Sometimes, when it's late at night and she finds herself chasing after the
ever-elusive sleep, she crawls into his house and into his bed. She closes
her eyes and breathes in deeply, smiling because he always smells like
soap.
It takes him a few moments, but his vision focuses on her after he awakens, and his arms pull her closer to him. He buries his face in her hair and asks her one question very softly. "Still awake, Hales?" It's not as if he ever needs an answer, because he knows her reasons. But it's some sort of small comfort, a stability she has never found anywhere else.
Not even with Nathan.
She looks up at him, his blue orbs peering down at her with a burning intensity. At times, she wants to see more than what's there. But there's nothing to question with him. He is safe, and he is predictable.
Unlike Nathan.
This is something she has known her entire life, and still doesn't fully believe even now. There are secrets he keeps from her and secrets she keeps from him. She can't remember ever having lied to him until recently. The distance between them bears a striking resemblance to the only time she was ever separated from him.
"Hey, remember that time I went to camp for two weeks?" she questions, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah, and when you came back you didn't talk to me for like, a month," he replies, his mouth curving into a crooked grin.
"It was so different. This place...us...you and me, we were so different," she says with an uncertainty he cannot hope to match.
"I know," he nods. And he does know. That the differences that separation marked are some of the same ones that drive them apart even now. "It happens."
"I don't think I like it," she admits. "Luke, you're my best friend."
"Hales, you'll always be mine."
"Then why aren't we?"
The question hangs limply in the air, unanswered. Because somehow there isn't a proper way to approach it. She searches for a solution he finds impossible to offer, and the strangers they see within each other glare back with an unmasked vulnerability.
He has always had a tumultuous passion for words, often a trait that has proven to be his downfall and always a flaw she finds wonderfully endearing. She waits for it now, for the explanations to tumble forth in spasms and between the murmurs of his breath fanning against her neck.
But he says nothing. He pulls her closer, breathes a kiss against her forehead and closes his eyes. "You think too much, you know that right?"
"This coming from you?" she teases.
"Shut up and sleep," he mumbles, digging his fingers into her sides.
She squeals and just as quickly he clamps a hand over her mouth, both pairs of eyes wide with disbelief. Her breath quickens and for a second she can swear she's not breathing at all. He licks his lips, a habit she always curses herself for noticing. "I'm sorry," she whispers as soon as he lets go.
"It's okay, are you okay? I didn't wanna scare you," he promises worriedly.
"No, no I'm fine. I should probably go home though," she muses, desperately waiting for his request for her to stay.
"If you want," he shrugs, and something about that gesture borders on an indifference that makes the bile rise in her throat. He stares down at her, burning her gaze with his own and opens his mouth in an apparent attempt to speak. "The other day..."
"Are you okay? I know, me with the repetitive but still, I worry. It's what I do. I'm not real fond of the panic attack stuff, and you know if you—"
"I need to tell you something," he interrupts, his words coming quickly.
"Yeah, sure."
She waits for a confession she will never hear. The harsh silence of the night almost anticipates it, of admissions that one girl has waited sixteen years for. But that would mark an uncertainty, something that Lucas will never stand for.
He is safe.
And she smiles a little because she knows that he will never be anything close to safe, and there's some sort of gorgeous irony in that.
"I slept with Brooke." He breaks her thoughts with a wound that doesn't stand a chance of healing. It's not at all what he wants to say, what he meant to say, but it is a truth. Some way or another.
Haley knows that if she could, she would cry. And she also knows that she is in no position to think of such a thing because the tears mark a significance that should never be there.
Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, she untangles herself from him. "Goodnight, Luke."
"Hales, you don't have to go," he says, wrapping an arm around her wrist to hold her back.
"Yeah, I do. Nathan might call." She adds another lie to her mental tally, so much greater now than she has ever expected it to be.
"Oh," Lucas breathes, nodding an understanding he will never feel. "Yeah, sure. That's...goodnight, Hales."
"Night."
She takes a last look at him, the safest in her life. And then she does cry, because he's so dangerous she can't think to do anything else.
It takes him a few moments, but his vision focuses on her after he awakens, and his arms pull her closer to him. He buries his face in her hair and asks her one question very softly. "Still awake, Hales?" It's not as if he ever needs an answer, because he knows her reasons. But it's some sort of small comfort, a stability she has never found anywhere else.
Not even with Nathan.
She looks up at him, his blue orbs peering down at her with a burning intensity. At times, she wants to see more than what's there. But there's nothing to question with him. He is safe, and he is predictable.
Unlike Nathan.
This is something she has known her entire life, and still doesn't fully believe even now. There are secrets he keeps from her and secrets she keeps from him. She can't remember ever having lied to him until recently. The distance between them bears a striking resemblance to the only time she was ever separated from him.
"Hey, remember that time I went to camp for two weeks?" she questions, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Yeah, and when you came back you didn't talk to me for like, a month," he replies, his mouth curving into a crooked grin.
"It was so different. This place...us...you and me, we were so different," she says with an uncertainty he cannot hope to match.
"I know," he nods. And he does know. That the differences that separation marked are some of the same ones that drive them apart even now. "It happens."
"I don't think I like it," she admits. "Luke, you're my best friend."
"Hales, you'll always be mine."
"Then why aren't we?"
The question hangs limply in the air, unanswered. Because somehow there isn't a proper way to approach it. She searches for a solution he finds impossible to offer, and the strangers they see within each other glare back with an unmasked vulnerability.
He has always had a tumultuous passion for words, often a trait that has proven to be his downfall and always a flaw she finds wonderfully endearing. She waits for it now, for the explanations to tumble forth in spasms and between the murmurs of his breath fanning against her neck.
But he says nothing. He pulls her closer, breathes a kiss against her forehead and closes his eyes. "You think too much, you know that right?"
"This coming from you?" she teases.
"Shut up and sleep," he mumbles, digging his fingers into her sides.
She squeals and just as quickly he clamps a hand over her mouth, both pairs of eyes wide with disbelief. Her breath quickens and for a second she can swear she's not breathing at all. He licks his lips, a habit she always curses herself for noticing. "I'm sorry," she whispers as soon as he lets go.
"It's okay, are you okay? I didn't wanna scare you," he promises worriedly.
"No, no I'm fine. I should probably go home though," she muses, desperately waiting for his request for her to stay.
"If you want," he shrugs, and something about that gesture borders on an indifference that makes the bile rise in her throat. He stares down at her, burning her gaze with his own and opens his mouth in an apparent attempt to speak. "The other day..."
"Are you okay? I know, me with the repetitive but still, I worry. It's what I do. I'm not real fond of the panic attack stuff, and you know if you—"
"I need to tell you something," he interrupts, his words coming quickly.
"Yeah, sure."
She waits for a confession she will never hear. The harsh silence of the night almost anticipates it, of admissions that one girl has waited sixteen years for. But that would mark an uncertainty, something that Lucas will never stand for.
He is safe.
And she smiles a little because she knows that he will never be anything close to safe, and there's some sort of gorgeous irony in that.
"I slept with Brooke." He breaks her thoughts with a wound that doesn't stand a chance of healing. It's not at all what he wants to say, what he meant to say, but it is a truth. Some way or another.
Haley knows that if she could, she would cry. And she also knows that she is in no position to think of such a thing because the tears mark a significance that should never be there.
Pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, she untangles herself from him. "Goodnight, Luke."
"Hales, you don't have to go," he says, wrapping an arm around her wrist to hold her back.
"Yeah, I do. Nathan might call." She adds another lie to her mental tally, so much greater now than she has ever expected it to be.
"Oh," Lucas breathes, nodding an understanding he will never feel. "Yeah, sure. That's...goodnight, Hales."
"Night."
She takes a last look at him, the safest in her life. And then she does cry, because he's so dangerous she can't think to do anything else.