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This is not the tour bus.
In fact, this is nowhere Luke's ever been before. Every morning for the last few weeks he's woken on a tour bus — except for the random handful when they'd been in hotels — and he knows the top of his bunk like the back of his hand. This is...very much not that.
This is a house. That much is obvious. A very nice, fancy house, an expensive house that probably cost a fortune.
It's also an empty house, insofar as Luke is aware. Empty of people, anyway. He's on the sofa — a big, plush sofa; he'll have to keep that in mind, that he likes a big, plush sofa, for when he's old enough to be thinking about things like sofas — and there are things all around him, and the strangest part is, some of them are familiar.
Appropriately, Luke thinks, what the fuck?, which doesn't even begin to cover it but does a decent job of starting.
Rising from the couch, Luke begins a slow lap. He's taking in his surroundings like a detective, seeking clues, when one stops him in his tracks. At first he thinks it's Jack. Even staring at it, he's convinced it might be, mostly because the alternative is too outlandish to consider.
It's hard to tell from the different hair and the mystery girl in the picture, but the photo on the fireplace mantle looks an awful lot like him.
Not... not him, though. Not Luke Hemmings, nineteen years old, currently (or at least last seen) on tour for his band's debut album. The guy in the picture is significantly older by at least several years, and the girl is completely foreign, although she's pretty. She and the other guy — the other Luke, or whoever he is — are both smiling, a glittering oceanic vista in their background. They seem happy.
Luke moves on.
There are more pictures, and Luke doesn't take the time to stare because it hurts his brain if he does, but he recognises Calum, Ashton, and Michael in a few, mostly older-looking versions of them, too. The common denominator between almost all of the pictures of himself, which only confirms Luke’s suspicions that this house probably has something to do with him.
There's one of him and his mum. She looks a little older, though still young for her age. Luke doesn't want to linger, but a part of him can't help it. When he'd gone to sleep his mum had been there on the bus with him, asleep in a different bunk; now Luke has no idea where he is except that he's in a house owned by someone who knows him in the future or maybe... is him in the future? Or has a freaky obsession with future him?
Whatever the case, it's giving Luke chills. He steps away from the mantle and is about to head for the hallway to glean some information from whatever he finds there when the doorknob turns.
Luke freezes. His instinct is to hide, but it kicks in too slow, so he just stands there paralysed in fear while the front door opens and someone steps through.
"They didn't have the brand of milk we like, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to—”
Fuck. He knows that voice. He does.
And the voice knows him, clearly. It stops short when the person walking through the door catches sight of Luke, rooted to the spot.
"Uh," he says, and it's the man from the pictures with the unruly hair and the broad shoulders and a haunted look that had been absent from the fireplace photos. He stares. Luke stares back. "Um."
"I don't know how I got here," Luke says quickly, all he can think to say. Then, stupidly, "I'm Luke."
"I’m certain you’re not," says the man.
"Wanna bet?" Luke says.
The man in the doorway is holding a grocery bag and his knuckles are white around the handle. "Okay," he says calmly. Too calmly. "This is a dream."
"Maybe," Luke says. He hadn't considered that, but it's possible. It would explain how he'd gone to sleep and woken up here. But it wouldn't explain the man in front of him. Maybe this man can explain Luke away, but Luke can't do the reverse.
"Great," says the man. "I'm going to close the door and then open it and when I come back in this will just have been a hallucination."
"I hope so," says Luke.
The man doesn't seem happy with this response. He does as promised, retreating out the door backwards, and it snaps shut.
Luke waits. After a minute, the door opens again, and Luke can't help the disappointed feeling in his gut knowing all this man wants is to open the door to an empty room when Luke doesn't know how to disappear. Being invisible had once been his greatest strength; lately it seems he can't do it if he tries. And he's really trying, right now.
"Go away," says the man as he re-enters the room. "You're not here." His eyes are screwed tightly closed. Luke's torn between saying something so the man isn't more disappointed and staying silent to give the man another moment of peace, and in the end indecision causes him to say nothing. "I'm opening my eyes and if I'm talking to myself right now it will mean I'm crazy but not as crazy as if my seventeen-year-old self is in my fucking living room."
Luke's heart stops. Indignant, he can't help but say, "Hey, I'm nineteen."
"God damn it," the man moans, and opens his eyes.
"I'm sorry," Luke says timidly. "I don't know what I'm doing here either, if it helps."
"If it helps?" says the man, who has identified himself as Luke's future self. Luke gets a headache thinking that. He doesn't like the idea that his future self wouldn't want to see him, and reassures himself with the fact that he can't imagine he'd be pleased to see any of his younger selves either, if only because it would probably mean something had gone terrible wrong with the fabric of the universe.
"Are you really me?" asks Luke, just to be sure.
Future Luke groans even more loudly. His response is confusingly quiet. "Yes. I'm you. I'm Luke. It's 2020. We're in a pandemic."
"Are you allowed to tell me that?"
"Who cares?" Future Luke grumbles. "My nineteen-year-old self is in my living room in clothes I don't even own anymore and I'm sure you've seen the pictures around. You know about my girlfriend and my—”
"What? Wait, what?"
Future Luke stares at him. "How long have you been standing here?"
"Five minutes," Luke says. "I saw your pictures on your fireplace, I saw the boys, but I didn't—”
"The girl is Sierra," Future Luke says. "She's my girlfriend. I’m thinking of proposing soon.” Future Luke closes his eyes. "The point is, just you being here is going to tear a hole in the spacetime continuum or whatever so I may as well tell you anything."
"A pandemic?" Luke repeats. That sounds scary. "Like an apocalypse?"
"Ha," Future Luke says, except he doesn't seem amused. "Sure, but not like one you'd ever imagine. There's a disease. Look, it's a long story. The point is, no one is really allowed to go outside or be around other people or do things in public anymore."
"Shit," Luke says. "That sounds fucking awful."
"Yeah, I mean." Future Luke shrugs. "Yeah, it's awful and lots of people are dying and it's really bad. I haven't seen the boys in a couple months, so it's—”
"Months? " Luke hasn't gone more than two weeks without seeing his bandmates in about, oh, three years or so. Months sounds unfathomable. They drive him crazy sometimes, but that’s part of their charm.
"I'm not all alone," Future Luke says, sounding very slightly amused. "I've got Sierra, like I said. And Petunia."
Luke feels like his head is going through a washing machine. "You have a kid? "
Future Luke actually laughs at that. "Nice try. Piggy's a dog. She's probably taking a nap in my bed. She's a good girl. You'd— huh, I was gonna say you would like her, but..." He sighs and gestures aimlessly. "You obviously do."
"If this is a dream, whose dream is it?" Luke asks. "It has to be mine, right?"
"I don't want to talk about this," Future Luke says tersely. "Doubt we're gonna crack the case just by wondering. Doesn't seem to be a point."
Luke squints at his future self, trying to figure out what he's missing. They have the same features, and Luke has no trouble believing this man before him really is his future self, because why the fuck not and who the fuck else would it be, but it's like some of the puzzle isn't lining up. Something isn't clicking and Luke can't tell what.
"Are you still in 5SOS?" he asks.
Future Luke nods tiredly. "We just released our fourth album."
"Fourth!" Happiness floods Luke. "That's— we've only released one."
"I know," Future Luke sighs. "You'll get there. I'm not telling you about the album. On the off-chance that this is a real interaction that's happening, I want you to come up with it naturally with the boys."
"Why haven't you seen them in months if you just released an album?" Luke says, confused. "Shouldn't you—”
"Tour?" Future Luke exhales a humourless laugh. "Yeah, we can't. We can't see each other at all, actually, we're not allowed. Everyone's quarantining on their own, so. That's why. Don't worry, kid, we're still mates."
"Best mates."
"Yeah," Future Luke says. "Nothing to worry about, see? I've clearly got your future under control."
It clicks so abruptly that Luke almost smacks his forehead. It's a close thing, but he manages to suppress the instinct. "Oh my God," he says. "You hate me."
Future Luke snaps his head up. "Excuse me?"
"You hate me," Luke says sadly. "Don't try to convince me you don't. I have a lot of expertise in knowing when people hate me."
"I do not hate you."
"You don't like me at all," Luke says, and his stomach feels like the inside of a jack-o-lantern, scraped clean, incongruous expression carved into his face. "Why?"
"I don't hate you," Future Luke says frustratedly. "I— I don't— I don't want you to know me, that's all."
"To know you? My future self?"
"Yes! Because if you did, you would hate me ," Future Luke says, crossing his arms over his chest. "Because I'm not like you anymore, you know? You're— you've got stars in your eyes, you're excited, you still think you're in a punk band—”
"I—"
"Yeah, but you're not , not for long, because you're going to stop being a teenager and start being a grown-up and you're going to get hurt and deal with it badly and that's all my fault," Future Luke says angrily. "You should hate me. You should hate what I've become. How badly I mangled you. I'm not you, I haven't been you in a long time, and I wouldn't even remember how to be. I can't even believe I ever was."
For the first time since entering the house, Luke can't recognise the man before him.
There's no way this is him. This man is jaded and broken and miserable. Luke's been through the wringer a bit, but he bounces back. To think that he becomes this shell of a man curled in on himself against the big fancy front door...
Luke wishes he could run. Wishes he'd never seen it. He doesn't want to know.
"What the fuck happened?" he utters. Future Luke stares at the floor. "You can't tell me that all happened out of nowhere. Something must have happened. Tell me what happened."
"Why? So I can disappoint you even more?" Future Luke laments. "So you can try and fail to avoid the pitfalls when you grow up and inevitably become me anyway?"
"There are fucking miles between who I am and who you are," Luke says sharply. "God, when did you get to be such a fucking prick? I know I'm a kid but at least I try to be decent."
"Fuck you," Future Luke spits. As soon as he says it he looks like he regrets it. His foreign expression appears torn between being angry and being beaten-down. "You can't say that to me. You have no fucking idea what I've been through. You're right, you are just a kid. You think your problems are the end of the world. You're wrong." He breathes a bitter, hollow laugh, and nods towards the glass doors that lead to a patio at the far end of the room. "Mine are. My problems are literally the end of the world. You know what happened? You happened. Your stupid ambition. Your need to be the centre of attention. Fucking hell, Luke. You could have just stepped back. Given me a break. And instead you kept going and going and going and never once thought about what that would do to a man, did you? Do you?"
"I've barely started," Luke argues, wavering under Future Luke's venomous glare. "I'm— I'm only nineteen, Luke, I've barely done anything. I didn't hurt you, at least not yet."
"You just wanted it so bad," Future Luke says savagely.
"Stop yelling at me!" Luke shouts. "Of course I wanted it! So did you or you wouldn't be here! Don't fucking blame me for all your fucking problems and for, for losing sight of what really matters and becoming a fucking alien. I don't even know you. I hope I never become like you. I hope this is just a nightmare."
Future Luke keeps shaking his head but he says nothing, long strands of hair hanging around his face, hair Luke would never dream of having. He has no idea who this man is, but it can’t be him. There’s no way it’s him.
"You were right about one thing," he says coldly. "I do hate you."
Apparently, that's the last straw.
Future Luke buries his face in his hands and slides down to the floor. For once, Luke sees something familiar in the action. The floor is his go-to place. He'd always favoured the floor, even when chairs were available. The floor is where he feels most like him, like the stripped-back, laid-bare version of him that he tries to keep tucked away.
"You don't know what it's like," comes Future Luke's muffled voice.
Luke watches him. He wants to hate this awful iteration of himself, but he can't. Not when the man is clearly so hopeless, so heartbroken. Not when something is so obviously wrong with him.
"That's true," he says cautiously. He takes a step forward, just a little closer, and eases himself to the ground with crossed legs. "I probably don't."
"It hasn't gotten bad for you yet," Future Luke says hollowly to his thighs. "You still like performing. You still like your fans. Your fans still like you."
"Do— do...do they stop liking me? Us?"
"I don't know," Future Luke says helplessly. "Maybe not, maybe the awful ones are just louder. Maybe you — I — deserved it. But at a certain point it's either kill or be killed, and I...I couldn't let them kill me. I couldn't."
"You shouldn't."
"Yeah, but didn't I, anyway?" Future Luke pushes his hair back, away from his face, and looks up with a wan smile that Luke doesn't believe at all. "It's always the people right at the front row, right at the barricade, the ones screaming your name the loudest — it's always them. They hate you because they never loved you, they just loved this perfect, idealised Luke, this dream guy who doesn't exist. A guy who isn't human. I'm human. I was— I make mistakes, made mistakes. Nobody wanted that from me." He shakes his head again. "You don't understand," he repeats, like a broken record.
Luke is starting to. But it seems like his older self isn't finished yet.
"You don't know who you're gonna become until you're already him," he says. "I didn't— I was trying so hard to please everyone" — that sounds like Luke, like current, nineteen-year-old Luke; dread pools in his stomach — "and I couldn't, so I just stopped trying to please anyone. I don't— I don't know what happened, I just. Lost the plot. It was about chasing the high of performing, and for a couple years that was it."
"A couple years," Luke breathes, stunned. Years.
"Yeah," says Future Luke. "I was either going to be this sweet guy who tried and failed to be likable or I was going to be a musician. The point was to be a musician. I tried— I threw myself into it. All of myself. I gave my soul to it." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry," he says, a hitch in his voice. "I'm sorry. I was young. I didn't know."
Luke wants to say it's okay, but he's not sure it is. He watches Future Luke with muted trepidation; it looks like he's going to cry but then he doesn't. A big inhale and he's talking again.
"It was almost worth it, you know?" he says quietly, tugging at the laces of his Converse. "I wish I had been smarter. It could have been worth it."
There's no way this is worth any of that, Luke wants to say. Not a second of it.
"Because every once in a while, there'd just be this...moment." Future Luke holds his hands out in front of him, like picturing an imagined stage, an illusory audience. Eyes unfocused, it's almost like he's not here anymore. "We'd bring the house lights up and the spotlights down and I could see this look in people's eyes. Watching me do this thing I had always dreamed. People who loved me without knowing me. People who were inspired by me. People who thought that the things I created were valuable. Were meaningful. Worthwhile." His voice is a whisper. "And then the house lights would go down and all the spots would go out except mine." He hangs his head. The illusion shatters. "That was the moment that always made it feel worth it. Like all the pain and all the shit was all just to get that one moment with everyone watching me and the spotlight on me alone. Where I could feel like something more than myself. Something bigger than just me."
Luke knows the feeling. It’s his most closely-guarded one. He never expected for it to be the one thing keeping him from breaking into a million pieces, but if any feeling was ever going to keep him afloat, of course it would be this one. He lives for the moments onstage when the lights come up and he finally gets to see the whole crowd. For the moments when the spotlight is on him and he knows everyone’s eyes are on him too, every fan, every tech, even all of his bandmates. The deep breath he gets to take, inhaling a dream he never thought would become a reality; it’s unlike anything he’s ever experienced. He’s always waiting for the next one.
Already, he shares traits with Future Luke. That’s sickening to think.
"But—" Luke swallows, expecting to be shut down, but Future Luke just waits. "You were part of something bigger. The band was bigger than yourself. Your...family. Our? Family."
"God, don't remind me," Future Luke groans, scrubbing a hand over his face. "Mum's called three times in the last two weeks. I haven't called her back."
"What? " Of all of Future Luke's behaviour, this one feels most unacceptable somehow. "You haven't called fucking mum back? Mum?"
"I know—”
"Do you think you're too good?"
"I think I'm not good enough," Future Luke snaps, and that shuts Luke up. Future Luke heaves a deep sigh. "What can I even say to her? I climbed out of rock bottom only to fall right back into the pit. Even Ashton is doing better than me. I thought I got better but it turned out that was contingent upon being able to perform. Then the fucking world ended," he gestures around them, "and suddenly I wasn't allowed. The stages were closed. And I..." He shrugs half-heartedly, like he's finally resigned to it: "I don't remember who I am without it."
Luke chews his lip. "You can't just not call mum."
"And yet."
"Do you think she's not going to love you or something?"
"Don't pretend you're not deathly scared of disappointing her," Future Luke says heatedly. "I know damn fucking well that'd be a lie."
"But you're a fucking grown-up," Luke says. "So fucking grow up. Come on, Luke, it's mum. She's— she—" She's asleep in the bunk next to mine and she loves me and she wants me to be happy and to succeed and I'd more readily believe all the shit that happened to you than believe that mum ever stops wanting that for us.
"I haven't been home in," Future Luke's voice is a whisper, "so long. So long. I can’t— I can’t remember…”
Luke's heart feels filled with lead.
"You forgot," he says. Future Luke drops his forehead onto his knees. Luke knows he's hit the nail on the head. "You forgot," he repeats, incredulously. "Dad's awful cooking, mum's singing 'round the house, playing tag with Jack and Ben? Barefoot? How could you—”
"I told you," Future Luke says. "I lost the plot."
"You didn't lose the plot, you lost the whole fucking novel," Luke says, and he can't help but feel angry.
"You don't understand," Future Luke says again.
"So help me fucking understand! You keep saying that, I don't understand, I don't understand, I don't understand. Obviously I don't understand. I won't understand if you don't explain."
"What have I spent the last fifteen minutes doing?" Future Luke says irritably. "I'm fucking trying. I'm five years older than you. I've had five of the most eventful years I could have possibly had. Forgive me if I can't fucking brain transplant all of that to you in a second."
Luke squirms, humbled. "Okay, fine," he says. "Sorry."
"I didn't forget," Future Luke says, apparently picking up the thread where Luke had dropped it. "Not— it's hard to explain. But the way I lived, the way...the way you're heading, it's not— I didn't—” He shakes his head. He keeps doing that, like he thinks if he just disagrees with reality enough it will shift to accommodate him, change into something nicer, more manageable, less angsty.
"I lost a lot of time," he finally says, soft and deliberate. Gaze trained on his shoes. "I couldn't remember everything when it was happening, even if I had thought to try. Looking back, it's like... I lived ten years in ten hours. I don't— I don't know the timelines. I don't know where I was a lot of the time. Everything stopped when the pandemic started and suddenly we were all stuck at home, and I hadn't stopped in years. It's like, if you can imagine a train with a bunch of cars, just hurtling towards this wall." He holds out one hand to represent the wall and the other to be the train, moving quickly towards the wall. "The front of the train hits the wall and the whole thing just concertinas." The tip of his right fingers touch the palm of his left hand and then his whole right hand crumples, curling into a fist that falls into his lap. "Everything in the middle got crushed together. It's hard for me to remember when things happened. Even if some things happened.”
It's scary, the way Future Luke is talking. Like he doesn't even know how much of his past is real, like he can't trust his mind to tell him the truth about it. Suddenly the assumption he'd made upon first seeing Luke, that Luke had to be a hallucination, makes a lot more sense.
It's possible this Future Luke doesn't trust his mind.
That's fucking terrifying. Luke can't even imagine it.
"I know I have to call her back," says Future Luke weakly. His hands are sandwiched together between his knees; he looks small. Looks like he's trying to look small. Luke has done it enough times to know how that looks.
"Yeah," he says.
"I just want to find more of myself first," Future Luke says. "Remember the me that was more like you."
"No," Luke says firmly, surprising himself. "No. You have to call her as soon as you can. You have to go home as soon as it's humanly possible. Fuck's sake, Luke. You're not going to remember out of the blue. Go. Go home."
"I am home."
"This isn't home to me," Luke says, casting a look around the big house. "This is just a fancy house full of expensive stuff. Go to your real home. Nobody can help you remember like family. Trust me."
"But I—" Future Luke shakes his head yet again. "I have to start from square one. I have to rebuild. I have to pick myself up and— and work through all of this shit, I can't bring it home."
"You can and you should," Luke says.
"No," Future Luke counters. "I can't rely on the stage and the spotlight but I can't be a kid anymore, either. I'm not you. Mum's not gonna tour with you forever."
"That's such a stupid fucking perspective," Luke says, scowling.
"But it's a true one," Future Luke says with unexpected gentleness. "Look, I promise to call. I hope by the time I'm allowed to visit them, that I'll be in a good place to. I've been trying to work on it, it's just..."
"It's hard," Luke says.
Future Luke nods. "It's hard."
"Are you going to give up music?" Luke asks hesitantly.
He really expects Future Luke to say yes. It seems like the right thing to do, given everything Luke's heard. As much as Luke had always wanted to be in music forever, it seems like music is making Future Luke's forever much shorter.
But Future Luke shakes his head. "I couldn't if I wanted to," he says drily. "I'm always writing. Even now. It helps me. It's always— I'm sure— you already know this."
"With, like...girls, and growing up," Luke says, knitting his brow in concern. "Not...all of this shit."
The ghost of a smile echoes over Future Luke's face. "Not yet," he says. "Just wait." At Luke's nervous expression, he presses his lips together. "Trust me. It helps. It's always going to help."
"I don't even know where I'd start," Luke says. How the fuck could anyone even begin to turn anything Future Luke's just shared into music? What would the lyrics be if not desperate screaming? Streaming tears? Christ. Luke's chest aches just thinking about it.
"I'm not quitting music," Future Luke tells him. "I can't perform now anyway, so I'm sort of going back to basics. It's good for me. And Sierra helps too. Being in a quiet place alone with the woman I love, that helps."
The woman he loves. In just five years, Luke is supposed to be in love with a woman he’s never met before. One he's going to want to marry. That seems impossible, but then again, having a conversation with his future self seems impossible, so Luke may have to look into expanding his definition of what's possible.
"But after this ends, the pandemic or whatever it is, you're gonna go back to doing shows?" he asks. "Doesn't that seem like...giving a reformed alcoholic a glass of wine?"
Future Luke bites his lip. Luke remembers doing that only a few minutes prior. Five years and he's still got the same bad habits. The same, plus a few more.
"There has to be a balance," he says. This time, it seems like he's talking to himself. "I know there has to be something between the all and the nothing. Some way to appreciate the...appreciation, but without getting lost in it."
"That's a lot of faith you're putting in a maybe," Luke says. "It doesn't sound like you know how to find the balance."
"But I've never had this before," Future Luke says, tilting his head towards the hallway that surely leads to the bedrooms. "A break. A real, actual break. I don't check Instagram. I don't check Twitter. I don't even listen to our music. I barely talk to anyone — which, I know, isn't great, but it's better than trying to talk to everyone. I'm detox-ing, I guess you could say."
"So it's poison," Luke says apprehensively.
Future Luke hesitates, and then the corner of his mouth pulls up, just barely. "Well, carbon dioxide is made of oxygen, right? It's something different and it'll kill you if it's too much, but if you can break it down, you end up with oxygen, and we need oxygen. I'm...breaking it down. Trying to separate the oxygen from the poison."
"Without losing all of the oxygen."
"Right."
"'Cause you'd die." Luke narrows his eyes. "Without oxygen."
"Right," Future Luke says again, like he hasn't just drawn a dark and somewhat distressing metaphor between breathing and performing.
"Aren't you scared?" asks Luke, because honestly, he's scared.
Future Luke huffs an almost-laugh. "Aren't you?"
Luke blinks. "What?"
"Well, now you know me," Future Luke says. "I'm you in five years. I'm sorry to say that it's mostly downhill from here for you. Doesn't that scare you?"
Something curious happens in Luke's brain. He sees what's happening and he knows it's true; he knows for a fact that this Luke in front of him is really him five years in the future, that this is his timeline and that according to the laws of time and most of the time travel movies Luke's seen, no amount of trying can change his fate. He knows his future now, knows that it's bleak and grim and doesn't yet have a happy ending. It should make him shut down. It's enough to paralyse anyone out of fear.
But Luke still shrugs and says, "Not really."
And it doesn't.
"You didn't answer my question," he adds. "Are you scared?"
"Of what?" Future Luke tips his head back until it hits the door. "Finding out that there's no middle for me? Realising I might have to choose between losing myself to music or losing music forever? Failing to break down the poison?"
"Yes," Luke says.
Future Luke hums. "Yeah," he says quietly. "But what else can I do?"
That, unfortunately, is an indecently good point.
"What do you think brought me here?" Luke asks.
Future Luke lifts a shoulder. "I dunno, God?"
"Yeah," Luke says with a snort. "Right."
"The more important question is, can you get back," Future Luke says.
Luke's not sure. He has a sneaking suspicion it will happen out of nowhere with zero advance notice. Like a lightning strike.
If it does, though, there's one more thing he has to say.
"Luke?"
"Yeah."
"I forgive you."
Future Luke jerks. His head tilts forward until his eyes meet Luke's, and Luke recognises those eyes. They're his own, more laugh lines around the corners, older with darker bags; still, they're his from the mirror, and he would know them anywhere.
"I wouldn't blame you if you didn't," Future Luke murmurs.
"But I do," Luke says. "It's my fault, anyway."
"It's not—”
"How can it be your fault but not mine?" Luke interrupts. Future Luke just stares at him like he's trying to process the words. "I'm sorry. I wish I had set you up better. Started you off better."
"It's not your fault," Future Luke says. "It's not your fault. You're a kid. You're so young."
"So were you," Luke says gently.
Future Luke swallows hard and blinks back tears. "I was." His voice cracks. "I was young. We were both so young."
"Yeah," Luke says, and wonders why he's not on the verge of tears himself. "I forgive you for everything. I know you didn't mean for this to happen."
"I'm sorry," Future Luke whimpers, burying his head in his hands. "I'm sorry."
"There's no point in being sorry," Luke says. "It hasn't happened to me yet. Everything that—" He wavers. "Everything that's going to happen is going to be my fault. In a way, everything that you're going through is because of me."
"That's not—”
"Do you forgive me?" Luke asks, and feels like a kid, tugging on his older brother's hand, asking big questions when he was still too young to understand their answers. "Can you?"
Future Luke looks up and wipes the tears off his face. He sniffles and closes his eyes and exhales.
"Of course," he says in a breath. "It's not your fault, Luke."
Luke wakes up and almost hits his head on the bunk above him.
"Get up get up get up!" Michael's shouting, with Calum doing some pathetic attempt at turning it into a barbershop quartet of just two people, and Ashton hurling obscenities at the both of them. Luke's bunk curtain is yanked back, blinding him with bus light.
"Aw, fuck off," he says, groaning. His chest hurts, but it's not the kind of hurt you heal, just the kind you feel.
"Get up get up get up!" Michael screeches in his ear. Luke whacks him. "Hey, violence against bandmates! That's against literally our first rule!"
"Every day of my goddamn life with you arseholes is violence against me," Luke grouses, kicking semi-blindly out at whoever is the closest target. Based on the yelp, it's Calum. Luke rubs at his eyes and frowns. "I feel like I had a really fucking weird dream."
"Me too," Ashton volunteers. "I was Sherlock Holmes and Calum was Watson. We were investigating a murder."
"I don't remember mine," Luke says slowly, to himself. He looks up. Michael and Calum have moved on to go bother the rest of the bus or possibly locate breakfast. Ashton marches past Luke's bunk in pursuit of them. Soon Luke is the only one still in his bunk.
"Lukey?"
Luke snaps his head up and his mum is right there, watching him.
"Sleep well? You seem confused."
He stares at her. "I slept okay," he says.
His mum gives him a teasingly suspicious look. "Not wildly convincing, but it's a start."
Luke scrambles out of his bunk and throws his arms around his mum before the compulsion gets any stronger.
"I had a weird dream," he mumbles, when his mum makes a noise of surprise. "I'm glad you're here."
"Here specifically or here on your tour?"
"Yeah, both." Luke squeezes her tight. “Thanks.”
His mum breathes a laugh. "Love you, baby.”
It echoes deep into his soul, a part of his soul he can't even reach on his own. Luke holds on for a just a second longer than he should.
“I love you too, mum,” he mumbles.