Right Where We Are

Here's to the Normal

A/N: Hey everyone! Please, please hit the vote button! If you like this story, share it! Help me get more readers! And please give me feedback- what works well, what could be improved, what you like, etc. Thank you so much for reading <3  Since this one is shorter, I'll go ahead and do a double upload! 

LUCAS-

Somehow, Lucas managed to get Misael to talk all afternoon, both of them surviving on water or soda and snacks, as well as the occasional pain medicine for Misael.

Their conversation went off in tangents with less serious topics throughout the day, but Lucas wondered if Misael had ever opened up about all of these things- even just the fact that his favorite color was royal blue- with anyone else. He seemed so hesitant at first, but then he'd start talking a little quicker, a little more animatedly, then suddenly cut himself off mid-sentence with a shrug.

By the end of the day, they were laying down beside each other in opposite directions.

Despite having Misael's legs by his head, it didn't feel awkward. It wasn't uncomfortable. They were quiet for a moment, Misael staring up at the texture of the ceiling and Lucas drumming his fingers on his own stomach. Then his hand wrapped around Misael's wrist, and he pulled it up, inspecting it lazily.

"Will you tell me what these are from?" he murmured. Misael sat up to see which ones he meant. Lucas's fingers hovered over old and new scars that Misael had accumulated over the years. His fingers pressed lightly on the circles that were darker than his skin. "I know these are burns," he said matter-of-factly.

"From my cigarettes," he whispered back.

That sounded painful, and Lucas couldn't help but wince. He began inspecting his hands. "These are cuts."

"From glass. I got really mad once and punched through my car window. When I cleaned it up, I didn't really care about being careful" Lucas turned his hand over and let his finger hover over the scabs and bruises on his knuckles. "I'm a bit of a hot head," he said.

"And the smaller ones on your back? On your legs?"

"My body is a literal disaster, huh?" he answered. Lucas fixed his eyes on him angrily and let go of his hand. "I told you I've never done anything directly or on purpose to myself. A bad temper doesn't go well with... all the stuff that goes through my head." He frowned and followed the sewn pattern of the bed covers with a finger. "There are good days. It's not like I never truly smile or laugh or feel happy, you know?"

Lucas furrowed his eyebrows and watched Misael carefully, noting the way his eyes flitted around uneasily. Lucas turned on his side and gave a shrug. "I get it. It's not like you're a walking cloud of sadness, Misael. Everything's on a spectrum right? Some days are better than others, some are worse. It makes sense."

Misael's eyebrows furrowed and his lips parted, trembling slightly, though whether from wanting to cry or frustration, Lucas wasn't sure. "If it makes sense, why isn't there a way to fix it?" he whispered. Finally, his eyes flickered up to him. He looked so broken. Afraid. Tired. "I'm tired of being like this. I just want to be normal."

Oddly enough, Lucas felt a knot build in his own throat at Misael's expense. But knowing Misael would probably shut down if he noticed Lucas feeling so hurt for him, he tried to keep his face passive and his voice levelled. "I don't know why we don't have a way to fix it, Sael. I wish that there was a way. But... it's okay to not be normal, you know?"

Misael growled, his hands yanking angrily at the roots of his hair. "I don't care! I don't care if it's okay to be weird or different or whatever the hell you want to call this! I don't care!"