was risky, because I knew how he could shut off in an instant, but I couldn't restrain myself. I asked him about it.
And for the first time, he answered.
"We were best friends, you know?" He said quietly, his head resting tenderly on my shoulder. I knew the subject was hard for him, so I offered silent support in every way I could. I held him a bit closer, I intertwined our fingers, I leaned my forehead on the top of his head.
"We were attached at the hip. You couldn't separate us with a crane. For a good year of my life—the time when I was really struggling with my sexuality and . . . other stuff—I liked him a whole lot better than I liked myself. He didn't know what was bothering me, but he never pushed me to tell him. He just supported me however he could. He was my rock. He . . . he stopped me from doing a lot of really dumb things," Lucas' voice broke. I didn't like what he was implying. I didn't ask, though; that was a topic for another time.
"Sometimes I wonder," His voice was bitter now. "What would've happened if I'd told him way back then, before he'd gone and made up his mind; if things would be different. If he'd be on my side. If I'd still have a brother." He shut his eyes tight, and I almost told him to stop. That he didn't need to tell me. But I stayed quiet, resolving instead to rub my hand up and down his arm consolingly. "But obviously I didn't, and I don't. The change was so quick, Nate. And really unexpected. I'd told my parents long before, and they'd supported me. I sort of figured Shawn would do the same. And now . . ."
I realized after several seconds of silence that he wasn't planning on saying more. I wasn't sure how to approach comforting him—I'd never been great with words. I'd never needed to be; I'd never really had to support someone before. The only other close person in my life was my sister, and I was the last person she'd come to for advice.
I realized that I would have to work on that. Relationships needed support. For now, though, I settled for saying, "Let's build a snowman."
Lucas smiled sadly and nodded, pushing himself to his feet and offering me a gloved hand. "Let's."
Here's my confession: despite having lived in Nebraska my entire life, I'd never actually built a snow man. Lucas seemed to realize this pretty quickly, and found my incompetence hilarious.
"You're trying to make a ball, Nate. A ball."
"This is a ball!" I protested, holding up the sad lump of snow I'd made—it was no bigger than the palm of my hand, and it fell apart as soon as I lifted it, sending snow sloshing to the floor. Lucas looked down at the small pile that now decorated the ground, then back up at my now-almost-empty hand, his eyes sparkling with amusement. He was half-laughing, half-smirking.
"Mhm," he nodded sarcastically. "Looking good, champ."
I huffed and threw what remained of my snowman at him. He gasped as it his his face and slid off, leaving snow in his eyelashes and eyebrows, and on his nose.
He narrowed his eyes. "Oh, that's how we're gonna play, is it?" He reached down, grabbing a huge handful of snow that he formed, with alarming speed, into a deadly snowball. I ducked, barely avoiding being smashed in the face, but I leaned too far rightward and screwed up my balance. On the slippery landscape, my feet quickly lost their hold, and I found myself falling ass-first into the snow.
I sat up just in time to see Lucas racing towards me. "You can't hit me while I'm down!" I protested, right as he tackled me, forcing me back into the ground. Then we were tussling, pushing each other around in the snow and getting absolutely filthy in the process. We were laughing, too, like absolute maniacs. For the first time in a long time, I felt again like a child, with no worries about sexuality or college or where I would be in fifty years, who's biggest concern was winning at horseplay.
I eventually gained the upper hand and pinned Lucas down; he gave in, his body relaxing underneath me. We were both panting, our breath forming small clouds in the frosty air, and giggling like the young boys we once knew each other as.
His eyes were bright and excited—so different from the way they'd been minutes ago, when he was talking about his brother. Then he leaned up; I met him in the middle, and we shared the most cliché, most sweet, most awesome snow-kiss of all time.
As you could probably guess, the snowman had to wait a while.
***
Our States competition went well, with our team coming out on top. But then again, we almost always came out on top.
I talked to several scouts after the game, and the more they spoke, the more my heart swelled with the realization that I would make it out of Nowhere, Nebraska. My escape was coming, and it was coming soon.
The best part of States, though? It meant the end of the school soccer season, and therefore the end of my hectic schedule.
The Heathers showcase came the following week, on Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. I found fun in watching Catholic teachers and parents having heart attacks throughout more or less the whole thing as they realized it wasn't exactly a "pure" show. It was impressively good for a high school production, and I was so in love with watching Lucas perform, I went all three nights. His voice was so stunning, it almost made up for the fact that his character was a freaky psychopathic murderer.
After that weekend, Lucas' schedule cleared up, too. He did go to the Theater Company more frequently now that time allowed; instead of just most Saturdays and Sundays, he added Monday and Wednesday to the list. Which just so happened to be the days that I had club practice—we'll pretend that was an entirely unintentional coincidence—so our schedules matched up flawlessly.
In other words, we had a lot more time to spend together.
Mostly, we hung after school at my house, because Lucas' was only really empty on Fridays, whereas I was home alone ninety percent of the time. Shawn was just as much a dick about taking the car and leaving Lucas to walk home post-season as he was during, so he needed the rides one way or another.
We spent our time in different ways. Sometimes, we did homework together—or, more realistically, we procrastinated on doing homework together. Other times, we watched movies, or binged Rick and Morty, or played video games. Sometimes we just talked for hours, sometimes we just did nothing for hours. And sometimes we did . . . other things.
Finally, we had enough time to allow a real relationship. Sure, we were pretty much constricted to our houses, because the idea of going anywhere else legitimately freaked me out. And sure, we sometimes had to compete with unknowing others for time—Lucas had his theater friends, and I got dragged places by the soccer boys, both of which had no knowledge of the relationship they so often interrupted. But we made the best of what we had. For weeks, we followed the same routine, and we were fine with it. Hell, I loved it.
Let's have a chat.
This chapter is kind of important for a couple of reasons. If nothing else, take away this: these characters are not perfect.
I wanna talk about their individual reactions, because I feel like some readers might not quite understand them. Let's start with Lucas, some we don't get his POV at all.
Lucas gets a lot of shit from people. That much you all know. And if you remember, in the first chapter it was mentioned that no one ever hit him, but he did get shoved around quite a bit. People show him their distaste by spitting slurs and pushing and such. So yeah, he doesn't like getting pushed. At all. Especially not by his boyfriend. So he got pissed.
And when it comes to him not really understanding Nate's panic, anybody who deals with mental health issues or has a close friend who does can probably agree that it's not always easy to be understanding. Sometimes you get angry and forget to be considerate. That doesn't mean it's okay, but it happens.
As far as Nate goes, I feel like before I can talk about his reaction I've got to tackle the topic of mental illness. I'm sure some of you wonder about his mental state, but I don't really plan on confirming it in the story, at least not soon. Why? Because the story is in Nate's point of view, and he doesn't even know himself (hence the line "I wasn't sure exactly what was wrong with me", so it wouldn't really make sense. Also, I think a lot of people identify with his character, and for them it might be more beneficial to headcannon his state themselves in order to relate more. I definitely believe he struggles with mental health issues, but whether you think he has anxiety, depression, both, neither, or something else, is more or less up to you.
That said, to anybody confused as to why he freaked this chapter, it's literally a matter that he can't control. He knew he couldn't be caught, but his brain and his body reacted naturally with fear, and that's not something he had any semblance of control over. And that's not gonna go away just because he got an awesome boyfriend. It doesn't work like that.
Still, Nate shouldn't have pushed him. And even though pushing is a pet peeve of Lucas', Lucas should have been more considerate about Nate's feelings. They both screwed up. That's what normal, human people who make normal, human mistakes do.
Alright I'm done lol