Dirt on your heels, you've made a mess
Down by the carpark, high off your head

Jens thinks Lucas has a crush on Moyo.

It almost makes Lucas laugh.

It's logical, he supposes, when he looks at the situation from Jens's point of view, but from his own...

Moyo is nice. And he's cute. And funny. He's a sweetheart, when he texts Lucas and asks what he's up to (and if he has answers to an assignment from the only class they share, physics. Lucas is gradually becoming more sure that both of them are going to fail). He's very interested in Lucas's art, gushing about every drawing and sketch and painting Lucas sends him a picture of, no matter how half-assed or messy it is, no matter how much Lucas hates the piece. Moyo tells him he has to go to art school, and if he doesn't, Moyo will sue him, which Lucas laughs at.

"Have you met Jens's little sister?" Moyo asks one day while they talk on the phone, and Lucas's face, for some fucking reason, heats up, and he's glad they aren't Facetiming.

"Uh, no, but he talks about her a lot." He pauses, looking at his drawing. It's messy, abstract, and he doesn't really know what he's actually doing. "Lotte, right?"

"Yeah," Moyo says. He's playing a video game, and Lucas can hear the clicking of the controller. "She likes to draw."

"Yeah, Jens said. He's sent me a few pictures of her work."

"You make it sound so professional."

"All artists are professional," Lucas says lightly. "All art is real."

Moyo is quiet for a second.

"You have a beautiful brain," he says finally.

"...That's the best compliment I've ever gotten."

But Jens happens to beat it two days later.

If Lucas is honest, it's a bit pathetic that it so easily beats Moyo's compliment as number one, but... It's Jens.

It happens when they're talking on the phone, late at night, as Lucas stares up at the ceiling that he can just manage to see in the pale moonlight streaming through his blinds. Jens can't see Lucas's cheek light up red, like every freckle is burning like the sun.

"I think I just like the idea of humans," Lucas is saying softly, thinking back to every sketch, every drawing, every painting he's ever done. "Like the diversity. Expressions. Little details like the way their eyes shine. I think it's beautiful."

Jens is silent, and Lucas waits.

And waits.

And waits.

"You still there?" he asks quietly, in case Jens has fallen asleep, but Jens finally says,

"God, you're so cute."

Lucas inhales slowly, squeezing his eyes shut, his face set alight.

"Being an artist sounds so cool, but I don't have the patience to learn," Jens continues, oblivious. "I thought about learning when Lotte started drawing, but it never went anywhere."

Lucas's mouth moves silently for a second, his eyes still shut, trying to find words.

"I— I don't really think there's a wrong way to do art."

"No?"

Lucas can hear Jens's smile in his voice, and it makes Lucas grow warmer.

"No," he says. "It's just self expression. There's no good or bad."

"Hm."

"Hm," Lucas repeats, biting his lip. He'd forgotten what it feels like to crush on someone like this, to feel his heart pound away in his chest, to feel his stomach drop at the sound of someone's voice.

"You're so nice," Jens says after a second. His voice is almost rough, low and rumbling his throat, scratching at Lucas's brain. He sounds beautiful.

Lucas scoffs.

"You've only known me a few weeks," he points out. "How do you know I'm not tricking you?"

"Tricking me into thinking you're nice?"

"Mmhmm." His eyes fall shut.

"Mm. Feel like you would have slipped up by now."

"Slipped up how?"

Jens hums in a way that sounds like he's shrugging, and Lucas wishes he could see him.

"Said something dick-ish. I don't know."

"So you believe that I'm nice?" Lucas asks, and Jens hums in affirmation. "Perfect. Just what I wanted."

Jens snorts childishly, and there's a rustling sound.

"You're ridiculous."

Lucas smiles at the ceiling, turning his head so his phone presses closer to his ear.

"You actually think I'm nice?" he asks quietly, the late night getting to him, phasing through his filter. He wouldn't usually ask, wouldn't usually let anyone see this part of him, this... vulnerable, disbelieving part of him. The part of him that just can't seem to think of himself the way others seem to think of him.

"Mmhmm." Jens sighs. "I think you have a soft soul."

Lucas exhales sharply, his lips quirking into a smile.

"What makes you think that?" he asks. "I'm a badass, Jens."

Jens snickers.

"I'll also believe that. But it's the way you talk."

"The way I talk."

"Mmhmm. You have a soft voice. You talk about things like they're beautiful, no matter what you're talking about. You make everything sound perfect."

Lucas blinks at the ceiling.

"Oh."

"Like when you say my name," Jens says, and his voice sounds different. Softer. Realer.

"What do you mean?" Lucas asks quietly.

"You say my name differently than anyone else. People usually say it, and I don't think anything of it, but when you say it, it's... I don't know."

"How do I say it?"

"Dunno," Jens mumbles. "Like..." He's quiet for a second, taking a breath. "Like it's beautiful."

"It is," Lucas says.

"You think?"

"Mmhmm. I—" He stops himself, his face flushing again.

"You what?"

"Nothing."

"What is it?"

"Nothing, it was gonna make me sound crazy."

"I don't mind crazy," Jens says softly, and Lucas's chest aches.

He sighs, ceding.

"I researched your name, like the meaning. It's something I do a lot, it's just... I think it's cool. Names and their meanings."

"What does it mean?" Jens asks brightly.

"It's derived from Yochanan. Hebrew. Means 'Yahweh is great.'"

"Huh." Jens takes a breath. "That's cool."

"Mm."

"What's yours mean?"

"Uh." He closes his eyes again. A car drives past his building loudly, and he pauses until it's gone. "Bringer of light, or something. Latin, I think."

"That's accurate."

Lucas snorts, and opens his eyes just to roll them.

"You're such a flirt," he teases.

"Only with you, darling," Jens says sweetly, and Lucas scoffs, laughing quietly as his whole body is set alight.

"Stupid."

"What other names have you looked up? Who else?"

"Mm. I looked up Moyo's, but I don't remember its origin exactly. It's a surname in some tribe in Africa, I don't remember their name." He pauses. "It starts with an L, I think. Anyway, Moyo means like... life. I think."

"That's cool."

"I did Sander's, it was something about fighting. Or something. I don't remember."

"I wonder what Lotte's is."

"Oh, I should find that sometime. I bet it's something pretty."

"You're pretty," Jens mumbles.

Lucas snorts.

"Are you drunk or something?"

"I wish."

A laugh bursts out of Lucas.

"What are you doing tomorrow?" he asks, rolling onto his side, looking at his window, through the white blinds at the world. A bird flutters past outside.

"School. Then I might just... I don't know, go on a walk with Lotte. Maybe cook something."

"We can finish our essay."

"Mm, good idea." Jens sighs. "Ms Peeters is gonna love us."

"She is."

Jens takes a long deep breath, and Lucas curls in on himself, tucking his hand under his chin, listening intently to Jens's silence.

"Lucas," Jens says finally.

"Jens."

Jens is quiet again, and Lucas grins.

"Are you still alive?" he asks.

"Barely," Jens whispers.

"Jens..." Lucas whispers back.

He falls asleep with Jens's breath in his ear, and Jens's smile in his head.

- - -

Lucas is tired of adrenaline.

He's tired of his hands shaking, of his heart pounding, of his eyes stinging with unshed tears. God, he's tired of his stinging eyes. He's tired of being angry, of slamming doors and throwing things around his room. He's tired of white walls. And white sheets and the one, white blanket his father provided for him. He's tired of the smell of cigarette smoke. (And the smell of weed, though he supposes he can't complain much about that since it's his own. He tries to air his room out when he smokes, but it lingers.)

He's tired of searching boxes every time he needs something.

He's tired, and so fucking bored.

Of his days spent in classes, then on Youtube or Tumblr, his days spent staring out his window, wondering what it might be like if he knew Antwerp, if he were friends with it. If he knew it well enough to wander comfortably, to explore without worry.

He finds a few places, with the help of a map app on his phone, including a park, and the post office.

Which is where he drops a letter off, a letter he hides in his shirt when he leaves so his father doesn't see it, a letter addressed to his mother, lovingly decorated with doodled flowers, the I's dotted with little hearts, a small i love you on the flap of the envelope. There's a pit in his stomach when he goes back to his father's apartment, like his father is going to know what he's done, like he's going to be in trouble, but he doesn't care, doesn't care, doesn't care.

His father doesn't say anything when he comes back, just glances up from where he sits on the sofa, on the peeling fake leather that makes Lucas's skin crawl, the glow of his laptop lighting his face up. And Lucas walks right past him, wordlessly, shutting his bedroom door quietly.

He falls onto his bed, arms outstretched by his sides, staring at the ceiling again. (He wishes he could paint it, or find those cute glow-in-the-dark stars he's always loved. He wishes he could hang plants from the ceiling, or those rotating models of the planets. Anything.) He follows the cracks in the paint with his eyes, pretending they're constellations.

He plays his mother's voice in his head, closing his eyes. The last things she said before he left, her hand on his cheek as he cried.

Have patience, my love. It's not forever.

It already feels like it's been forever.

Lucas sleeps through his morning class one day, waking up to the chirping of birds and the sun coming through his window. The light isn't as bright as it usually is in the morning, and he blinks blearily before he hears his alarm, that fucking infernal musical chiming that drives him crazy, and he throws his hand to his phone, turning it off while he squeezes his eyes shut. He groans when he sits up, twisting his back and reaching for his phone again to check the time.

"Shit," he curses quietly, checking again. His heart pounds in his chest anxiously, and he grabs his laptop from where it's laying on the ground next to his bed, fumbling with it before he drops it in front of himself, opening it and rushing, clicking, scrolling, until the cursor hovers over JOIN MEETING.

He stops, staring at the little hand, at the letters that lose their meaning as he stares. And stares. Until his lips pursed and he slides the cursor away, to the red X in the top right corner.

Then he pushes his laptop away, to the foot of his bed, and he falls back asleep.

- - -

"Hey."

"Hey. What's up?"

"Mm. Skipped today."

"All your classes?"

"Mmhmm."

"Okay, power move. Won't you get in trouble or something?"

"I emailed all my teachers that my internet wasn't working."

"Oh, smart."

"Yeah, I'm a genius."

"Humble."

"Mmhmm."

"Hey, did Peeters send you an email about our essay?"

"Uh, yeah, but I didn't read it. I just saw it in my inbox. Why?"

"She loved it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Don't know how to tell her that you really wrote everything and I was just... moral support."

"Don't tell her. The essay was your idea anyway, we had equal parts."

"Mm, I'm not sure if that's fair."

"I think it's fair. It's fair."

"Yessir."

"How's Lotte?"

"Good. Lotte, say hi."

"Hiiiii!"

"Hi, Lotte!"

"Lucas says hi. ...Yeah, that Lucas."

"Which Lucas am I?"

"The one that draws. You're the only Lucas, actually, but she's not good with names."

"Ah."

"Anyway. The essay was good, Lucas."

"Mm."

"I know you don't think it was."

"...Mm."

"But it was."

"I guess I'll believe you."

"You guess. What else is going on?"

"...Sent my mom a letter."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. My dad doesn't know."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah, I just need to make sure that he doesn't see the letter if Mom writes back."

"Hm."

"Hm."

"She could write them to my address."

"...What?"

"If you're worried about your dad seeing them, she can send them here, and I can keep them and give them to you. Especially because we're gonna be able to actually see each other pretty soon."

"...Oh."

"If that's cool with you."

"Yeah, no, I just– Thank you."

"'Course."

"So."

"So."

"What are we doing when we meet up in person?"

"I think some, like, chip shops might be open. And there are some places we can just walk."

"..."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, I'm just... I'm excited."

"...Me too."

- - -

The front door shuts loudly and Lucas huffs, inhaling deeply and exhaling sharply as his father walks into the living room, a plastic bag in his hand, his button down shirt looking rumpled and disheveled. Lucas raises an eyebrow, and his father makes a face, seemingly without meaning too, the subtle curl of his lip so slight that Lucas almost doesn't notice it. Lucas reaches to shut his laptop just as his father reaches into the plastic bag, pulling out a bag of crisps and tossing them to Lucas, who manages to catch them before they can land on the sofa.

"Got that for you," his dad says, his voice rough, and he tosses his car keys onto the kitchen counter loudly.

"Thanks," Lucas grumbles begrudgingly, getting up from where he's sitting on the floor.

"What are you doing?"

Lucas pauses on his way to his room, clutching the crisps in the same hand that holds his laptop, his other hand on the doorknob of the living room. Anger flashes in his chest at his father's tone, so light and normal. What a fucking liar.

"Was gonna Skype my friends," he says. "I finished my homework and everything."

He just waves his hand dismissively, already looking down at his phone like Lucas isn't there at all. There it is.

Lucas nods, swinging the door open.

He looks down at the crisps as he makes his way to his room (his box). Salt and vinegar. He wonders if his father knows they're his favourite or if he just grabbed them randomly.

He has to wait a few minutes before Kes calls.

"Hey," he says, sitting with his legs crossed, trying to open the bag of crisps quietly.

"HEY."

Lucas laughs, startled, and he leans forward to turn down the volume of his laptop, already glancing up at the door.

"How are you?" he asks politely, the bag finally opening, and he reaches in and stuffs a crisp in his mouth ignoring the crumbs that fall.

"I'm so sick of online school, bro. It's ridiculous, how the fuck am I expected to focus the whole time?"

Lucas shrugs, looking him over in his screen. There's a glare from the sun hiding part of his face, and Lucas shifts the laptop, crunching.

"I actually don't mind online school that much," he says lightly, looking at him. His hair is longer, hanging down near his shoulders, and it looks like he hasn't shaved in a while. "Are you growing a beard?"

"You're insane. And no, I just got lazy, I'll shave later."

"It's nice to not have to be around people all day," Lucas says, shrugging again. "I do kind of miss people, but..."

"Well, damn, I miss you too, I guess," Kes says sarcastically, and Lucas laughs again.

"Where's Jayden? I thought he was joining us."

"He probably forgot his password or something," Kes says, lifting his phone. "So you make any new best friends?"

Lucas sighs heavily.

"You're dramatic."

"Please tell me you have friends," Kes says, dropping his phone and looking at him. "You need friends."

"I have friends," Lucas says, eating another crisp. "I swear."

"Who?"

"Jens," Lucas answers too quickly, willing his face not to burn. "Uh, Moyo. Sander."

"Well, you're just a little social butterfly, aren't you?"

"Uh, I met everyone through Jens. So no, not really."

Before Kes can say anything, Jayden appears next to him, his screen moving like he's carrying his laptop as he walks, and Lucas realises he is when Jayden appears to toss his laptop onto his bed before jumping next to it.

"Boys," he says curtly.

"Jayden."

"What's up?" Jayden asks, grinning, and Lucas feels his heart swell, missing the two of them so much he aches.

"We're talking about Lucas's friends," Kes says.

"You made friends?"

Maybe he doesn't miss them as much as he thought.

Lucas tosses a hand, rolling his eyes.

"Yes."

"What about girls?" Jayden asks. (Of course. It was expected, Lucas supposes as he sighs and looks past the screen.) "You got a girlfriend yet?"

"It's only been a few weeks," Kes says. "Give him time."

Lucas just rolls his eyes.

"Got your eyes on anyone, Luc?" Jayden asks, making a face at him, his his brows raised, his eyes wide.

Lucas inhales deeply, considering.

He could tell them.

About Jens. And about how he's gay and how he always has been, in spite of all the girls he's kissed at parties, the girls he's made out with even in school (just so people would see him: Perfect, Straight Lucas, who had girls wrapped around his finger even though he wanted nothing to do with them.). He could tell them about how Jens makes him feel, about how Jens calls him Lu even though no one else ever has. How Jens talks quietly to him and always asks if he's okay. How Jens makes promises that make the weights on Lucas's shoulders feel lighter.

"No."

"That... was a long hesitation."

"No, it wasn't."

"Oh my god, you totally do," Jayden says excitedly. "Who is it?"

"It's no one," Lucas says, his face burning as Jens's face flashes in his mind.

"You're a shit liar," Kes says dryly, a shit-eating grin already crawling across his face. "Who is she? Is she cute?"

she

Lucas's chest tightens.

And he cedes, deciding to prove how good of a liar he is. How good of a liar he's always been.

"Of course she's cute."

They both coo at him, and he burns.

"And?"

"And it just..." He takes a breath, shrugging. "It wouldn't work."

"Why not?" Jayden asks.

Lucas hesitates again, shrugging, speechless.

"I..." He stops thinking. "Her name's Luca."

There's a pause, and then they both erupt in laughter, so loud and carefree that it manages to make Lucas laugh, too, even with the tight coil in his chest.

"Oh my god."

"Only you would fall for someone with your name," Kes says, still laughing so hard his eyes are closed.

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know," Kes says as Jayden continues to laugh. "It just feels on brand for you."

"...Fuck you."

"What do you like about