Chapter Text
Luke wakes up to the beeping sound of a large truck backing up and groans. He can never understand why waste management needs to empty the dumpster across the street at four in the fucking morning but they do. Weekly. For the rest of his life, probably. He sits up on the edge of the bed, knowing from long experience that he won’t get back to sleep again.
He puts his head in his hands expecting a throbbing headache and getting nothing. Normally, he’d be hungover on a Saturday morning but he left the bar early last night. Eddie’s whispering to himself had gotten more frantic as the night went on and Luke didn’t want to be caught in the middle of a lover’s quarrel so he made his excuses and wandered home.
Although I wouldn’t mind being caught in the middle of the lovers.
He chuckles to himself at the thought as he stretches his arms overhead and groans again. Luke is fairly certain that Venom would literally bite his head off sooner than they would let Luke join them in the bedroom but a man can dream, right? Freaky alien sex must be pretty good if Eddie’s constant, neon blushes are any indication.
It’s been too long since Luke has dicked someone down (or vice versa) which is part of the reason why he dragged all three of them to the bar last night. He told himself that he would bring someone home, use his himbo charms and his big body and his winning smile to get some action. But, once he got there, he hadn’t wanted to do anything more than challenge Venom to a game of pool and watch Eddie make heart eyes at thin air.
Those two are embarrassingly smitten and Luke always feels a touch of pride when he sees it. He has no doubt that Venom would have eventually just pinned Eddie to the bed despite all of his hemming and hawing but Luke was a part of helping it happen sooner.
It’s helping people have small moments like that, where their whole life opens up for them, bright and welcoming, that makes Luke feel like he’s paying back some of the fucked up shit he was a part of when he worked with Carlton.
Carlton Fucking Drake.
Now that the name has surfaced in his head, Luke is going to be thinking about it all day. At least if he was hungover he’d have something to distract himself with. He considers texting Eddie and Venom for a minute, seeing if they wanted to grab breakfast with him, but it is still ridiculously early. And something about the way Eddie kept glancing at Luke last night put him on edge.
Like Eddie knew something that Luke didn’t know.
That would be a first.
Eddie is a great journalist and a decent human being but he also has more than his fair share of obliviousness. Venom had joked last night that it was a miracle Eddie survived until they found him and Luke had to agree.
So going back to sleep is out…
Distracting himself with friends is out…
Fuck, I need coffee before I start trying to plan my life.
Luke rubs a hand down his face before getting up to shuffle around his room for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. Once he’s more or less dressed he ambles down the little hallway of his apartment and into the galley kitchen where his coffeemaker is still three hours from brewing automatically. He taps the button and moves to the fridge, looking for something to eat. He’s not much of a cook but he can usually find a protein bar or a box of leftover takeout.
Cold moo shu pork it is.
He scoops the styrofoam container out of the fridge, kicking the door closed with his foot before he reaches up to start digging in the cabinets for a coffee mug. There’s probably one somewhere but Luke doesn’t subscribe to ideas like organizing his dishes or putting things back where he got them.
Luke finally spots a mug shoved way back on the top shelf. He’s tall but it’s a stretch even for him. Holding his food in one hand and using the tips of his fingers on the other hand to nudge the mug closer to the edge of the shelf, he overcompensates and shoves a little too hard. The mug gives in to gravity and falls toward the floor.
The next bit happens in slow motion, the way terrible, life-changing events sometimes do. Luke watches as the mug spins toward the floor, wondering vaguely if there’s another one when this one inevitably shatters into pieces on the tile. The mug is falling past his knees and Luke is bracing himself for the sound of breaking porcelain when something dark and oily bleeds out of Luke’s shin in a long tendril and wraps around the mug before it lands.
The tendril lifts the mug up, stretching until the handle is pushing gently against Luke’s fingertips and he takes it because he doesn’t know what else to do. Once the mug is safely in Luke’s grip, the thin tendril disappears accompanied by a strange little twitch of muscle in Luke’s calf.
No. Nononononono. No.
Luke shoves the food and the mug onto the counter in front of him and spins around, his eyes bouncing across his apartment, searching for his phone.
Nononononono.
He finds it sitting on its wireless charger next to the door and the next thing he remembers, it’s in his hand and connecting.
Nononononono.
A hoarse, sleepy voice answers after four rings.
“Luke? What’s up?”
Why is he calling, Eddie? It is early. Tell him you are still sleeping.
“Wake. Up.” Luke doesn’t recognize his own voice; it’s been a long time since he’s sounded so furious. “Get your ass out of bed and meet me at the beach. Bring your fucking symbiote.”