Work Text:
Lukas woke to the sound of something quietly clattering to the floor in the kitchen.
He was a light sleeper, so it wasn't surprising he'd been disturbed by a noise like that. For a moment he lay there in the dark, wondering whether he should get up, then ultimately decided he was too curious to stay in bed and padded out the door.
He found Jesse half-heartedly prodding leftover spaghetti from the night before at the counter, still in his pajamas, hair mussed and tangled. Part of his face was highlighted by the pale wash of the moon. He jumped when Lukas entered his sight, dropping his fork.
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry-- I. . . I just didn't know what to do."
Shaking his head, Lukas pulled up a chair and sat across the table, noting the red tinge to Jesse's eyes and the way his breathing came out in fast staccato huffs, exactly the way he breathed when having a panic attack. "I don't mind. Having another rough night?"
Jesse stopped and put his head in his hands, digging his fingers into his palms. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I keep breaking down and waking up in the middle of the night and wishing I wasn't here. . . . How am I supposed to take care of you guys when I can't even take care of my own life?
"I can't do this. One day I'm higher than Ivor's ego, hyperactive and overly excited and making stupid choices, and the next day I want to kill or try my best to hurt myself. I wish it would stop. I want it all to stop."
Lukas waited for him to calm down, then reached over and took his hand. "How about we go back to your room and get some paper, okay?"
"But--"
"I'll clean this up." He gave a small smile. "You don't have to do everything for everyone."
Jesse let out a deep breath. "Okay."
While Jesse headed upstairs, Lukas took care of the mess in the kitchen: putting the uneaten spaghetti back in its plastic bin, washing the plate and silverware before going to Jesse's room and closing the door behind him.
Jesse had always been like this: unsure of himself, nervous he wouldn't do anything right, and Lukas had gotten used to-- well, not gotten used to, but now expected-- the days of skyrocketing ups and crushing lows. There was a balance on some days, but only some. It had become worse once Gabriel officially announced them the new Order. All that responsibility on Jesse. If something wrong happened, in his mind it was entirely his fault, and no matter how mad the townspeople or anybody else got for a mistake, Jesse was worse, tearing himself up on the inside.
Lukas didn't blame him one bit. He didn't chide him for crying. For needing support and somebody assuring he was okay and that he was loved, so loved, and was deserving of it.
That's what Lukas was there for.
Jesse was in the middle of doodling on a notepad when Lukas sat down on the bed, reaching for a stack of books and picking one from the top. This had become routine, writing or reading while Jesse scribbled away, and while this was mostly for Jesse, Lukas enjoyed the time he spent alone with him.
The visiting late at night had started months before, when Jesse frequently woke up and Lukas was the only one quick and assuring enough to reach him and make sure he went back to sleep. It turned into Lukas staying overnight, reading to him in the dim light of a lamp, curled up in blankets, adventures and mysteries and favorite children's stories until both were so exhausted they fell asleep before they finished whatever what was being read.
Once every week faded into three, then four and five and Lukas couldn't get enough of this gentle, imaginative boy who would die for a friend and would take on the world without complaint if it was for someone else. Couldn't stop thinking about dark green eyes like winter holly leaves and a crazy grin that told you he was up to something, sketches scattered across an unorganized desk and these stupid puns he found himself laughing at anyways. Had to make sure he was safe and happy.
Eventually those nights full of reading became nights full of soft whispers and kissing and reassurance.
Lukas loved him, loved everything about him. His laugh, the way he talked, how he couldn't keep a straight face during card games, the sarcasm and light-hearted wit, loved passing his fingers through thick ringlets of brown hair and kisses that meant the universe, holding unsaid promises.
Lukas stretched out on the bed, forgetting about the book, curling up behind the shorter boy and reaching over his side to take the pencil from his hands.
Jesse started laughing uncontrollably when the blonde began drawing the rest of the Order on his page, purposefully making them look like mutated dwarfs with overly large heads. He wasn't an artist, but that fact only made his work better. Axel appeared to be a drunk pro wrestler with tiny feet, breaking what could've been a crocodile over his knee. Olivia was a smiley-faced fidget spinner. Petra was murdering a (ded, according to the caption Lukas put down) Soren, resembling the clown from the horror movie he'd watched not too long ago.
And Ivor. . . Jesse didn't want to think what the grumpy old man would do if he found them making such an offensive picture.
Lukas drew uneven squiggly lines for the arms and legs, making a ridiculously derpy face for good measure. Jesse's giggling turned into a fit of laughter. "You ruined it. Now Ivor looks like he's on crack."
"Isn't he always?" Then a quickly added, "Don't tell him I said that. I'd never hear the end of it."
After setting the paper and pencil on the floor and laughing until their stomachs hurt, Lukas gently kissed Jesse's shoulder, exhaling. "I hope I helped. Think you can go to sleep?"
He could hear Jesse's racing heartbeat from behind.
"You're okay, Jesse. You're okay."