lucas sinclair, who is a dark-skinned black man in the middle of nowhere indiana
lucas, who most definitely has been othered all of his life
lucas who, even when surrounded by people he trusts, so rarely sees himself reflected in them
lucas, who has always been an outcast in ways the others aren’t, in ways that are more – god knows he’s been called much worse things than freak
lucas, who has seen people avoiding his touch, crossing the street when he’s walking, distrusting him like it’s a default setting
lucas, who knows what it’s like to do everything right and still be looked at like he’s wrong
lucas, who hears will saying he’s not like them and gets it in ways the others can’t
lucas, who knows will is going to experience all of the same things – the othering, the distrust, the mistreatment, the slurs, the being avoided like the mere touch of you could kill, the dangers that come with just being – despite the differences in their circumstances
lucas who, even if he’d ever felt some kind of way about queerness, would grab that feeling and squeeze the life out of it because that right there is will. his will.
his in the way all of lucas’ people are his. his to carry when unconscious, his to tackle out of the way, his to use himself as bait, his to take a slashing to the chest, his to jump over tables and traps and interdimensional monsters. his to protect, his to kill for, his to die for.
lucas sinclair who of course is the first one to say you won’t ever lose me – who also means i’m here, i love you, there’s nothing wrong with you, i’ll protect you, i’ll stand by you, i understand you
MY SON I LOVE YOU SO MUCH LUCAS
