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It’s actually really annoying, because Bobby has objectively terrible taste in clothes.
And, okay, okay, Luke knows he’s one to talk, with his rotating slew of cutoffs and the same chains he wears on his pants every day and the sleeveless hoodie that literally made Alex cry the first time he saw Luke wearing it.
But Bobby—Bobby wears stripes. And suspenders. And leather, but like, not in any of the cool places. Bobby’s clothes are dumb . Luke hates Bobby’s clothes.
Or, at least, that’s what Luke has to tell himself to explain the sour burning that erupts in his chest when Reggie comes into the studio wearing a pair of Bobby’s suspenders.
“What are you wearing?” Luke demands, angrily putting his guitar aside. His voice comes out a little too loud, and angrier than he meant it to. Alex gives him a little side-eyed glance from behind his drums.
If Reggie notices, he doesn’t show it, just looks down at himself. “Uh… my black ripped jeans and my gray shirt and my—”
“The suspenders, Reginald,” Luke growls through gritted teeth. “What’s with the suspenders?”
“Oh!” Reggie stretches them with his thumbs, grinning. “They’re Bobby’s!”
“His pants were falling down,” Bobby says, coming through the door behind him. “Dumbass refuses to wear a belt, but I refuse to be mooned in the middle of a guitar solo. Now, are we rehearsing or what?”
Luke spends the whole rehearsal glaring at the floor so that he won’t glare at either Bobby or Reggie, cause it’s not their faults, it’s just those dumb suspenders!
Though he’s not really sure what about them exactly makes him so mad.
A week and a half later, Luke’s almost managed to forget about the suspenders incident entirely (and Reggie’s started wearing a belt to rehearsal). They’re gathered in the studio, watching Alex try on every piece of clothing he owns because some kid at school asked him to study with him and Alex doesn’t know what to wear.
“I don’t even know if it’s a date,” Alex shouts from the bathroom. “What do you wear on a maybe but probably not a date?”
Luke rolls his eyes. They’ve been at this for an hour. Luke didn’t even know Alex owned this many clothes. Next to him on the couch, Bobby has Luke’s bike wheels-up on his lap, and he’s fiddling with the chain with some kind of pliers. On the other side of him, Reggie’s got his headphones in, bopping along to some terrible country tape on Bobby’s Walkman. So they’re no help.
Luke sighs, rolls his eyes again, and calls out, “Come on, Alex, just pick something! He’s not gonna care!”
“And what if it is a date?” Alex continues, ignoring Luke completely. “I don’t know what to wear on a date. I’ve never even been on a date!”
“Hey!” Luke squawks, offended.
Alex, shirtless, sticks his head out the bathroom door to give him a Look. “Luke, your idea of a date was taking me to the snack aisle of Ralph’s.”
“They’ve got the best fruit snacks, what do you want me to tell you?”
“You wouldn’t let me buy any.”
“Those things are expensive! I don’t have that kinda money!”
“Oh my god, you guys, shut up.” Bobby places Luke’s bike on the floor and gets to his feet, pointing his pliers at Alex. “I’ve got just the thing.”
Twenty minutes later, Alex emerges from the bathroom in his nicest pants, a pale yellow t-shirt, and Bobby’s black leather vest.
Luke’s jaw drops. His stomach coils. Reggie takes his headphones out to compliment Alex’s new look, and Alex is grinning shyly, and Bobby’s smirking proudly, but Luke just slumps back into the couch cushions and crosses his arms and pouts and mutters, “Well, now he’s just gonna think you look stupid.”
But no one listens to him.
“Why do you get so upset when other people wear Bobby’s clothes?” Alex asks him the next night after he returns from his successful study (but definitely not a) date.
Luke stammers unintelligibly for a few moments, eventually spits out, “I get upset when Bobby wears Bobby’s clothes. They’re dumb clothes!”
He doesn’t think Alex believes him, but he also doesn’t push it.
But then, three days after that, this kid Evan in Bobby’s English class stops by the garage after school and says, “Hey, man, you said I could—” and Bobby immediately goes, “Oh, yeah, here,” and hands the guy a bracelet right off his own wrist!
Behind them, guitar in hand, ready to rehearse, Luke fumes so much he can’t help but shout, “Oh, come on!”
That night, he climbs through Bobby’s window without waiting to be invited and says, “How come you give everyone your clothes but me?”
Bobby stares at him a moment, blinks, says, “You’re such a dumbass,” and goes over to his dresser. He pulls it open to reveal an entire drawer filled with t-shirts, beanies, and other items of clothing—Luke’s clothing. “I don’t bother giving you my clothes cause you’re always giving me yours! I thought that’s what you wanted, dude!”
“Oh.” Luke frowns. He doesn’t even remember giving Bobby half this stuff. “Well. The least you could do is wear them sometime.”
The next day, Bobby enters the studio in a sleeveless Weezer shirt and tosses a Soundgarden hoodie into Luke’s lap. Luke burrows into it like an eager puppy, not caring that it has sleeves because it’s warm and soft and smells faintly of Bobby’s cologne.
He spends the whole rehearsal grinning and staring at Bobby’s muscular arms, and Alex and Reggie roll their eyes and exchange amused looks over Luke’s head, but Luke’s much too happy to care.
And maybe Bobby’s clothes aren’t so bad.