Archive of Our Own

Luke learns the danger of a crying woman early.

Very early, actually. He’s five years old, muddy and grass-stained, with a missing front tooth and band-aids on both knees. He stops short while coming in from the backyard, remembering the last time he left muddy sneaker-prints all over the kitchen; Mommy always yells at him to take his shoes off in the house, and Luke's trying to get better at remembering. It’s while he’s toeing off his dinosaur sneakers that he hears it.

Someone’s crying in the living room.

No. Not someone. Mommy’s crying.

His shoes are forgotten. Immediately, Luke charges forward into the house; he streaks past the dog, almost trips over the vacuum, and flies into the living room. The TV is on, blaring loud, and Mommy is sniffling into a couch pillow.

It’s the first time he’s ever seen her cry before. Until today, he never realized mommies could cry. The revelation comes as an unpleasant shock, like when he ran into the ocean during winter. For a moment, Luke is completely frozen. Every instinct urges him to help, but a part of him is suddenly... scared. In the time it takes his brain to remember how to work, Mommy’s caught sight of him, and is hastily swiping tears from her eyes.

“Luke, baby… are you done playing outside?” She smiles at him, but it’s all watery. Not Mommy’s happy smile at all. The scared feeling swells in Luke’s chest, like a balloon ready to pop.

“Why are you crying?” he asks.

“Oh no, baby.” Mommy swipes at her face again, and laughs all shaky-like. “I’m not crying.”

“Yes you are.” Because there’s water in her eyes and tears on her cheeks; they shine in the light reflected from the TV screen. Luke’s gaze catches on the TV, and his mouth drops open — because there’s another lady crying, right on the screen, all loud and weepy. Her cries are audible over the music… and it’s the swell of music that really catches Luke’s attention. He can’t name the instruments, but he knows the feeling. It hurts to listen to, the sad song rising and trembling... like what a heart must sound like breaking. It’s so loud, and it’s so much , and it makes Luke feel sadder than he’s ever felt.

In the movie, the lady is doubled over, and a man is holding her. He’s like a brick wall, arms tucked around her shoulders as the lady trembles. She lets out a loud wail, like a hurt animal, and slams her fists against his chest. Luke flinches.

“Mommy?” he says, in a very small voice. Suddenly, he’s afraid his mommy is hurt — hurt bad, like the lady on TV — and Daddy isn’t around to hold her, which means Luke will have to, but he doesn’t want to —

The TV goes dark, all of a sudden, and the room is quiet once more. No more music, no more sad, sad feelings. Luke turns back, just in time to see his mommy throw the remote aside. She rises from the couch, reaching out to him. When her hand settles on his shoulder, it’s very firm; she doesn’t need anybody holding her up.

“How does a snack sound, Luke?” she says, and the cheer in her voice is almost enough to make him forget what he just saw.

Almost.

Not really, though.

“Why were you crying, Mommy?” Luke asks again, twenty minutes later, with his face covered in Nutella.

Mommy turns away from the dishes in the sink, and offers him a smile. Her normal smile now, not really happy or sad — but her eyes are still red. “I was watching a sad movie, Luke. Sometimes when something’s sad on TV, it makes you sad in real life.”

Luke tilts his head, licking his lips. “Why were you watching it, then?”

“Well, because — it was a good movie,” says Mommy. “Sometimes the best things are the things that make you feel. Enough that you can't help laughing or crying.”

Luke understands… at least, he thinks he does. It was the music. He can still hear every note, still remember the swell and the sharp, unsteady pitch… and the sadness that came with it still lingers in his chest. He frowns down at his sandwich, poking it with sticky fingers. It makes sense. Candy is good, because it makes him happy; swings are good, because they make his stomach swoop; but bad dreams are bad, because they make him scared.

So… why choose to be sad? Why watch a movie or listen to music that makes you feel a bad feeling?

“I didn’t like seeing you cry,” is all he says, because he can’t figure out how to ask those questions yet. “I don’t like seeing you sad."

His mother sighs, and crosses the kitchen to plant a kiss on his scruffy head. When Luke looks up at her, she’s smiling — and he gets a flash of satisfaction, just for helping her do that. 

They end up singing a song as the clean up the kitchen — one of the songs Luke makes up off the top of his head, with simple lyrics Mommy picks up on quickly — and Luke laughs when Mommy blows dish bubbles at him, and everything’s okay for the rest of the day.

(That night, he can’t get to sleep; every time he closes his eyes, he keeps hearing Mommy crying, sees her teary-eyed face looking up at him, all with that music playing over and over in his head. When he falls asleep, he dreams he is grown, and finally able to hold her… but he still doesn’t know how to make her tears stop. It's like she can't see him, can't feel him... when Luke tries to touch her, he passes right through her. The music drowns out her grief. It is louder than everything else.)

Bobby figures out all he needs to know about Luke Patterson within the first week of meeting him.

Number one: the kid isn’t afraid of anything. This is important, because it’s probably going to get him killed one day. He’s shorter than most of the other sixth graders, all lean muscle and spaghetti limbs; his best friend Reggie, who follows him around like a shadow, is basically a runt. Luke’s constantly hauling around a guitar as big as he is, which makes him look even smaller… and when other kids tease him for it, he just lifts his head and grins at them.

He’s got a smart mouth, too. If his boneheadedness doesn’t kill him, his mouth will.

Bobby actually saves them both from getting pummeled by a few eighth graders. That’s how he and Luke become friends. He can never bring himself to regret it… even when Luke is bouncing around the cafeteria like a wild man, or swinging his legs on the bench outside the principal’s office again . Luke is exciting, and Reggie is sweet, and Bobby doesn’t make friends easily, but they welcome him so quickly, and, well…

“How does he do it?” he asks Reggie one day. They’re both on the ground, watching Luke scale tree branches like a monkey, determined to make it to the very top. “Isn’t he afraid of anything?”

Reggie turns towards Bobby, brows furrowed in confusion. The sun makes the freckles on his nose stand out more, and his cheeks seem rosy. When he grins, his rainbow-hued braces catch the light. “Sure he is,” Reggie answers, “but I can’t tell you what!”

Bobby elbows him. “Come on.”

Reggie elbows him back. “I can’t! He’ll kill me!”

Luke adores Reggie, and would sooner kill anyone who tried to lay a hand on him. Bobby rolls his eyes. They all know Reggie can’t keep a secret... but for his best friend, he’ll try.

So, Bobby can only bide his time. Whatever Luke’s afraid of, it’ll come out sooner or later, from Reggie’s lips or not.

His patience pays off the week before Valentine’s Day, when one of the sixth grade girls catches up to Luke near the basketball courts, while he’s sitting with his guitar.

Bobby doesn’t really see what happens, because he and Reggie are too busy trying to outshoot each other. All he hears is the swoosh of the ball through the net — and suddenly, a high-pitched sob, and Luke’s voice sharp with panic: “Hey, hey, I’m sorry!”

It’s no good. The girl runs off, face in her hands. Luke is left staring after her, guitar laying forgotten at his side. He’s gone a funny shade of grey, like curdled milk, and looks like he just chugged a carton of it.

Huh, Bobby thinks. That’s all it takes?

“Dude!” Reggie pounds pavement over to him. “What happened? What did you do?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know!” Luke’s voice shakes.

“Why was she crying, then?” asks Bobby, and his friend’s wide hazel eyes turn on him.

“Because she likes me , Bobby,” he emphasizes.

Bobby raises an eyebrow.

“And I don’t like her back!” Luke flails, almost tumbling backwards from the combined weight of his guitar and his own mortification. “She asked me if she could be my girlfriend, and I was like, ‘well, I dunno,’ and she asked if I wanted to go on a date, and I said, ‘I’m a little busy right now’, and for some reason she just started crying —“

“Dude!” Reggie has to brace himself against the bench to keep from falling down. He’s practically wailing. “ Dude! A cute girl likes you —“

“Liked,” Bobby corrects.

“ Liked you, and you just — agh! Luke, why? You could’ve at least said I was single!”

Luke shakes his head, like it genuinely never occurred to him. When he exhales, his entire body trembles with it. He looks like he’s seen a ghost.

“Well, if you wanna catch up to her,” is all he mutters, and Reggie actually does fall to the ground.

(He nudges Bobby later, dogging his bony elbow into his ribs, a knowing look in his eyes. “You see it now,” he said, and Bobby just nods — because yeah, he definitely sees it, but that doesn’t mean he knows why crying girls are Luke's kryptonite.)

Alex has never met anyone with a bigger talent for making girls cry than Luke Patterson.

There’s definitely some irony there — because on the one hand, Luke is never trying, and on the other hand, he’s visibly horrified whenever it happens. It’s the consequence of having too much charm for your own good, Alex can’t help thinking — and a song always in your head, drowning everything else out.

Luke’s still learning, every day, the best ways to charm people. He’s able to wheedle out of detentions for skipping class to strum songs in the school parking lot. He can coax his way into hall passes, just to not return for the rest of the period, yet even when the teachers know his game, always manages to get another one. Luke’s smile could kill an elephant. He’s not afraid of eye contact, and uses it prolifically. He touches like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and also the most intimate.

The day Luke learns to wink, he practices on his friends all through lunch period. Alex almost has a heart attack.

Okay, so, he’s not proud of his crush — but Luke was the first friend he made in LA, on the first day of ninth grade. He’s got a magnetism that just draws people in… and no other boy’s ever touched Alex the way Luke does, so often, so carelessly, like it’s nothing at all. 

It’s everything, and he doesn’t even realize it. Luke is everything. Even God couldn’t blame Alex for The Luke Thing.

The problem is, Alex isn’t the only one. It’s not like he ever thought he had a real chance with Luke anyways — Luke, who flashes his grin at girls across the cafeteria and whose guitar draws admirers in like catnip. Even if it strikes a chord of envy in his chest when girls linger by Luke’s locker, or flock around whenever he starts playing a song… well, that’s just what he has to live with. No one said being in love with your best friend would be easy.

Maybe it’s for the best. It always goes the same way: Luke flirts, Alex watches, and somehow, someone always ends up in tears.

“I don’t understand it!” Luke exclaims, throwing himself onto the couch and immediately burying his face in his hands. “I thought we were lab partners, that’s it! I didn’t even realize she liked me!”

Alex’s brow arches. Across the garage, Bobby huffs into his chemistry homework, not even looking up.

“You wrote a song about her, Luke,” Alex says.

“Natalie. Yeah, have you heard that name? It’s got great rhythm —“ Immediately, he begins humming the tune of his made-up song, fingers twitching for a guitar that’s out of reach. Really, the only one to blame here’s Luke. He’s the idiot, the one with too much charm, still figuring out how to use it. Anyone would fall in love if Luke Patterson wrote a song about them.

He writes a lot of songs about a lot of people. 

“But I don’t date anybody!” 

“Say it louder,” Reggie mutters. “My soul didn’t shatter the first time.” (Playing bass, it turns out, doesn’t draw the same fan club.)

“You’re dating your guitar,” Bobby retorts. “We all know that.”

“She’s the only girl who understands me, inside and out.” Luke taps on his chest, and Alex chokes on his own spit. “Besides, it ain’t about what the song’s called, it’s about the music .”

“That’d explain why Natalie’s about electric currents, I guess.”

Luke has to look away, his cheeks going red. “Hey, we were learning about ‘em in class…”

It’s not hard to see where Luke’s coming from. His head’s too full of melodies to focus on anything else. Where Reggie and Bobby chase after any scrap of a girl’s attention they can get, Luke takes it all for granted. For him, it’ll always be about music first — about the band they’ve created, the songs they’re writing, the dream he can see so clearly ahead of them.

When Luke turns down another hopeful classmate — “Sorry, we’ve got a gig that night, I can’t go to the dance — hah, uhh, no, we’re playing my aunt’s book club.” — the girl’s face goes very tense. For a minute, it seems like she might hold it together… but all at once, her eyes well up, and her smile cracks at the edges. She runs away before she can start bawling. Luke is left looking traumatized all the same.

“Why does this keep happening?” he demands, throwing his hands up.

Bobby’s head slams down on the cafeteria table. Reggie springs to his feet, seconds from chasing after Luke’s rejected date, before Alex’s hand on the back of his t-shirt pulls him back down.

Stop flirting with everyone, Alex wants to say. Stop making it seem easy. Stop… shining so brightly that every eye in the room gets stuck on you, and no one can look away.

Instead, he just rolls his eyes. “Well, I promise, it’s not your charm.”

Luke arches a brow at him. “What, Alex? You don’t think I’m charming?”

When Alex doesn’t answer, Luke leans forward on his elbows. His biceps are just starting to come in, too defined for the thin shirt he’s wearing; he’s got a spot of acne on his chin, but that doesn’t take anything away from his smile. It’s blinding, overwhelming, beautiful. When Luke waggles his eyebrows, Alex can’t meet his gaze any longer.

(Luke makes him cry too, in the end. They only last three weeks. Luke may be a heartbreaker, but he’s a friend first… and somehow, Alex’s heart doesn’t break, and his bones don’t shatter. The next time Luke smiles at him, in the middle of playing their newest songs, he’s able to grin right back.)

For a guy who’s wanted to be famous since they were old enough to understand what the word meant, Luke’s got a weird understanding of what the word actually means .

“Fans!” Reggie plasters himself against the van window. His cheek and palms smush against the glass, sticking in strange places; he has to squint to see past the haze of dead bugs and smog, which wouldn't come off, even when they took garden hoses to the thing. Their “tour bus” is a beat-up van, which used to belong to Bobby’s uncle. It’s been around the block before getting Sunset Curve painted on its side in big black letters, and now it’s taking them all around California, on a whirlwind summer tour.

This is their dream; it smells like back alley food, petrol, the whiskey-and-cigarette smog of shady nightclubs. It’s all they’ve ever wanted.

After years of working, Sunset Curve is finally it. A real band, with a real demo, a real summer tour, and eager people waiting outside their venues to see them perform. Real fans.

“Guys, do you see this line? Do you—“

 A vice grip around Reggie’s collar suddenly hauls him back. He slams to the van floor in an ungraceful heap. Alex has rules: as long as the van’s moving, no bouncing around, is his favorite. He gives Reggie a very stern stay down motion, patting him on the shoulder.

“Was that an instrument?” Bobby calls from the driver’s seat.

“No,” answers Alex. “Just Reggie!”

“Great! Nothing fragile, then!”

Reggie hollers his protests from the floor, ignoring the way Alex’s shoulders shake as he snickers. By the time he’s sitting up again, back in a somewhat comfortable position, they’ve passed the crowds. There’s not much room to park behind the club, but that’s fine — they need to unload their instruments anyways. It’s their first night playing in San Dimas. As Luke likes to put it, they’ve got to “blow ‘em all away from the first notes”.

Speaking of. Reggie looks up, squinting past the looming shadow of Alex’s drum kit. “You can come out now, champ, the monsters are all gone.”

Tentatively, Luke inches back over, across the bench and into the light. He casts a restless glance out the window, scanning the back alley for any stray clubgoers. His brows are furrowed, lips pulled into the sort of pout only Luke can pull off without looking stupid.

Reggie cackles. “Oh man, you’re traumatized!”

“Shut up,” Luke hisses, aiming a blind kick at him. He’s still playing lookout. “You would think it’s funny.”

To be completely fair, if their roles were reversed, Reggie would be on Cloud Nine. He’s just… used to playing to the crowd, riling up the fans while on stage, and chasing their attention off it. It’s always been fine — because, up until recently, they didn’t really have fans. Their small following back in LA know three-fourths of Sunset Curve are flirts who love to stage door after gigs. Back then, it was usually the same dozen faces.

Their last stop in Barstow got… exciting. They played four nights, and by the fourth, screaming girls were lined up outside the club, eager to catch a glimpse of them.

This is what Reggie means by, Luke didn’t think it through. When he met his first groupies, Luke didn’t walk, he ran… in the other direction.

Reggie and Bobby were out there having the time of their life, signing homemade mercy and handing out copies of their demo. Girls asked to touch their arms, to kiss their cheeks…  one even got all starry-eyed when Reggie winked at her. Alex was off at the end of the line, discussing drumming techniques with a group of punk-looking kids… and Luke was right there with them, at their side and bouncing with enthusiasm. Until suddenly, he took off across the parking lot.

“They started crying,” he hissed through his teeth later. “Just talking to me! Like — like, like, I don’t know!” His hands scrabbled around his head; he slumped forward, making a shrill, agonized noise, like a CD caught in the player. “I didn’t say anything this time, I know I didn’t!”

“You, not say anything,” echoed Bobby. “Damn, what’d they do to you?”

“Okay, I said how they liked the music, and they were saying, like —“ His voice pitches high, in a weird teenage girl imitation. “‘Oh my god, you guys were so good!’ Which, like, awesome, you know, we are , but then — then they were like ‘You’re the lead singer, right?’ and I grin at them and one girl just starts sobbing… ”

He went on. And on. For the rest of the night. When Luke gets hung up on something, he can’t climb down easy. Reggie listened to the rambling, a weird mix of amazement and envy broiling in his gut. When he caught Alex rolling his eyes over their take out dinner, he leaned into his shoulder.

“How does he not realize it?” Alex muttered. “The power he’s got — it’s like if Superman never figured out he was strong, and is just walking around surprised every time he lifts up a tractor with one hand.”

The thing is, it’s not like Luke doesn’t realize it. He’s known how to bat his pretty brown eyes to get what he wants since second grade… and never tries to use his charm recklessly. He’s just always surprised when all of him is a little too much for people.

Luke feels everything to the max. That includes heartbreak. It’s never, ever his goal to make anyone else sad. Actually, Reggie’s pretty sure that’s the one thing he wants to avoid with their music.

(Unsaid Emily is the exception, but that song’s just… therapy for Luke. It’ll never be on any set list. It’s only meant to be played to a single-person audience, and so far, Luke hasn’t gotten up the nerve.)

Sunset Curve’s music makes people feel, makes them dance, makes them yell. Sunset Curve’s lead singer makes girls cry when he winks at them. 

And Reggie’s epic bass shredding still hasn’t gotten him a date.

Now, Luke’s peering out the window for fans like they’re in witness protection. It’d be funny, if they didn’t have to play a whole show in an hour. This is not the time for Luke to develop a fear of crowds screaming his name.

“Alright, what’s the plan?” Alex says, nudging Luke with a sneakered foot. “We unload the instruments, you hide in here, we smuggle you inside in my bass drum —“

“I just… don’t want it to happen again,” Luke mutters, and he looks haunted.

(His eyes were wide and haunted that first night in Bobby’s garage, when he showed up past dinnertime with nothing but his bike and a backpack. He huddled on the couch, hugging his knees. Reggie was the only one reckless enough to ask.

“She wouldn’t stop yelling,” he muttered, staring off somewhere far away. “About the band, about school, about me. But she was… crying at the same time, these big fat tears, and… when she said my name…”

His face screwed up, like he was furious at the world and at himself all at once. A quiver ran through his shoulders. When Reggie tucked an arm around him, Luke leaned into his side, and was quiet for a very long time.)

Luke doesn’t like seeing people cry. It’s a whole thing.

“Dude,” Reggie sighs, leaning against his leg. “We’ll cover you, it’s okay. But we’re famous now. This is just what you’ve gotta expect.”

“I’ll sign autographs on anything,” Luke declares. “Anywhere. On any body part. I’ll pose for pictures. I’ll stage dive —“

As one, all three fellow members of Sunset Curve groan. They’ve been listening to Luke’s stage diving fantasies for a long time.

“But I’m not gonna make girls cry!” Luke declares, fist slamming into the van’s metal side.

“You’ve got that star power, baby,” Bobby says flatly, shifting the van into park. “It’s a terrifying thing.”

“A rockstar thing. How many girls fell sobbing at, at — Cobain’s feet?” Reggie asks.

Luke looks at him sideways. “He can have them all.”

“What? No, don’t give away our fans. Give them to me! I want them!”

“They’ve already chosen Luke,” Alex sighs, shaking his head sadly. “He’s got heartthrob status now, nothing we can do about it.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m a heartthrob —“ Luke starts.

“If! Whoa, he’s humble too!”

Alex clutched his chest. “Luke, you’re making me swoon.”

“Don’t bother,” says Bobby. “He’s devoted to his art.”

Alex gives a dramatic sniffle — one that almost ends in very real tears, when he ducks a kick Luke aims his way. Reggie cackles along with the others, because they’re seventeen and idiots, and it’s good for Luke to be brought down to earth from time to time. Sometimes, riding the high after an amazing set or basking in the glow of applause, he seems like he could float away. Those moments always scare Reggie, because he doesn’t know where Luke would end up. Maybe caught in a tree, like the balloons he never remembered to hold onto as a kid… or maybe he’d float up into the power lines, and crash down in an explosion of fire and light.

The girls who swoon over Luke on stage only see him on stage — and that’s when he burns the brightest. Reggie can’t blame them for falling in love.

“You guys’re hilarious.” The teasing takes some of Luke’s edge off… but he still fidgets restlessly, keeping away from the window. Turning his lucky blue rabbit’s foot in his hands, over and over, he frowns at it like it might have the answers. Rabbit’s feet, in Reggie’s experience, don’t make great conversation.

When Alex and Bobby start unloading Alex’s drum kit, Reggie hangs back instead of jumping to help. “Hey,” he says, nudging Luke’s shoulder. “It’s gonna be okay, okay?”

Not just because this is their first night playing, and almost no one in San Dimas knows who they are. Not just because most fans aren’t quite that excited to meet a garage band frontman… or because girls crying isn’t the end of the world.

Luke looks up and meets Reggie’s eyes. Vulnerability shines through the cracks of his guarded gaze. Reggie leans into him, offering his friend a crooked smile. “We’ve got your back. Bobby’ll play bouncer, Alex can be the shiny distraction…  and when I hit ‘em with my killer good looks? Pssh. Forget it.” He elbows Luke gently in the ribs. “We’re gonna steal your entire fan club before you know it.”

Luke’s expression is open, in the way that makes him look so much younger. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Reggie wraps an arm around his shoulders, and Luke leans into him, grateful for the contact.

“What if…” His voice trails off. Reggie waits patiently, until Luke’s hesitant gaze turns back to him. “What if we’re doing something wrong? With… with the music, I mean.”

“You said it yourself, man. It’s all about connecting with people.”

“I know that, but —“ Luke bites his lip, pulling his thoughts together. “But what if it’s the wrong kinda connection? What if… we’re making people feel the wrong things?”

Only Luke could see dozens of girls falling in love with him, and still be all about the music. It always is, with him. He puts into lyrics everything he’d never be able to say out loud, and makes himself understood; there’s something genuine in everything Luke writes, something true, and it all comes from him. Music is Luke’s language. You don’t have to be fluent to understand him. He speaks right to people’s hearts.

His brows slowly furrow as he surveys his friend’s stricken face. Maybe all these years, Reggie’s been wrong. Luke’s biggest fear isn’t making people cry; it’s not being understood through his music.

“You’re overthinking it,” he says softly, leaning into Luke’s side. “There’s no way to control how people feel.” 

“ Music can,” Luke insists feverishly.

Echoes ring in Reggie’s ears; all the shouting matches he’s deafened by shutting himself in his room, all the insults across the dinner table he’s tried to block out. No matter how loud his parents yell, they still can’t understand each other. Sometimes, people choose what to hear. Luke can sing as loud as he wants, but he can’t make people listen; what people take from their music is up to them.

There’s no way to explain that to Luke, though, that’ll chase the worry from his eyes.

Reggie’s mouth flattens into a thin line. He tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a huff. Left uneasy, Luke peers closer at him, doing his classic weirdly-intimate-eye-contact thing. Reggie — immune after over a decade of friendship — rolls his eyes and looks away.

“You know what you’re feeling. That’s what matters, man. I think… if we put that feeling into our songs, people will hear us. They’ll feel us back.”

Sunset Curve’s music is electrifying, exhilarating, lightning in a bottle. It makes Reggie feel like he’ll be young forever.

If they can give a little of that magic out to every person listening… then hey, they’re doing something right.

It’s not enough, and Reggie knows it… but the lines of worry on Luke’s face fade away, and he almost feels like he’s said the right thing after all.

(Three months later, they eat some weird hot dogs, and the last thing Reggie sees is Luke, on the ambulance floor, staring back at him. He’s inches away; it might as well be miles. There’s blood on Reggie’s lips, and tears on his cheeks, and his eyes don’t close when he dies, so maybe he’s still crying…

They fall into a dark room, all three together. Reggie still can’t breathe right, and Luke can’t hold still — can’t stop looking for a way out, even for a second, because Alex is crying. His whimpers and sobs echo in the darkness around them, impossible to block out. Reggie can barely see Luke’s face, but it’s very pale. He might be crying too. There’s no way to tell.

By the time they fall straight through the void and land in Julie Molina’s garage, all their tears have dried.)

It’s easy for the boys to forget how long they’ve known each other. Some days, it feels like lifetimes… and Luke and Reggie have known each other for most of their lives, while for Alex, it may as well have been that long. Add twenty-five years that felt like an hour, and… the guys have known each other longer than Julie has been alive .

It’s never more obvious than when they’re all working together. The boys match each other’s rhythms perfectly. Luke knows, just from the sound of Reggie’s bass line, when he’s tired of rehearsing the same part; Alex recognizes if Luke’s dissatisfied with the day’s work from his restlessness, or the tiny line between his brows. They all know how to read each other. When Reggie’s attention starts wandering or Alex grips his sticks too tightly, or Luke gets impatient with the rest of the world, they know what it means.

They know each other so well; it’s easy to forget, sometimes, that Julie doesn’t.

“Julie, you’re killing me here, okay?” Luke never raises his voice during band practice; he’s never raised his voice to Julie before, ever. Today’s a day of firsts, apparently. 

Julie practically jumps back, surprised by how quickly Luke spins around. The distorted expression on his face only alarms her, even more than his tense posture and clenched fists. Luke it wound up like a coiled spring, every movement blade-sharp. His words cut her when he speaks. “Stop suggesting things, stop changing things up. It’s not — it doesn’t sound right. Can’t you guys hear it?” He looks around at the other bandmates, fishing for support; Reggie and Alex suddenly find the ceiling very interesting. “You’re not singing it right,” Luke insists, turning back on Julie. “Okay, so just — stop! Just stop right now."

Julie stays very still for a solid minute, before turning on her heel, and storming out of the studio.

Luke is left gaping after her. Slowly, all the wind deflates from his sails. His frustration turns to concern, tortured-artist grimace into confusion. Only when a noise echoes from down the walk — a soft, muffled sob — do his eyes widen.

“Wait,” says Luke. “What just happened?”

Alex sets his drumsticks down with a resounding thud. “What do you think? ”

“I was just —“ Luke flails blindly towards his guitar. “The song.”

“Yeah, we know,” Reggie replies with a roll of his eyes.

They’ve all seen Luke hit a wall before; it doesn’t happen often, but it’s never pretty. When a song doesn’t flow, for whatever reason — when it doesn’t sound right to his ears — he needs to work out the kinks. Right away, without any distractions. 

Sometimes he troubleshoots. (“Reggie, try that bass line again — no, it’s not you, you’re not the problem. Bobby! You’re the problem!” “Wow, thanks.”) Sometimes, he has to go back to his notebook and be left alone for awhile. Sometimes, he just needs a nap. Either way, it’s best to just… let him work it out. When Luke is thrown off his game, he’ll snap at anyone, just for being in the way.

It’s nothing personal, but still sucks for anyone caught in the crossfire.

Julie doesn’t know this. She’s never had to deal with Caliguluke before. Partly because Luke becomes a different writer when he’s with her, and partly because she’s been in their band for three months, compared to three years.

This realization seems to set in for Luke all at once. He looks between his guitar, his bandmates, and the open garage doors. Slowly, dread settles over his expression. “Ah, man…”

“That one’s on you,” Alex declares, pushing away from his drum kit.

“Yeah,” agreed Reggie, setting his bass aside. “Completely on you, dude. Nice going.”

“I didn’t mean — crap — Julie!”

And then Luke does something neither of his friends expect.

He poofs out.

Reggie and Alex are left staring at empty air, the place Luke used to be, his final curse still ringing in their ears.

“Did he just —“ Reggie starts.

“Yeah,” says Alex. “I think he actually did.”

“Aww! Look at him go!” Even though they’re both very much out of sight, Reggie clutches his chest anyways, like a proud parent. “That’s character development for you.”

“We-ell,” Alex squeaks out, “Maybe that’s going a little far.”

He’s still Luke, after all. Even death can’t change a guy that much.

He’s the very last person she wants to see, after — whatever that was outside. So, when Luke pops up in the upstairs hallway, Julie does the only reasonable thing. She pushes past him.

Sometimes she forgets she can’t just walk through the boys anymore. Since the night at the Orpheum, they’re always able to touch. That’s great, most of the time — except when it isn’t. Instead of going through Luke, she ends up slamming right into him. It’s unstoppable force meets immovable object; they smash into each other like bumper cars, and both go bouncing back.

Julie’s just made it up the stairs, only a few feet away. When she stumbles, she nearly loses her footing. Her stomach swoops, and she feels herself start to fall backwards — but Luke’s hands catches her around the waist. 

In a second, she is out of danger, and on steady ground again. As soon as she’s found her feet, Julie steps back. Out of his reach — away from him. Getting as far away from Luke as possible sounds like a great idea, but he’s still standing between her and her bedroom.

“What do you want?” she demands. The words burn her throat; her eyes still sting too, and she can feel fresh tears on her cheeks. In spite of it all, she glares up at Luke, defiant.

“I — Julie.” He exhales her name. Luke’s brows are knit tight together. He’s gone the color of curdled milk, like he’s queasy or constipated or something even worse. After a minute, he slowly raises his hands, showing her his palms. Julie blinks at him — waiting — but Luke’s literally shown up emptyhanded.

“Great, you remember my name.” She swipes at her wet cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie. There’s no point being ashamed of her tears; he’s seen them already. Maybe it’ll do him good to see the effect words can have. “Surprised you remember that much, with all that music living rent free in your head.”

“Music can’t pay r— hang on, hang on.” He grabs her arm when she tries to shove past him again. Julie reels around, pulling him in a full circle as she jerks away.

“Boundaries, please!”

“Okay! I’m sorry, I just —“ Luke jumps back like she’s stung him, holding his hands up again. He doesn’t just look sick, now; he’s downright scared. “I’m really sorry, okay? I shouldn’t have… god, Julie, I didn’t mean to make you cry. That’s the last thing I wanted.”

Of course, she knows he didn’t mean to hurt her feelings. Luke isn’t cruel; he’s not even selfish. He’s just obsessed with music in a way that can drown everything else out. When there’s a song in his head, everything else takes a backseat.

Julie just never realized that included her.

Luke gets upset when people aren’t putting their all into the band, when they’re slacking off or too busy with other things. He gets frustrated when the music doesn’t work the way he wants it too. He’s also got a temper, a quick tongue, and definitely some sharp edges.

He’s so preoccupied with the way music makes people feel, that sometimes, Julie thinks he forgets the effect he has on people.

“You still said it, and it still hurt,” she replies, holding herself tall. “Mean it or not.”

“I was just —“ Luke huffs, knits a hand in his hair, and tugs. “Being an idiot. You know me.”

Yeah, she does. “You’re not an idiot, Luke.”

“I just say idiot things sometimes.” He takes a step forward; Julie takes a step back, and that’s where Luke stops. Hesitation shadows his gaze. “When I get frustrated, it all just… comes out without meaning to, and it wasn’t fair to take it out on you. You’re…”

Again, he’s at a loss for words. Julie can almost hear everything he doesn’t say; she knows what he means, deep down, and it makes another tear run down her cheek. She’s not sure why she’s crying anymore, but she can’t stop.

Luke looks stricken. “I don’t know how to do this,” he says softly. “I don’t know why this keeps happening."

Because you’re you, she wants to say. Because it’s so easy to fall in love with you.

His entire body twitches, like he’s desperate to take a step forward… but he holds himself back, for her sake. “Please stop crying, Julie.”

Julie squeezes her eyes shut, half-expecting Luke to be gone when she opens them. He’s still there, holding his breath and watching her raptly… like she’ll fall to pieces if he looks away. Why does he look scared of her? Why does he look so — so in pain?

“You don’t realize,” she says softly, “do you? The way you make people feel. Just by being around them, just by… your smile, or your laugh. You have such an effect on people, Luke.”

Luke almost wilts at the words. “Uhh, actually, it — it’s just you, I think. You’re my people now, no one else can even see me.”

“Not the point.” She shakes her head, curls clinging to her wet cheeks. The impulse to duck into her room and shut the door behind her is strong… but no, this is too important. It needs to be said. Julie squares her shoulders, and meets his eyes dead-on. “People want to be loved by you, Luke. They can’t help it.”

It’s not a confession… not really. From the way his eyes widen, Julie knows she’s just admitted something — and it’s a thought that's never occurred to him before.

“So when you say things, when you do careless things, without realizing how… how they affect the people around you…" He likes to talk in metaphors? Fine, she can roll with that. "It’s like ripples in a pond, Luke. They linger, even if you don’t realize it. The way you treat people matters.”

“I know that!” he exclaims, falling back like she’s stung him. Now, Luke looks like he’s seen a ghost. “Of course I do!”

“It’s not even a bad thing!” Julie continues. “You’re just… you , and that’s amazing. But… but Luke, it’s not just about music. You can change people’s day with… a smile, or a few words. By just being there for them.” This time, it’s her turn to take a step forward — one after the other. Luke doesn’t back away, no matter how much he looks like he wants to. “You’ve got that power. More than anyone I’ve ever seen. For some reason, you don’t realize it.”

“I — I —“ Luke pauses to clear his throat, ducking his head. 

“Luke,” she says softly, stepping forward. He goes to turn his head away, and Julie’s startled to see tears shining in his eyes. When she cups his cheek, one escapes without his consent, rolling down to rest in her palm.

“I’m so scared,” he finally says, soft as a whisper, “of saying the wrong thing. Sometimes I’m so good at it.”

Yeah, Julie can’t help thinking. You really are.

Sometimes, though, Sometimes Luke knows just what to say — he hits the note just right, strikes the right chord of encouragement without even trying. If it wasn’t for him, Julie would’ve never gotten on that pep rally stage; if it wasn’t for him, she’d never have tried to hug him, and the boys would’ve faded into nothing. 

“You don’t need to be,” she says softly. “There’s no right thing. It’s enough just to be you.”

The tears are falling in earnest now. His damp cheeks are a sharp contrast to her dry ones. Julie almost feels bad; she's never seen Luke like this before. It feels like this is something needed, though — like finally pulling out a cavity-riddled tooth, so a new one can be fit in its place. (Luke’s emotional teeth need serious braces, clearly.)

Julie runs her thumb slowly over his cheek, catching each tear as it falls. It takes a minute for Luke to lean into the touch… and he keeps leaning, until suddenly he’s in her arms. She strokes over his shoulder blades, making soft, soothing noises. He doesn’t sob loudly — not the way she’d expect him to cry. Luke only shakes a little, breathing hard, dampness soaking into her shoulder. It takes a long time for him to calm down.

“I’m so sorry, Julie,” he finally manages, still murmured into the cloud of her hair. Julie’s instinct is to reassure him — it’s always okay to cry — but that’s not what he means. “For saying what I did. I was such a jerk, and… it won’t ever happen again. I promise.”

Julie allows the last of her own hurt to fizzle away, the sincerity of his words swallowing it up. “Thanks, Luke.”

He pulls back, and his eyes are on fire. Intense in the way that knocks the breath from her lungs, burning; they take her gaze hostage immediately. His cheeks are swollen, and his eyes are puffy — yeah, Luke’s an ugly crier — but he’s still captivating.

“Thank you,” he says, and Julie’s only half-sure she knows what he’s so grateful for.

Luke vanishes before she can ask. She’s left standing alone, with ghost tears soaking into her shirt.

“It’s like I said,” Reggie whispers. “Character development.”

Alex‘s foot drums idly against the bottom of the coffee table. “I didn’t even think it was possible.”

“Because we’re dead, or because it’s Luke?”

His gaze meets Reggie’s askance. “Both.”

Luke glances up sharply from the couch, his gaze stern; he mimes a shushing motion over Julie’s head. That's all the attention he has to spare for them, though. Immediately, his gaze goes back to the movie playing on Julie’s laptop — the couple in The Notebook are old, and one of them’s dying or something, and Julie’s whimpering into Luke’s shirt.

Luke’s holding her steady, his chin balanced on the top of her head. Ever so often, he’ll murmur soft, sweet things into her hair; his hand strokes circles into her back, soothing her. “It’s just so sad,” Julie squeaks out once, and Luke calms her with a soft kiss to the brow.

For someone facing down his worst nightmare, he’s incredibly chill about it.

“You know,” Reggie murmurs, squinting at them. “Figures it would be Julie.”

“Yeah, figures.” Alex exhaled. “Where was this Luke when I was crying in the dark for twenty-five years —“

“You guys!” Julie flings a pillow at them. It passes straight through Alex’s chest. As one, they both throw up their hands in surrender.

Luke clicks his tongue disapprovingly, and Julie rolls watery eyes, before they both go back to the movie.

Looking at the two of them, at the perfect way Julie fits into Luke’s side, Alex can’t help agreeing; yeah. It would be Julie.

For Luke, it’s always about the music... and he’s finally found someone who understands his song perfectly.