salt in the wound — luke. & wade. [jb]

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

You put salt in the wound
And a kiss on my cheek
You butter me up
And you sit down to eat

By the time he’s in the justice building, there’s already a bruise forming on his knuckles.

It’s such a delicate-looking thing really, a purple tracery across the skin, that it looks to be born out of love or excitement or joy or any other feeling except red-hot, corrosive anger. But hey, delicacy is a guise. It pleases him, in some twisted and cruel way, that Wade and the others know that by now from that punch. This bruise is a testament to Luke Hailsham not being a fragile thing for once in his, so when some medic comes and asks to nurse it, he refuses the aid.

He wears it like a badge of honor.

The door swings close behind the medic, then it opens again to a face that makes his heart twist.

It’s too soon. He’s here too soon, too swift.

For the first few seconds, Luke casts his eyes to the justice building’s lacquered floorboards but they last mere moments there before they’re tearing away like a fish on a hook towards Wade’s face.

And then the scrutiny of the other’s features from him is shameless and brazen, but also feverish and desperate, a mad reverence in the way his eyes drink Wade in. He follows the angles of that face caught somewhere between youth and adulthood, going from the elegant curve of his ear to the hint of stubble on his cheeks to the place where he’s struck him.

Luke stops before he could see those lips, however.

“I hope it hurts,” he blurts the words out before he could even mull over them. “Didn’t know I could throw a punch like that – you must’ve pissed me off badly, huh.” His laugh is mirthless.

Luke hopes Wade’s hurt because he certainly is.

But the anger is gone, replaced with guilt and more hurt.

When his knuckles met Wade’s cheek, they both shared that pain but even if they didn’t, Luke’s miserably certain that he would’ve felt it regardless. Somewhere over the course of their friendship, through the many secrets he’d confided in the other, he’d sewn an important part of himself to Wade and now he’s become so pathetically intertwined with the other that even the simple act of staring at the other brings a terrible, heart-aching pleasure.

He expels a sigh because he doesn’t want to cry and then sits on the justice building’s floor, one knee drawn up. He pats the empty space in front of him beckoningly.

For a second, they're back to being twelve year olds again.

“Let me—“ a gulp, “fuck, let me look at your bruise.” 

You add insult to injury
You say you believe in me
But you haven't decided
About taking or leaving me



lyrics + title: boygenius, salt in the wound

[dars]

Three years is a long span of time for things to change; Wade hadn't ever felt stronger, or weaker. So it was supposed to be, he thought: fix one thing and another breaks. But damn, he wished it had been something other than his heart that had shattered. And the worst of it was that, as in typical Wade fashion, it was slow to heal. There was a time when the faces at Hailsham Institute were the only ones Wade had ever seen, and now most of them felt like bad dreams he couldn't forget. Roan painting blue trees on a summer morning, Raja offering a helping hand in training, Juno giving themself a stick-poke tattoo in the bathroom, Bell filing her nails in the middle of class while Gwen got every question correct. All dead. Rose's voice echoing across the cafeteria, Jane bending so far back she might have snapped, Beck smelling like smoke, Luke's friendly glances suddenly seeming like something more. All gone.

When he saw Luke, there was a moment when he forgot about everything else. He forgot about the fight they had before he left, and the passage of time. He forgot about the guilt, and the longing, and the nights he'd lain awake thinking of how he could fix this. He forgot about the day they stormed the Institution, Calypso Leto spearheading the charge and naming Wade as her informant. He forgot about the dozens of staff members who were executed for their crimes. He forgot about the last time he'd seen Luke's face, the day they were all transported back to the mainland, when they had made eye contact for just a moment before Luke turned and walked in the opposite direction.

He forgot about all of it. Because in that moment, he was seeing his best friend again. And then there was flash of black and white clouding his vision and a sharp pain right next to his left eye, and he staggered backward, his vision only clearing in time for him to watch as Luke made it to the stage and disappeared yet again.


"Not a chance," the peackeeper said. His nametag read Clarke.

"There won't be any problems," Wade promised, though he doubted it was easy to believe, given the knuckle-sized cut Luke had just given him, which was still bleeding below the paper towel Wade was actively pressing against it.

"No," the peacekeeper decided. Wade refused to take no for an answer.

"You can stand right outside the door. Leave it cracked if you have to. Please."

He considered this for a moment. Wade got the sense that he wasn't a mean person, just someone who didn't want to be blamed for a tribute's untimely death, which he supposed was a valid way to feel. But he also knew he had to speak to Luke, just in case-

"Fine. Five minutes. And I will be right outside. The moment I hear a commotion, you're done."


There was something like shame wearing on Luke's eyes as he cast them to the floor; Wade refused to look away. He found himself taking in every detail. Not a dream. A person, as real as ever. Wade wondered if Luke noticed how much healthier he'd gotten now that he was taking medicine. Wade also wondered if Luke's eyes had somehow gotten bluer.

"I hope it hurts," Luke said, but Wade thought maybe his heart wasn't in it, "Didn’t know I could throw a punch like that – you must’ve pissed me off badly, huh?"

He didn't reply, he just continued to stare.

"Fuck, let me look at your bruise."

Wade raised an eyebrow- the one that wasn't bleeding, and dropped the towel with a dry smirk. He knelt down next to his old friend and heaved out a sigh.

"It didn't hurt that bad, for the record," he said, suppressing a laugh, "Looks worse than it feels."

There was a moment of silence that seemed to drag on for an eternity while Luke took a look at his handiwork, and then, "I try- I was trying to-" his throat felt dry and his hands wouldn't stop trembling so he balled them into fists. Luke must have at least known some of Wade's involvement; why else would he have been on the rescue ships when they evacuated the island?

"I came back for you. All of you. I know I was too late for a lot of them but... but I wasn't for you, and even if it means you hate me-" He pressed his lips together and pretended not to notice the tears stinging his eyes.

"I'm glad I did it."

[napoleon, d2m ₊⊹ 🐁 ɢʀɪғғɪɴ.]

You put salt in the wound
And a kiss on my cheek
You butter me up
And you sit down to eat

The looking is a mere excuse that leads to the touching because once Wade’s right in front of him, a thumb reaches out to trace the cut, wiping away some of the blood.

It’s a resolute and terrible sorrow he feels when they touch because it’s the first touch they’ve shared in three years. Time has put such a rift between them that suddenly there are parts to Wade he doesn’t recognize even up-close, such as the healthy glow on his face, the flesh back in his once bony cheeks, the general radiance that surrounds him.

“You’re getting better,” Luke breathes out and the relief in his words cannot be hidden.

“I try- I was trying to-” He has half a mind to try and stop the other there but Wade pressed on quickly.

“I came back for you.”

Those three words feel like a sting from the ink-stained tip of Juno’s needle on his heart, etching the words there.

If someone was looking for a fairytale here, they could just focus on how they finally found each other after years and how Wade was looking for Luke. If someone was looking for a tragedy here, however, they could concentrate on how the peacekeepers didn’t even give him a chance to see his friends – or Wade – as they dragged him out without an explanation and how Luke felt utterly forsaken for three whole years until now, until this very moment, when everything feels so jagged and unalterable.

“It was going to be my turn real soon.” He swallowed hard, suddenly unable to breath once more. Air becomes ice in his throat as he gulps it in through the mouth. He draws away from Wade, chest heaving wildly.

“It was—It was—It was Roan first, then me next. The surgery was planned—it had a date and everything. I had a date.” Everyone who was in Hailsham did. What pretty little preserved things they were, kept behind their bell jars. “It was going to be my turn real soon and you left without telling me – or any of us – anything and I felt – I – I thought I was going to die without ever seeing the one person that gave a single fuck about me.” His voice dropped to a whisper, "I thought I deserved that.”

The pinpricks of tears at the back of his throat now come out and it’s ugly, salt dampening his cheeks red. Every memory Luke had buried so deep in him threatens to rupture then. It’s flashes of faces that race through his head, faces of people he was once friends with but are now mostly dead, alive only in parts and fragments. Someone’s liver, someone’s kidney. He clenches his eyes shut, feels his throat constrict and stomach turn.

Think of something else, think of something else, think of something els—

“I-I never fully saw you.” Blue eyes rise up from the floor they’ve turned to, catching Wade’s. He knows the other’s on the verge of tears now and hates how he knows that. “When they stormed the institute, they didn’t let most of us see anyone. I never knew you were so involved, I just thought you told a new best friend in your new, perfect fucking life,” the bitterness returns to his voice, “and they casually reported it.”

But, Wade was there that day not because he was forced to but because he wanted to. He came back to save him. The emotions that stir in his chest are so intense he tilts his head back and laughs them out in typical Luke Hailsham fashion because if he doesn’t, he’d be crying for a long time.

“I am so stupid, Wade,” he says through tears, “I am so stupid and I am so in love with you.”

You add insult to injury
You say you believe in me
But you haven't decided
About taking or leaving me



lyrics + title: boygenius, salt in the wound