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Luke isn’t a big fan of bars.
He seldom drinks, a habit he picked up following his first relationship and reinforced when he started dating Spencer, who doesn’t, for good reason.
Occasionally, he’ll grab a beer with friends, or someone will drag him to a party, but he’ll usually limit himself to one drink, focusing on going home to his partner and relaxing with him on the couch rather than his stomach twisting as he sips the bitter beverage, some voice that isn’t his whispering in his ear, words that fill his dreams, sentences strung together like pointed poison striking his hammering heart, invading nights with Spencer, until all he can think about, all he can feel, smell, taste, hear is his ex.
He hates the way bodies of strangers press against his, invading his senses like she did, making his throat tighten and mouth dry as he pushes through the crowd.
He imagines making milkshakes with Spencer at 2 am— the warm glow of their small kitchen, his partner sitting on the counter, rambling about anything and everything while Luke scoops their ice cream— and wishes he was there instead.
“Luke?”
He freezes, bass pounding in his ears, lights flashing, and bodies dancing to the unsteady rhythm of his heart as he turns around, gaze connecting with a pair of eyes he doesn’t need an eidetic memory to know by heart.
“Kate.” His posture deflates, shoulders hunching as she scans him with eyes boring into his soul, taking in every inch of once-bruised skin, relishing in the scars and marks she left.
“What are you doing here?”
“Visiting my parents,” Luke straightens himself, taking a half step back and crossing his arms defensively. “Some of my old friends were in town, and we decided to go out. What about you?”
He winces as the question slips out, knowing her answer is the same; his old friends are hers too, and he never told them what she did to him. He was young, hurt, and scared— scared he was blowing it out of proportion, scared of ruining her life because she was his best friend, and their friends would side with him over her, so he never told.
“I miss you.” Her voice is soft, spider-silk smooth, weaving a web of lies that Luke failed to see the first time, but he knows better now,
“Mhm.” He hums flatly, not dignifying her admission with a response.
“Kate! You made it!” Luke flinches as a friend throws an arm around his shoulder, drunkenly leaning against him as Asher greets her. “And Luke! Look at this! The infamous duo! We were hoping we’d see you two together tonight.”
“Right, yeah,” Luke chuckles dryly, sipping his drink around the lump growing in his throat. “I was just about to get a refill–”
“C’mon, man! What happened to you? You used to be all loose and flirty— getting all the girls, though you only had eyes for Kate. Don’t tell me you found another lady in Boston who’s enough for you.”
Luke never officially “came out” to his friends or family. His parents just seemed to know— when he was ten, they stopped calling his possible future spouse his “girlfriend” or “wife,” replacing gendered terms with “partner” or “whoever makes you happy”— but his friends and peers were different; it never came up, and Luke never labeled himself, never confining his sexuality to a solid term, and when he and Kate started dating, people assumed.
“Yeah, some people change, Ash.” He shrugs the other man’s arm away, stepping back, clearing his throat, eyes fixed on Kate, watching her tuck a strand of perfect, blond hair behind her ear and lick her glossy lips the same way she did when they were dating; she hasn’t changed since high school— none of his friends have— their community frozen in time while Luke marches forward, growing and learning from his past.
“Yeah, but you, man? Come on! You didn’t even have to try! You would be hammered — too fucked to walk in a straight line— and you got some.”
He freezes, breath catching in his chest, every ounce of oxygen escaping his lungs, suffocating him as his friend speaks.
They knew.
They all knew.
“Sorry, I have to–” He clears his throat, head spinning as he takes another step back.
When their relationship– the abuse was at its worst, he could barely think, nevertheless consent, and they all knew.
“I have to go.” He chokes, glass slipping from his hand, shattering like the lies he told himself— the years Luke spent convincing himself she loved him— as he pushes through the crowd, bursting out of the bar, the cold, New York air burning in his desperate lungs as shaky hands clumsily dig his phone out of his pocket.
They all knew.
He’d wake up beside her, missing time, and they congratulated him.
Half of them were on the football team with him— they changed together— he tried to hide it, but they must’ve seen the bruises–
“Alvez likes it rough, don’t you, Luke?”
They knew.
His “friends” knew. They just didn’t care.
“Luke?”
Spencer’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, pulling him back to his trembling body.
“Luke? Is everything okay?”
He opens his mouth, tongue stuck, his words catching in his throat, only producing a weak croak.
“Luke, can you hear me?”
“Mhm…” He presses his lips together, nodding as he listens to the comforting voice.
“Good— that’s good— I’m going to count; can you breathe with me?”
Luke hums another affirmative, hearing his partner take a deep, practiced breath before speaking, voice calm and level.
“Inhale first— in through your nose, out through your mouth— okay? One, two, three–”
He follows Spencer’s steady counting, closing his eyes and leaning against the wall behind him as he breathes.
“Better?” Spencer asks after a few minutes, listening to Luke’s panicked gasps slow through the phone.
“Yeah– yes, better; sorry–”
“It’s okay, Luke; I was thinking about calling you. Are you okay?”
“I–” The older brunette sighs, shaking his head as he stares at the sky, counting the stars. “I saw her .”
They don’t use names when they talk about their first partners; him and her are placeholders, conduits of their first loves, relationships tainted with trauma.
“They knew.” Luke gasps, realizing he stopped breathing in the pause, voice shaking, threatening to collapse in this storm.
“Are you safe? Did she do anything?”
“No– No, I’m safe– I’m okay.”
“That’s good; do you want to talk about it?”
“They knew— my friends knew.” Spencer pauses, taking a deep breath, reminding his partner to do the same.
“I’m sorry, you deserved better than that; you still do.”
“They thought I wanted it— thought it was me— I didn’t–” His voice breaks, snapping under the pressure of obstructed tears, damn of okay-ness cracking.
“I know.”
“I never wanted it.”
“I know, Luke, and so do you; none of it was your fault. Okay? Their decisions are not your fault.” Luke nods, silently repeating his partner’s words, wiping silent tears from his eyes.
“Yeah; thank you, cariño,” He sighs, watching the fog of his breath spiral in the chilled winter air before starting to walk, feet moving on autopilot down the streets of the borough he grew up in. “I miss you.”
There’s a pause, followed by muffled shuffling, and Luke grins, imagining what his partner is scheming.
“I can get to New York by tomorrow afternoon.”
He pauses, watching light flurries fall, spiraling, tiny snowflakes melting as they hit the ground.
“You can’t be serious–”
“If you’re okay with it–”
“You’re with your family–”
“Unfortunately, serial killers don’t take holiday breaks, Luke. Besides, they have a jet; they can visit whenever.”
Luke laughs, lighting up the silence around him, emotions echoing through the night.
“Only if it’s okay, of course, and you don’t have to tell people we’re dating–”
“It’s more than okay, cariño; I want you to meet my family,” He smiles, cutting through the park where he used to spend hours after school. “I want them to meet my partner.”
He can almost hear Spencer grinning through the speak, imagining the smile that Luke fell in love with.
“Okay,” The younger brunette laughs lightly, typing on his computer. “I’m sending you my flight information.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” Luke stops outside his house, almost giddy as his phone buzzes against his ear. “I love you, Spence.”
“I love you, Luke.”