Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The boat roars across the lake like it owns the water. Jack’s at the wheel, shirt off, music blaring, sunglasses pushed into the curls on top of his head. Cole and Turc are sitting behind him, yelling over the wind, neither of them dating—though Turc keeps bumping Cole’s shoulder like he wants something more. Cole pretends not to notice.

On the dock, Luke watches them come in, arms resting on his knees, feet skimming just above the surface of the water. He doesn’t wave. Just waits.

Quinn’s already inside the house, unpacking with that soft, quiet rhythm that makes him hard to notice unless you’re paying attention. Brady popped in first, tossed his duffel on the couch, then disappeared into the kitchen muttering something about snacks and how the WiFi better work this time.

The first person to make Luke smile is Connor. He tumbles out of the car with Fraser close behind, dragging two suitcases and laughing like summer’s already saving him. Fraser kisses his cheek like it’s automatic, like they’ve been doing this forever.

Luke waves. Connor jogs over and tackles him into a hug that smells like hotel shampoo and mint gum.

“You beat us here?” Connor grins, pulling back. “Since when are you early to anything?”

Luke shrugs. “Just wanted to get the good room.”

Fraser grins behind him. “You mean the one with the Nico-sized bed?”

Luke kicks a pebble into the lake and pretends he didn’t hear that.

Inside, people start claiming rooms and dumping bags. The house fills up with noise fast—laughter echoing through the halls, doors slamming open and shut, music drifting in and out of speakers like no one can agree on a vibe yet.

Out by the fire pit, Fraser and Connor sit practically in each other’s laps, arguing over whether or not they packed too many pairs of swim trunks. Jack tosses a football across the lawn with Turc, both shirtless, both shouting like it’s a competition no one else understands.

Luke sits off to the side, picking at the corner of his phone case. He’s surrounded by people. Laughter. Familiar voices.

But he feels like he’s watching it all from underwater.

That night, everyone crowds into the living room with red Solo cups and half-burned marshmallows. Someone puts on a movie no one actually watches. People talk over it, make stupid bets about who’ll hook up with who first, argue about playlists. The house is alive with summer.

But Luke is still waiting.

It’s almost midnight by the time the headlights roll up the gravel drive.

Everyone’s half-drunk and half-asleep, bodies scattered across couches, rugs, porch swings. The hum of music still pulses low through the speakers, and someone—probably Cole—left a bottle of Sprite on the steps with the cap barely on.

Luke’s the first one to stand.

His body moves before his mind can tell it not to. He walks to the front porch like it’s a reflex. Like he’s done this a thousand times.

Because it’s Nico.

The car door opens.
And there he is.

Hood up, curls peeking out. Backpack slung low on one shoulder, phone in one hand. That stupid effortless smirk on his face like he owns every room before he even walks into it.

Luke’s stomach tightens.

He swallows, hands tucked into his sleeves. He waits.
Nico steps up to the porch.

Their eyes lock for half a second.

And then Nico walks right past him straight to Jack.

“Cap,” Jack breathes out like it’s a nickname and a secret all in one.

Nico grins wide, arms open before Jack even reaches him. He pulls Nico in close, pats his back, and doesn’t let go for a few seconds too long.

“Missed you, Cap,” Jack says.

Luke blinks.

And just like that, the light that had started to build in his chest flickers out.

He turns, walks back into the house.

Doesn’t say anything.

Because what could he say?

He’s not the one Nico drove all this way to see.

Not the one Nico wraps up in a hug like he’s gravity.

That title’s already taken.

The kitchen is one of the only places in the house that still feels calm.

There’s no music here—just the soft thunk of a knife against the cutting board and the hum of the fridge. Brady’s chopping red bell peppers like it’s his full-time job, shirt already stained with something tomato-based.

Quinn is beside him, slicing cucumbers in thin, too-careful rounds. His focus is a little too precise, like he’s trying to forget something. Or avoid something.

Brady doesn’t notice.

“Hey,” he says casually, not looking up from the peppers, “my brother might swing through at some point.”

The knife in Quinn’s hand pauses mid-air.

It’s only for a second. Half a breath.

But Brady doesn’t catch it. He keeps talking about how his brother’s got a few days off, might bring stuff for the grill, whatever.

Quinn doesn’t hear any of it.

His heart kicks once in his chest like it’s reacting to bad news.
Or worse—hope.

He sets the knife down slowly, turns, and walks to the fridge like nothing happened.

Pulls out a beer. Pops the cap.

It hisses loud in the quiet.

Brady glances over, surprised. “It’s not even midnight”

Quinn shrugs, drinks anyway.

He doesn’t say what he’s thinking:

I haven’t seen Matthew since last summer.

The roof is warm beneath them, still holding the heat from the day. The lake is a sheet of melting gold as the sun dips low, and the cicadas are buzzing like they have something to prove.

Luke lies on his back, arms behind his head.

Fraser is sitting cross-legged beside him, snacking on Goldfish.

Connor has his head in Fraser’s lap, fingers playing absently with the hem of his hoodie.

It’s peaceful.

Easy.

Until Luke ruins it.

“Do you think Nico likes Jack?” he asks suddenly, like the words had been burning his throat and he couldn’t keep them down anymore.

Fraser’s hand stills in the chip bag.

Connor blinks.

There’s a pause. Not long. But long enough.

The two of them glance at each other—something silent passing between them.

Then Connor answers, voice gentle:

“He looks at him like he’s the sun.”

Luke doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t move.

But his jaw clenches. Tight.

Fraser doesn’t say the obvious part.

That Luke’s been looking at Nico like he’s the sun for two years.

And the sun never looked back.

The morning starts slow.

Light filters in through the big lake house windows, casting long gold streaks over the hardwood. Quinn and Brady are already in the kitchen, moving around each other like they’ve done this forever—scrambling eggs, buttering toast, flipping bacon with practiced ease.

Luke’s barely awake, hair a mess, hoodie sleeves pulled down over his hands as he slumps at the island counter.

Then Nico walks in.

He looks like he slept great.

Luke didn’t.

Nico drops into the stool beside him without a word. No good morning. No smile. Just sits there, scrolling through his phone like he’s waiting for someone else to arrive.

Luke nudges his knee lightly against Nico’s under the counter.

“Sleep okay?”

“Mm,” Nico hums, eyes still on his screen. “Yeah.”

Luke tries again. “We’re taking the kayaks out later. You down?”

No answer. Not really. Just a shrug.

And then—Jack walks in.

Hair wet from the shower. Wearing a hoodie that doesn’t belong to him. Laughing at something Cole said behind him.

And suddenly Nico looks up.

Eyes tracking Jack like a magnet. Like instinct. Like he forgot Luke was even there.

His face softens. Just for a second.

Luke watches it happen.

And it’s then—watching Nico look at someone else the way he’s always wanted Nico to look at him—that something inside Luke finally settles.

Not in a peaceful way.

In a cold, quiet kind of way.

I’m not the one he’s here for, he thinks.

I never was. I know this.

Chapter Text

The fire’s dying down.

Out by the lake, someone has a speaker going, something low and easy—Fleetwood Mac, maybe. A couple of the guys are still laughing, voices slurred, sprawled out on the dock with bottles in hand and smoke curling lazily into the sky.

But Nico’s gone.

Luke notices it almost instantly, like a tether in his chest tugging loose.

He scans the yard—Jack’s still out by the fire, laughing at something Cole said, beer halfway to his mouth. Jamie and Trevor are battling over the last s’more. Quinn’s nowhere to be seen, probably disappeared inside when it all got too loud. But Nico—Nico’s missing.

Then Luke catches movement out of the corner of his eye. Through the sliding glass doors, just beyond the kitchen, a figure slips onto the upstairs balcony.

Nico.

Drink in hand, hoodie sleeves shoved up to his elbows, hair messy like he’s been running his fingers through it all night.

Luke doesn’t think.

He just follows.

The inside of the house is quiet, cooler than outside. The floor creaks under his bare feet as he pads upstairs, careful not to draw attention. He doesn’t even know why he’s being quiet—just that something about this moment feels too fragile to break.

When he steps out onto the balcony, the air changes.

Cooler. Quieter. Heavier.

Nico’s there, leaning on the railing, back turned, drink dangling from his fingers. His shoulders are tense, head tilted toward the lake, the glow from the bonfire barely reaching them now. All Luke can hear is the far-off splash of someone cannonballing into the water, a round of half-hearted cheers, and his own heart pounding like it’s trying to warn him. The dock is covered by trees so all they can do is listen.

He steps closer.

“Hey.”

Nico doesn’t jump. Doesn’t even look over. He just takes a slow sip, eyes still fixed on the water.

Luke walks to the railing beside him, close but not too close. Close enough to feel the heat of him. Close enough that it hurts.

They stand in silence.

The kind that crackles.

There’s smoke in the air—Quinn must’ve lit another joint downstairs. Luke will talk to Quinn later—and the scent curls around them, warm and bitter. Nico’s drink glints in the moonlight. Luke watches the condensation slide down the glass, trailing lazy paths over his fingers.

He wants to say something. Anything.

Ask him if he’s okay. Ask him why he looks at Jack’s like he means something more. Ask him if that laugh—the one that only comes out around Jack—is real, or if Luke just doesn’t know how to make him laugh like that.

But the words catch in his throat. Always do.

So he says nothing.

Just stands there, heart thudding, and hopes Nico might hear it.

The silence stretches.

Longer than it should.
Longer than Luke can stand.

It’s not peaceful anymore. It’s buzzing. Static under his skin. The kind of quiet that doesn’t soothe—it shoves. Loud with everything they’re not saying.

He risks a glance sideways.

Nico’s jaw is clenched, the edge of his cheekbone sharp in the moonlight. He takes another slow sip of his drink and lets out a quiet breath. Not a sigh. Something smaller. Like something he didn’t mean to let escape.

Luke swallows hard.

“You always disappear,” he says quietly, not trusting his voice with anything louder.

“You always follow,” Nico murmurs back, without looking.

Luke huffs a laugh. It’s dry. Doesn’t taste like anything.

“Well,” he says, “you never stay long enough to be caught.”

That gets Nico’s attention.

He turns his head, slowly, and Luke meets his eyes for the first time that night.

They’re glassy. A little red. Not drunk—but frayed. Like he’s been unraveling all day and finally let himself come undone out here in the dark where no one could see.

Except Luke.

His lips tilt into a smile—barely there.

But Luke knows that smile. Knows how it lies.

“Do you want me to stay?” Nico asks.

Luke’s chest tightens. His fingers twitch against the railing. “I didn’t ask you to go.”

Nico doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t blink. Just studies him like Luke’s something he’s still trying to figure out—something that never quite comes out right, no matter how many times he rewrites the page.

Then—without warning—he moves.

Not fast. Not rough. Just… deliberate.

He sets his drink down on the ledge. Closes the distance between them.

Luke’s breath catches.

And then—Nico’s lips are on his.

It’s soft at first. Gentle. Like a question Luke’s been waiting to be asked for years.

And he answers—without thinking. Without hesitation. His hand finds Nico’s hoodie, fingers curling in the fabric like he needs something to hold onto, or he’ll fall.

Nico kisses like he’s done this before. Like he knows what Luke tastes like. Like he’s meant to.

Luke kisses him back like it might never happen again.

Because deep down, he already knows—it won’t.

Luke doesn’t remember leaning in for more.

Doesn’t remember breathing.

Only knows that Nico’s hands are on his hips now, fingers curling through the thin fabric of his shirt like he’s trying to hold him there—just for a second. Just for now.

Luke’s lips part under his. The kiss shifts—hungrier, messier. Like they both gave up pretending this wasn’t going to happen the second they stepped out onto the balcony.

But Luke feels it. The hesitation.

The way Nico kisses like he’s somewhere else. Like his mouth is here, but his mind is miles away.

Like his heart’s already in someone else’s hands.

Still, Luke can’t stop.

His fingers slide up, curling around the back of Nico’s neck. He feels him tense—just for a breath—and then relax again. Like it’s muscle memory now. Like this is a secret dance they’ve done behind doors no one ever knocked on.

And still, Luke hopes.

Maybe this time’s different.
Maybe this time, it’s real.

But then—

Nico pulls back.

Barely. Just enough to break the kiss. Their foreheads rest against each other, breaths sharp and uneven between them.

Luke’s hands are still trembling where they cling to his hoodie. His heart’s slamming into his ribs, and something in his chest is already begging: Please say something that doesn’t hurt.

Nico doesn’t look at him.

Just closes his eyes.

And says, quietly—like he’s doing Luke a favor:

“This doesn’t mean anything.”

It hits like a sucker punch.

Luke flinches, just barely—but Nico notices. Luke feels him freeze, like maybe he regrets it. Like maybe he didn’t mean to say it out loud. Like maybe he meant it more because he did.

Luke pulls back half an inch, just enough to see Nico’s face. Just enough to look at him—really look at him.

And what he sees breaks something clean in two.

Because Nico’s eyes aren’t closed in regret.

They’re closed in relief.

The words hang heavy in the air, thicker than the smoke still drifting up from the dying bonfire below.

And then—Nico steps back.

One clean move. No drama. No lingering look. He just… walks away. Like it was nothing. Like Luke is nothing.

The screen door squeaks open behind him, then clicks shut again.

Gone.

And just like that—Luke’s alone.

He doesn’t move for a long time.

The wooden balcony is cool under his palms where he grips the railing, his knuckles white. The night air brushes over his skin like it’s trying to say sorry, but he doesn’t want comfort from the wind. He wanted it from Nico.

The lake stretches out in front of him, moonlight rippling over the water like spilled silver. It’s beautiful out here—stupidly beautiful. Everything glowing soft and blue, like the world’s been dimmed just for them. A chorus of cicadas buzz low in the trees, the rhythmic chirp of crickets slipping between the cracks in the quiet.

Far out on the lake, a loon calls once. Mournful. Long. Like it’s lost something, too.

Luke swallows against the lump in his throat.

The air smells like pine and smoke and summer. That perfect lake house scent—equal parts wood, sunscreen, and childhood nostalgia. But now it feels like it doesn’t belong to him anymore. Like it belongs to them—to the couples sprawled in hammocks, to Nico and his laugh echoing across the firepit, to everyone who came here knowing who they’d wake up next to.

Not him.

He stares out at the water, trying to slow the shaking in his hands.

The lake used to calm him.

He used to sneak out here early in the mornings before anyone else was awake, just to watch the fog lift off the surface. It felt like magic then. Like peace.

But now?

Now it’s too quiet. Too still.
And the stillness makes the ache worse.

He feels it behind his ribs. Sharp.
His chest feels tight in that breathless, sick kind of way—like he just got the wind knocked out of him, even though no one touched him.

His heart won’t shut up.

This doesn’t mean anything.

Luke presses the heel of his hand to his eyes until the stars behind his lids outshine the ones in the sky.

He wants to scream into the trees.
He wants to dive into the lake and let it hold him until he feels weightless again.

But instead, he just stands there.
Still as the dock. Quiet as the night.

And wonders, not for the first time, what it would feel like if someone actually stayed.

The screen door groans softly as Luke pushes it open.

Warm air greets him—heavier than the cool lake breeze outside, thick with leftover smoke from the bonfire and the buttery smell of microwave popcorn. The dim lights in the living room cast a cozy, golden haze across the hardwood floors, making every shadow long and every laugh feel like it’s wrapped in cotton.

Someone’s put on a playlist—soft, old songs crackling low through the speakers. The kind that sound like summer if summer had a heartbeat. In the kitchen, someone’s clinking through cabinets. Jamie and Cole are arguing playfully about the rules of some made-up game. Jack is barefoot and dancing with a beer bottle in his hand, tugging Turcotte into a spin that makes everyone laugh.

Luke slips through the living room quietly.

The string lights twinkle overhead, strung lazily across the ceiling beams, flickering like fireflies caught mid-flight. His socks are damp from the balcony, and they squeak softly as he moves. No one notices.

Well—almost no one.

Connor’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, Fraser curled beside him like a second thought. Their fingers are laced where they rest between them, casual but steady, like second nature. The two of them look up the moment Luke passes.

Connor’s brow furrows immediately.

“Hey,” he says softly. “You good?”

Luke pauses in the doorway, hands in his pockets. His face is carefully blank, like he practiced it. Like if he holds it long enough, maybe the cracks won’t show.

“Yeah,” he lies. “Just needed air.”

Fraser studies him, lips twitching like he wants to say something—but doesn’t. Instead, he shifts, giving Luke space on the armrest.

“You can sit,” Fraser says, nodding to the open spot. “You were out there awhile.”

Luke huffs a laugh, low and bitter.

He sinks down next to them. The couch cushions groan under the weight. For a second, it’s quiet—just the crackle of the speaker and the hum of bugs outside the screen windows. Connor leans forward, elbows on knees.

“Was it… him?” he asks gently.

Luke doesn’t answer.

But he doesn’t need to.

Connor and Fraser have known him too long. Known this thing with Nico even longer.

Luke leans back and tips his head against the couch cushion, staring up at the string lights. They blur a little, gold turning to amber turning to sharp white.

And maybe it’s exhaustion. Maybe it’s heartbreak. Maybe it’s just the lake house, always making everything feel more. But Luke suddenly wants to say the thing he’s never said out loud:

“I wish I hadn’t let it mean something.”

The silence that follows is warm and unhurried.

Then Connor nudges his leg gently and says, “Yeah, but you did. And that’s not your fault.”

Outside, the lake shifts. A loon cries.

Inside, Luke finally lets his shoulders fall.