Lukas shouldn't be here. He shouldn't be giving that asshole a second chance. Philip told Helen about the gun, he'd lied, he'd broken his promise. The very thought of his betrayal was making Lukas clench his fists. So why then, was he on his bike driving to meet Philip at the tunnel?
No one had ever confused Lukas more than Philip Shea. No one had ever made him feel as confused about himself as Philip Shea. When he was with Philip, it was like a whole other person was choked out of him. How that happened, Lukas wasn't sure. How his stomach twisted when Philip smiled at him, or how he felt he needed to look away when Philip brushed a chestnut curl away from his eyes to refrain from sweeping it to the side himself, he wasn't sure. He hated Philip for that. And for the way Philip could perfectly weed out the Philip-Lukas. How Philip didn't see through Fake-Lukas for a second.
Lukas hated Fake-Lukas, and yet sometimes it was nice to pretend. To forget. To parade around as if he were the person everyone wanted him to be- the person he was supposed to be. Not the person who had kissed a city kid in a cabin . . . and liked it. More than liked it in fact. Lukas had not been able to stop thinking about Philip's hands in his air, his hands everywhere, since that night.
The small concrete tunnel was coming into view, as was Philip. He was sitting against the wall, absentmindedly running a stick along its sides in evident boredom. His head snapped up at the sound of Lukas's bike, and Lukas watched his lips turn up at the sight of him for a split second, before remembering why they were there, and that Lukas was pissed. Lukas pretended not to feel a swell of warmth at the idea that he had made Philip smile without having said or done anything. For just being . . . there.
God, he wished he didn't care.
In one swift motion, Lukas cut the engine, propped his bike against the wall, shook out his helmet hair, and approached Philip, stopping a mere three feet away from the other boy.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. Philip's chest was rising and falling so fast, it was making Lukas's breathing quicken. So aware. He had become so aware of everything Philip did. From the way he played with his fingers in a display of fidgety (yet so freaking cute) awkwardness. To the way he looked at Lukas in a way that was supposed to look nonchalant, but Lukas could tell he was desperately reading his face.
It was hard to look brooding and angry, when all Lukas wanted to do was reach out and touch Philip. They hadn't touched in so long, at least, not in any of the ways that mattered.
"Lukas," Philip began, and the sound of Philip's apologetic voice allowed Lukas to snap out of pathetic reverie, harden his features, and spike his tone with bitterness.
"You lied," he said in a low, hateful voice. It was amazing how easily he'd tapped into that hate. "You . . . you promised you wouldn't tell!"
Philip flinched, as if preparing himself to be hit by Lukas. Hit! Lukas hated that Philip even had to worry about that possibility. Yes, he'd shoved Philip more than once, and Philip-Lukas had been internally screaming at Lukas while he'd done it. But to hurt Philip in such a violent way as hitting him? That was something Lukas didn't think he could ever do again. Not after that day in the hallway when something irretrievable had broken in Philip's expression. Lukas never wanted to see that look on Philip's face again, and he never wanted it to be because of him.
"I'm sorry," Philip said when he realized Lukas wasn't going to sock him. "I just . . . your text . . . I thought you were going to . . "
He didn't have to finish his sentence for Lukas to know what he was referring to. He could still feel the weight of the gun in his hands, the warm pulse that thrummed throughout his palm, the way it seemed to whisper to him; "Do it. Do it now." And for a moment, he'd considered it. He'd considered ending it in the only way he knew possible. Ending the nightmares. The fear. The confusion. Every damn thing that had thrust itself onto Lukas the night he'd watched those men get there heads blown apart by a bullet.
"Well I wasn't," Lukas lied, adding the perfect edge of sharpness to his voice so that Philip looked away.
Silence fell over them again, Philip still looking to the side and biting his lip the way he always did when he was nervous. Lukas didn't want him to be worried. Hell, Lukas didn't even want to be angry with him! He had every reason to be, even if that dumbass had thought he was saving Lukas's life in some weird way. Still . . . Lukas supposed he had been the one to throw an unfair burden onto Philip. Them. Their secret. A secret burden. Not just the gun, and the murders, but their whole relationship. Lukas had never given much thought to the fact that it might be eating Philip up inside.
No, Lukas didn't want to be angry. He couldn't.
"I . . .," Lukas began, only to realize he hadn't the faintest idea where to begin.
Philip timidly met his eyes, looking up from between a curl of hair. "I know," was all he said, and in seconds, they were in each other's arms.
Holding onto Philip, was like holding onto everything all at once, and feeling as though if he only stayed close to Philip, he'd be held together forever. No more broken bits of him falling all over the floor over these murders. Just the two of them. Holding hands and in turn holding the shattered fragments of one another in place.
"I've missed you, God, I've missed you so much," Philip said, whispering into Lukas's hair.
Philip began to trace slow circles around Lukas's back, making him shiver. Lukas pulled him all the more tighter against him, hoping that if he held on tight enough, he could press himself into the other boy. "Me too," he whispered near Philip's hair, stirring the curls that rested there. "Me too."
Sighing, Lukas stepped back so that they were eye to eye; chocolate brown to a grey-blue. He swallowed, afraid to say the words hovering between his lips. "I should apologize." Philip cocked his head at that. "I know I haven't been fair . . . you know, about us."
Philip stepped in again so that there arms, their knees, all of them were touching. "No," he said firmly, running a finger across Lukas's lips. "I promised not to tell, remember?"
Lukas shook his head. Why was it that Philip so willingly went along with everything Lukas said, when the pair of them both knew it was all crap. "I made you promise. And it wasn't a fair secret either."
Philip didn't say anything, just crushed him against him once more. Lukas began to play with a strand of Philip's hair as they gently swayed back and forth. "Philip . . . i want to be out so bad." Philip turned to look at him, something shining in his eyes. "I want to be able to walk down the halls with your hand in my head- to let everyone see me the way you do. I'm just . . . I don't know how. And I'm scared, Philip, I'm so scared."
Slowly, as if giving him time to pull away, Philip pressed their lips together, long, sweet, and lingering. Lukas swore he was shattering into a million pieces right then and there. He reached up to fist his hand in Philip's hair, and parted Philip's lips with his. They pressed their foreheads together, both of their heaving breaths passing between them as their noses gently rubbed together.
"Philip?" Lukas said, eyes still closed.
"Yeah?" Philip replied, running his hands up and down Lukas's arms in slow movements.
"I think you're going to destroy me."
All right, so this is the first section, and it was probably a complete fail. I'm not really sure where I'm going with this, but I've just been missing Eyewitness a little extra lately, so I decided to write this. Let me know if it's worth continuing ?