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bryce larkin

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Simply put, things were a fucking mess. The past two weeks had been spent worrying about Chase, a feeling not lessened by the fact that his recovery was imminent, and Lucy had begun to think she was nearing the end of her rope, though that wasn't anything new for her. Over and over, it seemed, just when she thought things couldn't get any worse, they did; this was only the most recent example, but perhaps the most powerful, too, given that it wasn't just the incident itself but what it called to mind that she couldn't shake now. So long ago now, she had been in almost the exact same position with Max, and this time, she'd had a second chance and blew it, not realizing just how fucked up things were until it was too late. She should have known; she could have stopped it. Instead, she'd almost lost one of her closest friends left on the island. To say that that hurt would have been a massive understatement.

To find out about the disappearances of Kate and Nate, then, only added insult to injury, nothing quite so bad as the overarching problems she already had to deal with. At least they had gone together, though a part of her couldn't help feeling a little envious for it, wishing she'd been able to go back with Ryan. For as long as it had been, she wasn't sure he was someone she would ever fully get over. Their being gone wasn't the worst she'd dealt with, not by a long shot, but it still left her with that familiar restlessness, leaving her wandering aimlessly down a path, itching for an outlet but not having yet found one. She longed for company, too, a reassurance that she wasn't totally alone here, though that was something she was less likely to admit.

She hadn't meant to stumble across the location of the punching bag, but what she had expected even less was to see Bruce there, going at it like it had personally offended him or something. For a moment, she just stood, not wanting to interrupt, but curiosity got the better of her. Besides, just then, there were few people whose company she'd have preferred. "Bruce?"

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For seventeen years, Lucy had considered herself to be a fairly collected, level-headed individual, always her parents' favorite, intelligent and displaying all sorts of promise. The war had turned that on its head. Where once she had maintained composure easily, instead she acted too quickly, without thinking, finding comfort where she could take it. She knew herself well enough to know that how soon she had fallen for Jude had had as much to do with Daniel's absence as his own personality, so outwardly charming; it had turned into something of a cycle, with people not replacing others, but filling gaps in her life, because she couldn't be alone. Here, where losses came about even more easily, the pattern had continued, Lucy seeking comfort wherever she could find it, be it in someone's bed or at the bottom of a bottle or both.

Despite the sensation deep in the pit of her stomach, the one telling her that this was serious, that he mattered, she had no doubt that to let anything happen with Bruce would just be another incidence of the same. It was that very feeling that made her stay where she was. He had acknowledged it, at least, which was something, and meant that she wasn't totally crazy. Whatever habits she had, there was nothing that said that there couldn't have been an overlap, actual desire as well as reckless acting out. The former would only have been cheapened by acting on the latter. She nodded in agreement.

"No," she agreed, "no, it wouldn't." That didn't mean that it wouldn't feel damn good in the meantime, a temporary fix for wounds this place had left them with, but he was right. She hadn't even been looking for anything, but his logic seemed more and more sound the longer she stood there, and she was left almost bewildered for it. She let out a short, mirthless laugh, though, one corner of her mouth lifting in a self-deprecating smile. "Believe me, impulse and grief have made me do a lot of things that aren't smart, so..." Trying her hardest to push down the regret she felt in doing so, Lucy stepped back once more, lips parted with her tongue pressed to her teeth in an attempt to keep from saying what came out anyway. "But I wasn't just imagining that, then?"

"Better than punching concrete walls, I'd argue, but still... Not very smart." Once again, each word and action was chosen carefully, now with the express purpose of comforting Lucy. The wrong words could offend her, the wrong moves would insult her. He wanted neither. But being a man with so little to lose made Bryce all the more careful with what he did have, and his friendship with Lucy was no one to be jeopardized, no matter the pleasure it would bring. It wouldn't last, and so little in his life ever did. He'd be hard-pressed to admit it, but as a man, Bryce Larkin had grown weary over time. He'd become hard and inhuman, little more than a machine sent to carry out orders. But when Lucy looked at him, he could almost feel his armor melting away. He could feel like a man.

"No," he assured her, "you weren't just imagining that. That... was very real." It was, arguably, the most real moment they had yet to share. He didn't want to risk it being that last.

On the first part, Lucy would have disagreed with him wholly, though she didn't have it in her to say as much. Punching a concrete wall could do some damage, sure — worse than she'd been fortunate enough to wind up with — and it would hurt for a while, but it was solely physical, nothing that wouldn't heal. Lucy had decided time and time again that she would be better off keeping people at a distance so it wouldn't hurt as much if they disappeared. While it was a sentiment she always wound up reneging on, the fact remained that she was attached to Bruce already, and to risk becoming more so would only make it hurt more if — when — he disappeared. It was all that acting on whatever feelings she'd suddenly found her with would accomplish, making her need him more.

Still, hearing that she hadn't just been making things up and acting on wishful thinking was enough to bring a small, unusually bashful smile to her face, like she was some dumb kid whose crush had expressed approval. (In all actuality, that may not have been too far from the truth, despite her better judgment.) "At least there's that," she said, an attempt at levity that fell fairly flat; she'd never been good at making jokes when the situation didn't call for it, though it was clear that the sentiment was one she meant fully. Better that he'd stopped and acknowledged what had almost happened than she was just getting carried away purely because her life was, yet again, such a mess. "I, um — you know you're one of my closest friends, right? That, I don't want that to change."

Their relationship understandably strained in the years since Stanford, it was a rare occasion that Bryce and Chuck have a chance to exchange many words, and each of these instances had since become a memory preserved with great care. He remembered in crisp, careful detail when he told Chuck that he had but one friend in the world, a fact he had considered true until perhaps this very moment. He realized now that he felt as close to Lucy as he had to Chuck years ago, at the height of their friendship. Against his own judgment, he trusted her (or at least he really, really wanted to).

The difference being that he had never felt such a strong urge to kiss Chuck.

But he had a habit of ruining relationships, platonic or otherwise, with little to no effort. He'd robbed Chuck of a future and betrayed Sarah's trust, allowing them both to think him the enemy. If logic wasn't enough to convince him this was a bad idea, experience certainly was. Bryce knew what kind of man he was; it was the very reason he'd had so few meaningful relationships in his life. He would always end up hurting the people he cared about, and after a while the fact that it was for their own good offered less and less consolation.

"It won't change," he told Lucy, and despite his even tone, it felt like the greatest lie he'd told her yet.

Nodding once, all but praying that that would hold true, Lucy let her smile widen just a little. The longer she stood there, the more convinced she was that he was right, that nothing could happen between them for both of their sakes. Hell, she hadn't wanted any kind of relationship since Ryan had disappeared almost a year earlier, and despite the desperation in her that was only just beginning to settle, she knew full well that she liked Bruce too much to seek comfort in his bed and be done with it. As she had meant to say a moment before, possibly without much success, his friendship was too important to her for it to be ruined over something ridiculous like romance. Given her own track record, it wasn't likely that it would end well, anyway; Bruce would probably be gone before anything could really happen.

The thought alone was another motivation to stay where she was.

For a moment, she lifted a hand, meaning to reach for him in what was supposed to be a reassuring gesture or something fucking stupid like that, but reconsidered at the last moment, combing her fingers back through her hair instead and letting out a slightly shaky laugh. "Right," she said, earnest, though the still rapid rate of her heart was proof enough that her feelings couldn't so easily be shaken. Turning back to the punching bag, she exhaled heavily. The restlessness that had brought her out here in the first place hadn't yet settled either, heightened only by the recent turn of events, making the locale pretty damn convenient. "You, uh, mind if I take a swing at this thing?"

Pressing his lips together, Bryce gave a short, firm nod and circled the punching bag. He gripped the edges with his own hands, holding it steady, before he turned his gaze back to Lucy.

He realized, then, that this might be prime example of why he a bad influence. Perhaps the right thing to do was shake his head and guide her away; to walk her home and wave goodbye. Instead, he was encouraging her to work all her frustrations out by launching herself at an inanimate object. Right or not, though, he found himself in favor of whatever worked best.

"Take your best shot," he said, the ghost of a grin flashing across his face, hopefully in some way reassuring. If anyone could understand, it was him.

In the time it took Bruce to cross to the other side of the punching bag, Lucy's countenance had changed entirely, gone from the soft, self-conscious girl trying to keep from tumbling head over heels into someone more hard-edged, more determined. On her, it was more natural, the person she had started becoming three and a half years ago back in New York and settled into here. She was angles, not curves; bitter, not sweet, and sure as fuck not romantic. She hadn't been in a long time.

The thing with worries, too, was that they always begot more worries, and having reminded herself of everything, now, she was full of pent-up energy all over again, desperate for an outlet in the absence of one. She'd come close to having one better, but she could work with what she had. This was a little more sensible, at least. Jaw set, she drew in a deep breath, met his gaze, and nodded before turning her attention to the punching bag again. She took one swing, first, as if to test it out, pausing afterward, weight shifting to the balls of her feet, but threw a few more hard hits in quick succession after, trying to remember everything Kate had taught her, the few times they'd gotten around to ever meeting.

Kate was gone, now. Nate. Chase had gone and landed himself in the clinic, by being drunk and stupid and reminding Lucy entirely too much of her brother. He was gone, too, and Ryan, and Gert, and far too many others, and here she was getting swoony over one of her closest friends, when she had never thought she would want anything again.

It was a lot of aggression it left her with.

Only a few moments later did she realize that she was still moving at all, not even knowing how much she had just done, and stopped short, her breathing grown heavy. Of course she would go and get carried away here, in front of him, and though she cringed, she knew full well that she wasn't done yet, either. "I think maybe I should get one of these for myself."

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