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The city’s fucking beautiful at night.
Ashton loves cities. He was born and brought up on the outskirts of Sydney and spent a lot of time in his teenage years moping around the inner city, watching people’s lives pass by and letting other people watch his own, hanging off the bridges gazing into the water, staring at the city he loves. And when the band got big they moved to London for a bit, which was a massive shock – the city was absolutely nothing like Sydney, nothing like home, fuller with more history and more lives and more places to hide and bridges to hang off, looking into the water. He used to spend hours up on the bridges, gazing out at the lights of the city, wondering why each light was on.
And now they’re in LA.
It’s strange in the daytime, all criss-crossed roads and straight, wide boulevards and tourists and bustling strangers with the sun beating down on them all, homeless people around every corner, but something about the city at night draws Ashton to it. The rows upon rows of bright white and orange lights twinkle at him like the stars themselves; city stars.
“It looks a bit like the stars,” Luke says, as if he can read minds, and if it weren’t going to ruin the moment Ashton might ask him whether he can.
“Yeah,” Ashton muses. “City stars.”
They’re sitting up on a hill, just the two of them, watching the city. There’s not much to see, really, other than the lights, but there’s so much at the same time. It’s all there, laid out right in front of them, four million people’s lives panning out right in front of their eyes.
“Do you ever think about the city like this?” Luke asks after a while.
“At night?” Ashton says. “Yeah. I do.”
“I mean, like,” Luke says, waving his hands around a little, as if it’s going to demonstrate his point. “The city stars, like you said. How each light is a different person doing something. How it’s people that make up the city, people that make up the city stars, how the city can’t live without them. How the city stars can’t live without them. The people are the stars, in the city.”
“Kind of,” Ashton says, because he only half understands what Luke’s talking about.
“Like,” Luke says, clearly sensing Ashton doesn’t really get it. “We make wishes on stars, right? Wishes, hopes, dreams, love, we pin them all on stars. And in the city, we pin them on the people, because we can’t see the stars. We make ourselves the stars rather than projecting what we want onto some distant celestial beings. We wish with each other, hope with each other, dream with each other, love one another.”
“I still don’t know what you’re saying,” Ashton admits after a moment, and Luke sighs.
“Never mind,” he says. “I just- I love the stars. I love the city. I love you.”
Ashton’s about to reply – I can tell, maybe, or I’m glad you love the stars, but then he realises what Luke’s just said and it’s like all the breath’s been knocked out of him which is stupid, so fucking stupid because it’s three words, it’s just three words.
“What?” he manages after a moment.
“You remind me of the stars,” Luke says, as if it’s simple. “You remind me of the city. I love them both. I love you, too.”
Ashton just kisses him, just to shut him up because he has no idea what the hell Luke’s talking about but Luke just told him he loves him, Luke loves him like he loves the stars and the city and Ashton reminds him of the stars and the city and-
“Fuck,” Luke says, when they break apart, bringing his fingers up to ghost over his lips absent-mindedly. “Don’t forget this in the morning.”
“I’ll take a photo,” Ashton says, only half-joking. Luke grins.
“Take it with me in it,” he says.
“‘Course,” Ashton says, kissing him again and getting to his feet. “I make my dreams and hopes and wishes with you. You’re my star, aren’t you?”
“Fuck,” Luke mumbles again, and then he’s looping his arms around Ashton’s neck and pulling him down again for a desperate kiss that Ashton can’t help but return. “Don’t- don’t say shit like that, Ash.”
“‘S true,” Ashton says, shrugging and getting to his feet for the second time. “Turn around. Want my star with the city stars.”
“I love you,” Luke says again, softly, and Ashton grins in the dark, taking the photo and trying to get the whole city in the frame. Four million and one.
“Good thing, that, isn’t it?” Ashton says. “Not like anyone else does.”
“Shut up,” Luke grumbles, making grabby hands for Ashton to sit back down next to him. “You’re so stupid. You’re meant to tell me you love me too.”
“I already did,” Ashton says. “Told you you were my star.”
“You suck,” Luke tells him, but he’s grinning more than Ashton’s ever seen him grin before.