Don't Tell My Brother

Chapter 38 - Talk About It

"How'd you guess." Lucas mumbled, once he'd stopped crying.

"Mom said you were at your coworker's place. And I know you kinda, uh, like him. If he like...broke your heart, or something, I can go and sort him out. Have a few words, y'know."

There would probably be a lot more fists than words involved. Lucas shook his head. "No, no. He didn't...it's not..." He stopped trying to explain it, because it only made him want to cry again. "You don't need to punch him." He detangled himself from Mark's hug, adjusting his glasses. Deep breaths. In and out. "I'm going to go to bed."

"You sure? You don't wanna...talk about it?" Mark asked, as if he'd barely heard of the concept. "Or not talk about it? That's also cool."

"No, it's fine. I'm just going to get some sleep." Lucas thought he'd done enough talking that night. He just wanted to fall asleep, and maybe when he woke up in the morning everything would be alright.

Or maybe it would be worse, because he'd ruined everything. Currently, that seemed more likely.

It was only when he was laying in bed, curled up in a ball, that Lucas realised he was still wearing Damien's T-shirt. He didn't take it off. He should've, but he didn't. It was soft from years of wear and just too big to be baggy and comfortable, and maybe it was dumb but right now Lucas wanted the comfort. It smelt faintly of Damien's home, too: of Mateo's smoke and the air freshener and whatever spices Maria used in her cooking. He fell asleep, the hem of the shirt clutched in his fist.

***

Lucas woke the next morning to find a pair of gold-brown eyes inches away from his own. He scrambled back, letting out a yell. The owner of the eyes leapt back too, and in their haste fell right off the bed, hitting the floor of Lucas' bedroom with a thud. Even without his glasses, Lucas recognised that ginger hair instantly.

"Alex? What the hell?" He asked, his sleep-fuddled brain trying to piece together exactly how Alex had ended up here.

Fumbling around on his nightstand, he managed to locate his glasses and slip them onto his nose. He glanced at the alarm clock beside him. It was eight o'clock. Which meant something was really wrong, because on Sundays Alex rarely got up before noon. Yet here she was, sitting on his floor in a striped yellow and blue sweater, looking up at him reproachfully.

"What happened to hello? Good morning? Hello Alex, my best friend, how nice of you to visit me?" Alex got to her feet and settled back down on the edge of Lucas' bed, glaring at him in fake annoyance.

"What happened to calling me like a normal person? Why...I mean, what are you doing here? Why were you staring at me?"

It was too early for this. The morning sun was bright and clear through the slats of his blinds, filling the room with light. Lucas pushed his glasses up to try and rub the foggy traces of sleep from his eyes, before giving Alex his full attention. Whatever this was about, it was important.

"I wanted to see how long it would take you to wake up. If you could like...sense my presence, or something. Like people in comas can." Alex said casually, as if this were perfectly normal.

Lucas opened his mouth, trying to put everything that was wrong about what she'd just said into one sentence. He found he couldn't. "You must realise the factual inaccuracies in that statement. I don't think people can sense people, even when they're awake, and especially not when they're in a coma. When people think they're sensing something, they're likely just relying on their actual senses, which you need to be conscious to use."

"Yeah, but consider this: I read it online somewhere." Alex countered. "And it's way more fun to believe that you woke up because you used a secret sixth sense, rather than because I was sort of squishing you."