𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑

nate had always been a keen observer of those around him, not for brownie points or leverage, but out of curiosity. he liked feeling as if he knew someone truly, deeply. perhaps it was because he knew nobody was quite what they seemed, maybe it was because he very much desired a deeper connection with someone. it’d been a while, perhaps too long, since he’d felt the pull. with medalion that pull was strong, almost frighteningly so. her hand on his back is a reminder that every touch is magnetic, tempting, urging him to pull her closer. and yet. dark eyes flicked to her fingers, to the cherry between them, and he bit down on his bottom lip instinctively. “that i do.” he said softly, eyes following suit as they met hers, “it’d be a crime not to when you’re the one speaking.” he smiled, turning to prepare further to dissuade the desire to say more.

do more.

there was always more with medalion  — but in the best way. more potential, more laughs, more adventure. he was finding it increasingly hard not to embrace it wholeheartedly and knew there’d come a time where he could no longer plead ignorance. he mixed carefully, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth thoughtfully as he poured. mixology was easy, a craft he’d mastered for years. love and other things, that was where one couldn’t measure the different variables, couldn’t account for the potential results. at her words, his heart swelled and he looked at her again, pushing her glass closer before lifting his own. “and consider me flattered.” he tipped his glass and head simultaneously, “to good company and better drinks.”

the   gentle   sound   of   one   glass   meeting   another   echoes,   filling   the   walls   of   the   empty   bar   as   medalion   delicately   tips   her   drink   towards   his,   careful   not   to   spill   its   contents   on   the   floor   she   had   so   meticulously   swept   and   mopped   not   twenty   minutes   earlier.   and   while   she   wholeheartedly   enjoyed   quiet   nights   such   as   this,   there   was   nothing   which   irked   her   more   than   repeating   the   same   chore   over   again.   and   there’s   that   ever  -  present   glint   in   her   eyes   to   remind   him   of   that   fact;   if   you   make   a   mess   now,   you’re   cleaning   it.

there’d been no shortage of heels, nor the sounds they elicited, in la  — but he knew his mother’s steps better than the rest. it reminded him of afternoons spent not doing homework and sitting up straight-backed on the couch as she strolled in with a stern reminder that there were no games before he’d finished all of his work. it was a reminder that no matter how much had changed, some things never would and it was a comfort. his mother’s delight at the sight of him only brightened his expression further and he squeezed her with one arm before stepping back.

another thing that would never change  — mariana’s sudden desire to change everything around, to revamp and to reorganize at any and all hours. “four? mama, do you ever sleep?” he teased before his brows raised, gaze shifting to the pantry as she revealed the efforts of her labour. “chic? most definitely. also, i’m glad to see you haven’t stopped stocking my favourites.” he grinned, resting his hip against the counter as he spotted familiar snacks; particularly the bag of mint milano cookies a shelf above her head. he doesn’t doubt it was a chore trying to keep him fed as a kid, eager to demolish anything and everything in his grasp. it had made all the more sense when seemingly overnight he’d shot up, standing tall and lean at six feet at only sixteen. he’d just barely squeaked in another inch before he stopped growing altogether. but, he couldn’t complain. “what else have you changed up since i’ve been gone? don’t tell me the backyard has been dug up again.”

lucas’ grin softened and he patted his mom’s back gently, “don’t have to tell me twice.” he strode to the nearest bar stool and sank, legs stretched out as he cupped his chin in his palm. “it feels good to be back, you seem well. how’ve things been? i hear the label is running smoothly.”

a   hand   comes   up   to   wave   his   question   off   as   she   moves   through   the   kitchen   –––   there   had   never   been   enough   hours   in   a   day   for   all   that   mariana   tried   to   accomplish,   and   needing   to   strike   while   the   iron   was   hot   has   always   just   been   how   she’s   built.   the   last   thing   she   wanted   for   any   of   her   children   was   for   them   to   worry   about   her,   needlessly.   she   was   fine.   couldn’t   be   better,   really.   ‘   what   kind   of   mother   would   i   be   if   i   didn’t   keep   everybody's   favourites   in   the   pantry?   not   the   kind   worth   visiting,   that’s   for   sure,  ’   she   says,   words   matter  -  of  -  fact   despite   the   joking   tone.   and   as   hard   as   she   tries   to   play   it   off,   mari   would   be   lying   if   she   said   the   thought   hadn’t   crossed   her   mind   at   least   once.

he’d been back a week and already hillston seemed determined to see him on his way again — boasting a gossip blog of all things. it seemed a little too la for lucas who was intent on keeping a low profile, especially after those photos seemed intent on cropping up every time he went to check his timeline. he knew his own body, knew that he had nothing to be ashamed of, but all the same. the photos reminded him of how little he remembered of that night, how he didn’t even remember posting them his damn self.

the only time he felt truly safe was amongst his family, so there he found himself. he still had his keys, a stern conversation from his mother asserting that he always had a safe place there. he just hoped the same was still true now, even after he’d become the talk of the internet. he made himself comfortable, as he would have a year ago, and waited. his phone didn’t hold the same appeal it had even a week earlier, but he still had emails to answer and people to let down gently.  

time flew and before long he heard the front door open, his shoulders relaxing as he took in the familiar sight of his mother entering. it had been too long and after everything, it was easier to admit that he’d missed her, missed them all.

“mama.” he straightened up, elbows moving off the kitchen island as he shoved his phone away, “hope i’m not intruding, but i didn’t feel like braving starbucks when i knew you have better coffee hiding away here.” he grinned, leaning in to kiss her cheek before he waved a hand lazily towards the cupboards, “though, i swear you’ve moved it since i was last here.”

the   familiar   sound   of   heels   against   the   floor   announce   her   arrival;   arms   filled   with   bags   as   she   heads   toward   the   kitchen,   following   the   sound   of   his   voice.   bags   are   haphazardly   placed   on   the   countertop   of   the   massive   kitchen   island,   momentarily   forgotten   at   the   sight   of   lucas.   and   she   beams,   can’t   help   but   delight   in   his   affections;   the   gesture   in   itself   was   a   small   glimmer   of   hope   that,   perhaps,   her   oldest   wasn’t   too   grown   to   love   his   mom.   even   though   some   days   it   certainly   felt   like   that.

cheeks   warm   at   the   mention   of   the   kitchen   being   different.   cue   apologetic   smile.   ‘   yeah.   i   might   have   stayed   up   until   four   in   the   morning   and   re  -  did   the   whole   kitchen   a   while   back.   but   how   chic   does   this   look?   ’   she   diverts,   opening   the   pantry   door   to   showcase   both   her   hard  -  work,   and   overpriced   glass   storage   containers.   it   happened   not   long   after   lucas   had   left   –––   the   beginnings   of   empty  -  nest   syndrome   hitting   mariana   harder   than   she’d   ever   anticipated,   even   with   the   rest   of   her   children   still   in   hillston.   she   had   thrown   herself   into   anything   that   would   distract   her   from   the   realization   that   she   was,   in   a   sense,   alone   now;   not   remarried   and   happy   like   her   ex   was,   children   eager   to   move   out   and   away   from   her.   and   sure,   she   had   some   friends   to   lean   on.   but   family   had   always   been   her   everything.   who   was   she   without   them?   it   was   a   question   too   daunting   to   face,   and   so,   she   didn’t.   at   least   she   had   the   cleanest   house   on   the   street.

it felt like it had been a millennium since his first instinct with another person was warmth, twinkly eyes, a touch that begged to be gentle. nate’s last relationship hadn’t ended well and the blame rested primarily in the fact that he hadn’t been able to break down the stubborn walls he’d built up after sam. a large part of him had accepted that he wasn’t right to be in a relationship, not anymore. but if some part of him didn’t want to kiss medalion, cup her cheek and confirm that it was as soft as he suspected. if part of him didn’t wish that he wasn’t a scarred, poorly taped together version of the man he used to be. medalion might’ve preferred the softer, brighter nate who’d existed some time ago, the one who’d not so much as hurt a fly, much less another hillstoner.

“oh, you suppose.” he teased, heart-catching at how easy it was to be that softer nate in her presence. it was like trying on an old, cozy sweater and finding it still fit. he arranged his workstation without thought and little more than a crease between his brows as he concentrated. he pretended not to notice as medalion moved closer, pretended that he didn’t relax at the familiar warmth by his side. his gaze flicked up and he grinned, “offensive that you had to ask. two cherries in your old-fashioned, no olives in your martini.” he tapped his temple with his finger, “it’s all up here.”

his   response   earns   a   warm   grin,   brows   raising   in   a   sort   of   mock  -  surprise;   and   there   was   a   hint   of   truth   within   the   gesture,   though,   medalion   would   ever   admit   to   it.   head   tips   to   the   side   as   she   effortlessly   moves   into   him,   one   hand   on   his   back   as   delicate   fingers   pluck   a   cherry   out   of   the   jar   for   herself;   hard   earned,   she   felt,   after   a   night   like   this.   ‘   i   have   to   hand   it   to   you   –––   ’   cherry   is   grasped   between   thumb   and   middle   digits,   an   extended   index   pointing   to   him   in   reference.   ‘   you   do   listen.   ’   and   she   pops   it   into   her   mouth   without   another   thought.   she   needed   something  .  .  .   anything   to   stop   her   from   speaking   without   thinking,   forgetting   herself   all   too   common   in   nate’s   company.