He hit the ground hard. His shirt rode up as he slid across the pavement, causing the sharp gravel to scrape across the skin of his back. He bit his lip to keep back his cry of pain, refusing to give them the satisfaction. He struggled to his feet, his still-growing body staggering, but he clenched his teeth against the hurt and put up his fists in a fighting position. “Is that all you got?”

A loud scoff came from his tormentor, a large, square-faced boy of fifteen. “I’ll give you the whipping of a lifetime if you keep that up, ya little punk.”

Lucas spat out the blood from his swollen lip, and smirked. “I’d like to see you try.”

Squareface’s companion, a lanky fourteen year old with slick, greasy hair, sputtered at his nerve, glaring at him. “How dare ya! Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?!”

The blonde boy blinked. “A group of pathetic idiots?” he asked with mock innocence.

The other, a pimple-faced husky boy at Squareface’s shoulder scowled and turned his head to the ringleader. “I say we take care of him, Stanley. I’ve had enough of his crap.”

“Yeah!” Slick agreed, “Let’s teach him a lesson.”

Stanley grinned evilly, cracking his knuckles as he advanced on Lucas, Slick and Pimpleface following behind him. “Come on then, ya little bastard. I’ll show you what it means to mess with me and my boys!”

Luke automatically into a fighting position, one foot forward, arms rose in the defensive, and then launched himself at his opponents. “I’ll show you who the bastard is!”

----

A young girl hurried along the quiet streets of Tree Hill, tangled curls flying around her shoulders behind her. Her schoolbag clutched tightly in her hands, she looked worried, anxious about something only she knew as she rushed on, and moving as fast as her short legs could carry her.

She almost cried out relief when she spotted what she was looking for. He wasn’t easy to miss, with his messy hair and that old leather jacket he loved so much. What worried her was the way she found him, crouching against a concrete wall; blonde head slumped against his knees. She knelt in front of him, warm hazel eyes watching him with concern. “Lucas?” she asked tentatively.

He raised his head to look at her, and she could see the dark bruise forming on one cheek, and his split, swelling lip. What she wasn’t prepared was the cold way he glared at her. “What do you want?”

“What happened to you?”

He refused to answer, stubborn as ever.

“You were fighting.” More a statement than a question and there was little he could do to refute it.

Lucas shifted, uneasy, and looked angrily away. “No duh.”

“You’re hurt.”

“What’s with you and stating the obvious? Maybe I am. What’s it matter to you?”

Warm fingers curled around his chin, turning his head sharply, forcing him to look at her. He complied, still refusing to meet her eyes. He didn’t have to in order to see how angry she was with him. “I hate to see you get in trouble, or get hurt. I worry about you, Luke. You don’t have to be a jerk about it.”

There was a rustle as she stood up. “You know what? Forget it. I don’t even know why I bother.”

Peyton Sawyer turned away, her back to him so he couldn’t see the way her face fell, and the tears creeping into her eyes. She had gotten what she came for. She had made sure he was okay.

Somehow it didn’t bring much comfort.

It took him a long time to move from where he was. In all actuality, it probably only lasted a few minutes, but to him it seemed like an eternity. He let his head slump back to rest against his knees, taking comfort in the darkness as he let his eyes close. He couldn’t help but think of how cold it had become with Peyton gone.

He knew he had been a jerk. Peyton had been more than right about that. He had been angry, and he had taken that anger out on her. Of anyone, she was the least he ever wanted to hurt. He hadn’t even been able to look her in the eye. When he fought, it hurt her to see him like he was. He didn’t want to see that look on her face again. It didn’t matter how much his injuries hurt him. His real pain was having her disappointed in him, to see her hurting.

To see the disappointment in her eyes.

To see the pain in her eyes.

It was more than he could bear.

----

She ran from him. She had never run from him before.

Lucas had a temper, it was true, but so did any other fourteen-year-old boy she had ever come across. He got moody and childish at times, but it was rare for him to take it out on her. Her best friend was always so gentle with her; it must have taken a lot to get him so angry for him to even snap at her.

She wished there was something she could do to banish the pain he made her feel, everything that caused the tears to flow so freely down her face. She wanted to be rid of the strange feeling just the thought of him was invoking inside her, and all the confusion that came with it.

She didn’t bother to watch where she was going, every step she took, and every direction she fled in was a blur through her tear-filled eyes. The hurt flowed through her, blinded her as much as the tears. She didn’t understand why it hurt so much. She just didn’t understand…

Her feet hit something hard and she stumbled. Unable to keep her balance, she went hurtling forward. Right down a set of stairs.

She landed right into a strong pair of arms.

Strong arms closed around her, pulling her against a body. The force of the impact finally caught up with them, and her savior stumbled backwards, but kept his balance, holding her close and safe in the circle of his arms. Oh, yes, it was a him. She could feel that clearly pressed so closely against him.

He stopped a few steps behind where he had caught her, his grip around her easing ever so slightly. Firm muscle ripped beneath her fingers, a feeling of safety and warmth unexpected as it spread through her.

She knew that scent as well, leather and soap. Unable to pull back with his firm grip and finding she really didn’t want to, she leaned her head against his chest, feeling his warmth through the fabric of his shirt against her cheek, and the fluttering rhythm of his heart, racing as much as her own. It seemed to pound hard as a drum, his skin stretched over taut and tight.

He stirred ever so slightly, and though she couldn’t see him dip his head toward her, she felt the light brush of warm breath against her cheek just before he whispered in her ear. “Peyton.”

Her eyes went wide at the familiar voice, and she jerked back almost violently. Her wide, almost frightened eyes met his, hazel to blue. Strangely, she had been hoping he wouldn’t speak, almost dreading it, lest he break the peaceful moment they had been having. But then he smiled: a real smile, a sweet, gentle smile. And it was the Lucas she had always known: sweet, gentle, caring Lucas.

Her Luke.

Peyton did everything she could to convince herself that her pounding heart was due to the near miss she had had with the stairs, and nothing more.

“Peyton,” he said again, his voice oddly husky this time, his smile fading.

“Lucas?”

“I’m sorry, Peyt. I never should have been that way with you. I didn’t mean it. You didn’t deserve for me to take out my anger on you.”

Confused, she took a step closer, bringing her close to him again, reading the regret and pain in his eyes. His apology was heartfelt, but at the moment, the memory of her anger and his treatment of her were gone, replaced only by a concern to find what had angered and upset him so badly.

“What had you so upset?” Her mind flashed back to the way she had first found him, slumped over like that, huddled into himself, looking as miserable as she had ever seen him. “What happened, Lucas? What made you so angry?”

He jerked up, every part of him tense again, his eyes refusing to look at her, else he see her disappointment in him mar that pretty face again. “The guys I fought with…they said something….I couldn’t control how I felt after that.”

One step closer. He could actually feel her warmth. A small, slender hand entwined with his. He glanced down at their joined hands, gripping her fingers, hers small and fragile against large and clumsy, soft and gentle against his roughness. “What did they say?”

“Bastard…They called me a bastard…”

She froze. She knew that deep down; one of the things that hurt Luke the most was his family. While he was fiercely protective and caring of his mother, grateful for his attentive uncle, the insults and teasing directed from his illegitimacy and Dan’s abandonment still stung. No matter how he tried to pretend they didn’t. Sometimes it exasperated her how he tried to be so stoic and strong in the face of any kind of emotional pain or complication.

Her heart swelled with sympathy, hurt for him, childhood affection, and a dozen other things she couldn’t even begin to identify. “Luke, I can’t know how much it hurts, but I know it does. You’ve made yourself better than that. If they want to be idiots, then let them, but don’t think less of yourself for it.”

“But…it’s true. What he said was true.” His eyes were dark and sad, almost pleading with her to make it better. She was reminded of the child he hadn’t been in a while. Thoughts of the man he was becoming- too quickly, in her opinion- filled her head. And with them, familiar fears of him leaving her behind. She shook her head, dismissing the darkening trails of thought. Now wasn’t the time. She had other insecurities to take care of, and they weren’t her own.

“It’s only true if you want it to be. You know who you are, Luke, not anyone else. Only you can make that decision.”

He smiled again. It was a smile that immediately warmed her from head to toe.

“When did you get to be so wise?” he teased gently.

“Girls always mature faster than boys. Didn’t you know that?”

He grinned. "Is that so?”

This time, something was different in his tone of voice, in the way her hands were held in his, in the very way he was looking at her. Unable to help it, she felt her face grow warm, and yet unable to look away from him. She silently pleaded with herself to be able to look away, to hide her embarrassment from him. But nothing changed.

At least nothing that could be seen by a normal person. She looked into his eyes at that moment, and knew the reason she had gone after him that day. Why she had worried about him so badly. Why his words had hurt her so badly. Why she stayed his friend, stayed by his side, scolded him for his fights, worried about him, took care of him.

She saw the boy behind the macho act, behind the independence, behind the hero: just Lucas Scott himself. He was vulnerable and he was strong, he was sweet and he was uncouth, he was scared and he was determined. He was all these things and more, so utterly gentle as he reached out to her, resting his hand against her cheek. She knew why she cared for him so deeply.

She was in love with him.

Or at least she was pretty sure. She was only twelve, but she recognized the feeling as something important…something special.

The realization took her by shellshock, and for several moments, she could only stare ahead, uncomprehending, and confused. At the same time the warm feeling that shot through her was a welcome relief, a comfort and a joy.

He watched her with questioning eyes as she came to terms with herself, suddenly remembering something. She reached into her schoolbag and pulled out a small package, placing it in his hands.

“Here. I forgot to give this to you earlier.”

He studied it, opening to take a whiff of the sweet smell that welcomed him.

“Cookies.”

She nodded. “Yep. Homemade, too. Mom made them. She knows they’re your favorite.”

“Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

“Of course.”

“It’s still early.” He glanced towards the park, noticing one bench nestled under the shade of one of the trees. “You wanna share?”

“Sure.” With a grin, he grabbed her hand and pulled her after him towards his selected bench.

Peyton only smiled and gripped his hand as she followed after him.

----

Digging through her bag for one of her favorite CD’s, Peyton should have known better at eighteen, walking down the streets of Tree Hill with the occasionally crooked and cracked sidewalks any small town was certain to have.

Finally, she came across the disc she was looking for, grinning with triumph. She had just barely finished tucking it away somewhere safe when her foot hit something hard, and she lost her balance, heading for an impact with the ground.

Instead of the harsh impact of the concrete, she was greeted with a graceful landing against a hard chest, strong, muscled arms wrapping around her back to hold her steady. His hold pressed her to him, and she felt the warmth and muscular build against her. A pair of cool lips brushed across her forehead, and she smiled, raising her head to look upon the face of her savior.

With a boyish grin, he dipped his head down to kiss her.

Peyton parted from him only at the need to breathe, reveling in the lingering warmth of his kiss and the feel of him so close to her. Lucas looked down into his girl’s green eyes, his heart filling with feeling. He loved being able to call her that. His girl.

With those thoughts in his head, he smiled softly as he leaned down to kiss her again. This time when they pulled back, his eyes were bright with amusement, entwining her fingers with hers. “You know, you should be more careful. And watch where you’re going. I might not always be there to catch with you being so clumsy all the time.”

“You take that back, Lucas Scott!”

He chuckled, leaning down to whisper to her. “Alright. I’ll always be there to catch you.”

She smiled at the sweet words despite herself, resting a hand against his chest. “That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

She could feel his heartbeat, steady and strong, just like Lucas had always been, and always would be. “I know,” he said wryly, “But what are you going to do about it?”

Peyton rolled her eyes, but gave no protest as he kissed her again.