Chapter Text
•••
Nothing felt real.
Estoy soñando.
Luka felt like he was in a nightmare, struggling against strong arms of police officers as Okane's wrists were fastened with cold, silver handcuffs.
No, esto no puede ser.
His eyes met Estebán's, Marcelo's hand on his shoulder. Luka wanted to kill them both.
Andi and MJ caught him as he was shoved back by an officer.
"Todo va a estar bien," Andi said.
Su voz era como terciopelo rojo en medio de una tormenta en la cabeza de Luka.
"No hay evidencia, right? No pueden arrestarlo," MJ says, but it falls on deaf ears of the policemen pushing through the crowd of students watching, confused, as Okane is walked out the front doors of Elite Way School.
Luka, red-faced, storms towards his father.
"¿Qué hiciste?"
"Empaca tus cosas, Luka."
"¡No! No me voy a ninguna parte. ¿Qué diablos hiciste?"
He was gripping the collar of Marcelo's suit jacket, knuckles practically turning white.
He didn't care if he was making a scene. Students in their graduation gear gazing down at their caps somberly, his friends anxiously waiting what will happen next, Estebán with a grimace plastered on his idiotic face, no le importaba una mierda.
"Mañana nos vamos," Marcelo said simply.
His voice was cold, unfazed by Luka's small outburst of pain and hurt. Unchanged by any of the behavior his son displayed just to get his attention. He wasn't going to put up with it any longer.
-
"Luka, no te vayas. Pensaremos en algo, ¿okay? We can't give up."
Luka stuffed the last few shirts into his suitcase. The room he shared with Dixon and his dumbass of a brother already looked barren. There were hints of life that used to occupy the space with chipped paint from previously-hung posters, coffee rings on the wooden table he'd use to do homework on his computer because the rooms didn't come with coasters (which still baffles him), and, of course, the smell of his insanely overpriced cologne and alcohol that stained his former bedsheets from drunken night parties.
"No, Selena. Tengo que saber cuándo dejar de empeorar las cosas. Y ahora mismo, no puedo joderlo más que ya está."
MJ's doe eyes silently begged him. Begged to be given a chance to fix things that can't be fixed.
"No hablas así. It's not your fault. Solamente necesitamos un plan."
"¿Plan? No hay ningúnas planes para salvarme de ir a la escuela militaria."
Luka zips his suitcase, the sound scratching his eardrums violently he winced. His feet felt like they were glued to the wooden floorboards; trying to pry him from them would be useless. Yet, he made his way to the door, wishing there was glue on his feet.
"Les enviaré mensajes cuando llego a mi casa. Espéro que no estoy en 'lockdown'," Luka says with a shaky laugh, failing to convince himself that everything wasn't fucked up right now.
"No nos vamos a renunciar a Okane," Andi says with a determined nod.
Luka nods back.
"We'll miss you," MJ says.
She pulls him into a hug. Despite Luka stiffening at the sudden show of affection, he melts into it. He carries the feeling with him to the doorframe.
Dixon pats his shoulder. He puts out a fist as he says, "Cuídate, ¿okay, bro?"
Luka finishes the fistbump, rolling his eyes. He takes off his coat of melancholic dread, laughing with a bite of resentment.
"¿Qué es esto, una fiesta de lástima? No mames, chicos. ¡Sobreviví a caerme de un edificio! La escuela militaria es nada."
Andi shakes her head, smirking as she crosses her arms. "Tú no mames. Fue muy estúpido lo que hiciste para que eso pasará."
Luka scoffs, smiling. He gives the opened door a final look.
"Hasta luego, Andi. Selena. Pablito."
Dixon rolled his eyes, but Andi and MJ smile.
Luka ran a delicate hand along the doorframe, feeling the ghost of splinters threatening to pierce his skin, as if to nail him to it, preventing him from leaving.
"Si ves a Estebán," Luka began, treading over the line that divided him from his friends and his certain doom, "dile que yo digo que se vaya a la chingada."
-
Luka's eyes ached, begging for his eyelids to finally give up holding themselves open so they could do what they do best. Rest and rejuvenate. But they remained unmoving and exhausted.
This was going to be his last day in México.
Escuela militaria en Tejas. Que cabrón.
Luka necesita un milagro porque esto no puede ser.
He checked the clock on his phone. 2:35am.
He sighed, melting into his bedsheets, hoping that when he woke up, it'd have been a dream.
Just as he felt himself drift away, a sudden tap... tap... tap.. triggered his brain into high alert.
He groaned, pulling his covers off and following the sound to his small balcony. The light breeze that tickled his skin as he pushed the sliding door open made him shiver. He expected the noise to come from a stray tree branch scratching the glass door with the wave of the wind, but he was wrong. He yelped as he stepped on a few stray peddles, his heart racing as he realized they were a pile that had to have been thrown to get all the way up here.
Luka cautiously scanned the ground over the railing, hands gripping so tight he was sure he'd have indentations in his hands when he lets go.
His eyes fell onto a pair of brown ones, looking up at him with familiarity and comfort; he couldn't help the gasp that escaped his lips when he realized the pair of eyes belonged to a face he had kissed not even a day prior.
"¿Okane?" Luka choked out.
He felt his throat tighten with grief. Grief he had yet to process. It hit him all at once. He felt like he couldn't breathe unless it was through Okane's lungs.
The rebellious, dark-haired boy smiled up at him. A sharp grin as if he were a shark swimming towards prey.
"¿No vas a invitarme a dentro?" The shark asks, smoothly. His voice was made of water; it swam through Luka's ears and settled on the nape of his neck. Tempting. Intriguing.
No, he was no shark. He was a siren, luring Luka to unlock the back door and let him in.
Before Luka knew it, the two of them were in his room, safe as they could feel, Okane held his arms out at him, dying for Luka to fall into them like he had always belonged in his warm embrace.
Instead, Luka brought fists down at his chest, fire kindling behind his irises. The opposite of what Okane hoped for.
"Cabrón, ¿sabes lo preocupado que estaba por ti?" Luka whispered, anger etched in every letter of his words, igniting the already burning feeling in his throat.
Okane caught his hands after a few good hits at his chest that nearly knocked the wind out of him. His sharp grin grew more than Luka thought possible.
"Te extrañé también."
Su voz era como la miel que le pone Luka a su te. Quería saber cómo se sentiría contra sus labios. Pero se aguantó. Tiene muchas preguntas.
"¿Qué haces aquí?" was his first one.
"Para verte," he answers, reaching for Luka's arm, stroking relaxing circles on the tense muscles. Almost like a spell hypnotizing him.
"¿Cómo estás aquí?"
Okane sighed, looking up at the beige ceiling. Not a splash of color other than white and beige painted the walls and decor of Luka's room. He wondered where the personality was. It was as if he was meeting him for the first time again. He still remembers Luka's glare when he moved his stuff from the empty chair and plopped down comfortably beside him. It burned into his memory like how Luka's skin burned against his at Estebán's birthday party.
"Hasta que obtengan video de esa noche, no iban a dejarme ir. Pero... uno de mis amigos es policía."
He winked, combing a gentle hand through Luka's hair. It took every ounce of him not to tug at the soft blonde locks, curious of the noises he could elicit from the man in front of him.
"No mames, chingón." Luka smiled, but it wavered as he noticed the sudden seriousness in Okane's chiseled face.
"Ahorita es nuestro oportunidad de huir," he says, not wasting another second to reveal why he had come by in the middle of the night in the first place.
Luka stumbled backwards at the sudden request. Well, more like statement.
"¿Qué? ¿A dondé nos vamos, Okane?"
The dark-haired man reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone with Google Maps already opened on a tab. The destination read Nueva York, 42 horas en coche.
"¿En serio?"
"Quería decir cada palabra que dije, Luka."
The way Okane said his name made Luka's ears tint a shade of red and trickled down to his neck. Gracias a Dios que estaba oscuro en su cuarto.
"Mi coche está aparcado a una cuarda."
Like the siren that Okane was, Luka felt entranced. His words were enticing and made of silk. There was only one true answer and he couldn't lie to himself about it.
"Quería decir cada palabra que dije también."
•••