Chapter Text
Luke Hemmings, at the ripe age of 24, needs to realize that when his friend Ashton Irwin asks him to go drinking on Sunday nights, he should say no. Unfortunately, this realization only comes on Monday mornings, when his dry eyes and pounding headache are already there. Thankfully, Ashton has always handled his alcohol better, both during the high of being drunk and the mornings after, and he was always kind enough to leave coffee and advil on Luke's nightstand – he's always done it, and this morning is no different.
Luke groans as he blindly reaches towards the side of the bed, where everything has been carefully placed; he takes some advil and chugs it down with water from a bottle that has been stranded in his room for God knows how long. Unlike his friend, he has never been the type to handle his alcohol – usually, he gets drunk with just two or three drinks, the room starts spinning, he somehow manages to come home to throw up, usually thanks to Ashton’s help, and finally he passes out just to wake up with the worst hangover known to man. This time, though, he didn't throw up, and he mentally thanks all the Gods - he isn't sure which one is out there, so he talks to all and none - about it.
Rubbing his eyes, he slowly gets up from his bed to reach for the coffee mug, and he overhears some whistling coming from the kitchen, confirming that Ashton is still at home. He quietly stumbles through the room with the mug in his hand, searching for a hoodie to put on and joins him on the other side of the small apartment they share.
“G'morning princess!" Ashton greets him, a smile wide on his face and his running gear on, which means that he also had the force to go jogging earlier in the morning, leaving zombie-like Luke astounded; "Slept well?"
"Shut the fuck up." Luke manages to blurt out, his mouth dry even though he's almost finished the cup of coffee in his right hand, "What're you making?"
Ashton ignores his rudeness and just shrugs, "Just some pancakes–Want one?"
The blond guy manages to nod in response, sitting down on the second hand couch they had chosen together a few years back. Ashton and Luke had been living together ever since they had shared a small accommodation near the Southbank Campus of the University of Melbourne. While Luke was there to study ballet, Ashton was studying composition, mastering any type of percussion instrument he could find. Ever since they first shook hands on the first day, they had understood they never wanted to live apart one from the other, and even after graduation they decided to move in together, even if they could only find a shoebox apartment right outside of Sydney.
Luke silently thanks Ashton with a nod, as he presents a plate with chocolate chips pancakes, and starts munching on them making a mental list of what he has to do today. His only class of today starts at 3PM, which means he has to be ready and out by 2PM, and it's also one of his favorite classes to teach – advanced sixteen year olds, that, yeah, are annoying, but also they're old and good enough that they pretty much know what to do without him having to yell too much. He quickly finishes up his plate, and helps Ashton washing the dishes, before almost flying in the shower, still feeling the night before sticking on him.
He prepares his bag, and, with sunglasses on to block the shining sun of Sydney and car keys in his right hand, he waits for Ashton by the door. Luckily, Luke's studio is only a few streets away from the cinema Ashton is working part-time at, so Luke often finds himself driving him to work or viceversa. Their thirty minutes drive starts silently, with only their humming filling the old Honda Civic – then it quickly turns into a mess of laughter and memories from the night before.
"And–" Ashton tries to talk, not being able to properly breathe from all the laughter, "And then that guy, oh my God, I've never seen someone flirt so badly–"
"He literally threw his drink on me as an excuse to 'wipe it off with his tongue'!" Luke chuckles, not completely, but almost healed from his hangover, his pounding headache now only a mild annoyance between his eyebrows.
"That was insane!" Ashton almost shouts in reply, "I'm so gonna save it for next week!"
Luke pulls over to the side of the road, in front of the cinema, and turns to Ashton, "If you do that, I swear I'm gonna pretend I don't know you."
Ashton quickly gets out of the car, and simply giggles a "Try me!" as he turns toward the entrance of the building.
Luke shakes his head and turns to the road again, turning a few times before getting to his reserved parking spot in front of the old studio. He notices that the strange building next to it is finally open after being under construction for the last few months, but he pays no mind and opens the big glass doors, greeting Emma, the receptionist, politely.
He skips the hallway towards the teachers' changing rooms. He's been working here ever since he graduated, but his dream is to have his own studio soon. He took ballet because he wanted to be the next Michail Baryšnikov, and he was gifted, everyone told him he could make it, until a bad sprained ankle turned into a risky operation, and he had to wave his dreams goodbye. But Luke Hemmings was never the type to let anything get to his head, and simply changed his life's goal to something more attainable – if he couldn't be the best dancer in this world, he could teach the next one.
Once changed in his tights, shorts and fitted white t-shirt, he starts stretching in the practice room, waiting for his students to come in. Then he hears it. Tum. Tum. Tum. Loud music starts to fill up the room as the paper thin walls almost tremble, and he groans, feeling the headache return to his temples.
He looks out the door, thinking this must be the work of either Amelia or Charlotte, as those two always remind him that they "need their music in order to change". But no, all he faintly hears from the students' changing rooms is some chattering, and the music is coming from further away. He puts on his black converse and walks to the front desk.
"I'm sorry Luke, I don't know where this is coming from." Emma apologizes, already understanding what he was about to ask her.
"How am I supposed to teach them if I can hardly hear you talk?" He frowns, not really expecting an answer, just wanting to complain.
"I think–" The loud sound of an electric guitar stops her sentence, "I think it's coming from the store next to us!"
"Which store?" The blond asks, genuinely confused.
"They came in today," Emma explains, carefully placing a loose strand of curls behind her ear, "They sell music instruments and records or something."
Luke nods, "I'll go look into it."
He jogs to the practice room to put on an oversized sweatshirt, and gives the few students already there the instruction to start stretching. He pulls Olivia, his best behaved student, aside and tells her she's in charge while he tries to resolve this thing, that it'll only take five minutes maximum, and he quickly gets to the building next door.
He stands tall in front of the blue door, and peeks inside of the store thanks to the display windows at the sides – guitars, basses, drums and whatnot fill up the room, and a flaming head of dyed red hair can be seen moving boxes. Luke willingly ignores the 'closed' sign loosely hung on the door, and pushes the handle to reveal the store in all its glory.
It isn't too bad - not really Luke's style, but whatever - its walls are filled with a copious amount of paintings and posters, mainly of niche punk rock band from the 90s; the parts that are not covered in paper show a shining hue of white, meaning that the wall has been painted not too long ago. The place is, however, crammed with music instruments and boxes in every angle of the room.
"Hey, Mike, where can I put these–" A tall guy with tan skin and a bleached buzzcut comes in from the door behind the counter, holding so many boxes that his face is almost covered – but he can obviously still see in front of him, as he furrows his brows at the sight of the blond standing in front of the door.
"Did I forget to put the sign on the door?" He mindlessly asks, as he takes a breath after putting down the cardboard boxes, making a clinking noise, "We're still closed, we're opening tomorrow."
"Yeah, I figured–" Luke almost shouts to make himself heard over the loud music, "I'm here because–"
"Who're you talking to, Cal?" A voice cuts him off.
The voice belongs to the same head of dyed red he saw a few moments ago. His fringe doesn't manage to cover his piercing gray eyes, as he walks in from the same door the other guy - Cal? - just came from. Luke assumes it's their storage room or something.
"Did you forget to put the sign?" He asks the tan man, without any hint of annoyance in his voice, then turns to Luke, "Listen dude, we're closed, you can come tomorrow, though."
Luke shakes his head, "No, um, I'm here because you need to turn your music down."
"Oh!" The redhead sheepishly replies, "Did someone complain?"
"Yeah, me. I'm the one complaining." Luke looks at the clock on the wall, nervousness filling him as he should've started his lesson ten minutes ago and he hates being late, "Please, turn off your music."
"Why?" The guy shrugs.
"Because," The blond tries to explain manner-of-factly, "I'm teaching a class next door and I can't if the music is so loud they can't hear me talk."
"What do you teach?"
"Why does it matter?" Luke can feel his blood boil at this point, "Just turn it off."
"It matters to me," He talks back in the most monotone voice Luke's ever heard, "I have to decide if it's worth it."
"Oh my fucking God–" Luke pinches the bridge of his nose, "I teach ballet. They have a showcase in two months. They need to hear the music in order to practice. Is that okay with you?"
"Mh... I'll have to think about it."
"Mike, c'mon, let's just turn it off." The other guy finally speaks, and Luke thanks him mentally because he was moments away from punching the smug off of the redhead's pretty face.
"I haven't decided yet," He unfortunately replies, "What's in it for me?"
"What?" Luke can feel his hand tingling, and tries to take a deep breath.
"Relax, dude, I was joking," 'Mike', or whatever is his name, replies, and Luke can see him eyeing his flexing hand, "I'll turn it off now, don't worry–go teach them turns or whatever you do."
'Mike' gives a nod to 'Cal', who quickly gets to the stereo and turns off the loud speakers. Luke can finally get himself to relax, and thanks them swiftly so he can get to his class without losing too much time.
The class has started almost twenty minutes later than scheduled, which makes Luke itch from annoyance. He wouldn't describe himself as the most uptight person out there - less than fifteen hours ago he was drunk in a club, for fuck's sake - but he's always been pretty strict with his job. At least, the first thirty actual minutes of his two hours class go pretty well. No more disturbances, his students don't make too much mistakes, and the headache he's been having on and off since this morning is finally gone. Everything seems to have gone back to normal; that is until – Tum. Tum. Tum.
The notes of Blitzkrieg Bop by Ramones - Luke's not a music illiterate, as he's been literally living with a musician for the last six years - fill up the classroom, and Luke jolts up in response to the loud music covering the delicate, classical notes that filled the air two seconds ago. The students can see his face grimace, and he quickly puts his shoes on to go knock on the blue door once again.
He rushes there so fast not even Emma can stop him, and tries to open the store's door again, only to find it closed and resisting his attempts. He looks through the glass, and can see fuckass ‘Mike’ shrugging with a smug smile plastered on his face, while pointing at the 'Closed' sign hung. Luke tries to mouth a 'What the fuck?' to the redhead, only to be met with a wave and him turning his back, walking through that same door behind the counter he'd seen him walk in from before.
Fuming, the blond stomps back to the class, trying to teach the last hour while shouting over the Ramones' playlist and turning the notes of Tchaikovsky's Swan Lake Act 1 all the way up, before, exhausted, quickly dismissing the class. At least, seeing the anger in the furrowed brows of their teacher, the students were silent and attentive, trying to not mess up anything to not make him snap.
Luke doesn't know who that guy thinks he is, ruining his class, and he doesn't even care to learn. He drives home with only one thing reassuring him, the quote that had accompanied him through thick and thin, and that was plastered onto a poster in his room – it's just a bad day, not a bad life.