Chaotic. Radiant. Loud.
His laughter fills the room like sunlight through a window I didn’t realize was open.
There’s a video where he tries to do a mascara tutorial but can’t stop laughing at himself. His hands keep shaking from giggles, eyeliner smudged across his eyelid like war paint, eyes sparkling with mischief. Another where he’s trying to do Tyler’s makeup, but Tyler won’t stop laughing—his face a messof crooked contour and mismatched colors while Lucas shouts, “It’s not even that bad!”.
There’s a video of him baking in what looks like a cramped trailer kitchen. He sets the camera down confidently, starts narrating like a pro, and then promptly burns something.
Then there’s the spicy ramen challenge: he and Tyler, red-faced and sweating, both pretending they’re totally fine while their eyes scream for help. They argue over who will reach for milk first, trying to act tough, then both crack at the same time.
Another clip is titled “Day in My Life Vlog (gone wrong lmao).” It’s a beautiful disaster—jump cuts of him dropping things, tripping, forgetting he was recording, narrating his breakfast like he’s in a cooking show, then falling off a roller skater as he and Tyler double over in laughter.
In one, he stands in front of a mirror for a “Rate My Outfit” video. Half the time, he roasts himself:
“Why does this shirt make me look like Squidward?”
But then, with a smirk, he spins and says, “Ten out of ten. Would kiss me.”
There are shaky videos of him sneaking the camera into school—angled from under desks or inside lockers. Whispered giggles between classes. Goofy faces. Friends singing loudly and terribly. Chaos in the hallways. Inside jokes I don’t understand. More clips of him being chaotic as usual.
Then the second-to-last video is him alone in his small bedroom.
No laughter this time. Just soft light, quiet eyes, and a teddy bear tucked into his arms like it’s the only thing holding him together.
“I think Nate hates me now,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Because I wouldn’t kiss him.”
He shifts, eyes dropping, hands curling into the bear’s fur.
“I want my first kiss… and sex… to be special. With someone I really like. Someone I trust.”
He looks at the camera, like he’s speaking to someone only he believes will ever see this.
“So… to whoever I end up giving my first kiss and my first time to—just know you’re one lucky motherfucker. Because that means I love you. And I trust you. And I’ll be yours forever.”
My chest blooms.
Because I am that person.
His first kiss. His first time. His trust.
And suddenly I don’t feel worthy.
And I ache with the unbearable joy of being loved by someone like him. Someone who, once upon a time, could light up a room just by existing.
I rub a hand down my face and drag it through my hair, my breath caught between grief and awe. If someone had shown me these clips without context, I would’ve thought Lucas was just some loud, chaotic, beautiful boy. The kind who drove people mad with his energy and then pulled them right back in with a smile.
And now…
I drag the cursor to the final video. The one with no name. The one with the date.
My hand trembles slightly over the touchpad. I’ve never been nervous in my life, not even when I stood over men who deserved to die. But right now? My stomach is coiled, my chest too tight. Something in me already knows I’m about to watch the moment that broke the boy I love.
I take a breath—a deep, slow one.
And I press play.
FORTY-THREE
LUCAS
