Chapter Text
April 1993
A twist of the stereo speaker. A piano plays.
'This used to be my playground. This used to be my childhood dream.' A woman sings the lyrics beautifully, the track slightly grainy from the volume turned up so high.
Alex shrugs his shoulders in defeat. 'I don’t know.'
Jessica squeals in absolute frustration. 'Come on, Alex! You know who this is!'
Alex hides a smirk behind his hand. 'Mariah Carey?'
Jessica scrunches up her face, folding her arms almost comically in a dramatic huff. The song keeps playing in the background as she waits for him to recognize the artist. He does, of course, but there’s no fun in admitting that. Her cheeks are growing pinker at the minute.
'Maybe I’ll recognize it if you sing it for me, Jessie,' Alex suggests carefully, not wanting his sister to catch on with his teasing, 'That’s how I hear all these songs usually.'
Jessica grins, a gap between her front teeth that she lost a couple of days ago. Almost seven, and Alex can barely believe how much she has grown. Her hair is darker now, no longer the strawberry blonde that she was born with. She gets more freckles every time she steps outside and seems to be taller each time Alex picks her up. Alex often wonders when she’ll get too old to dance around on his shoulders or when she won’t want to spend her mornings testing Alex’s knowledge of pop music.
She puffs out her chest and stands up, planting her bare feet firmly into the ground and waits for a good part to sing.
'This used to be the place I ran to! Whenever I was in need of a friend!' The tune is a little off and it’s mostly yelling the lyrics over the already loudspeaker, but Alex loves to see his sister relish in singing and performing. Sat down, he dances to the music, mimicking his sister’s hand gestures and bouncing.
'Oh my gosh, Jessie, you sound just like Madonna!' He exclaims, and she jumps into his open arms, treading all over his legs. Her bony elbows dig into his collar as he pushes her over onto his back and wraps his arms around her legs, standing up and continuing to dance. Jessie giggles and cranes her neck to be upright again, but Alex dances like she’s not squirming in his arms.
'Alex!' She yells as Alex wiggles his hips and sways her from side to side. He turns around dramatically in the living room.
'Who said that? Mrs. Madonna?' More squealing and giggling.
Alex is too busy messing around to notice his Mom coming through from the kitchen until he hears her speaking. 'What are you two doing?'
Alex quickly stops dancing and turns to face his Mom, causing Jessie to spin around behind him.
'Alex, put her down before someone gets hurt or she’s sick. And Jessica, turn that music down. Alex doesn’t want to listen to your girlie songs all the time.' Alex releases Jessica down onto the sofa head first, gently, like every time. Her hair is a crow’s nest and she’s flushed red from excitement.
Jessica rolls over and hangs over the edge of the couch. 'He likes them, Mom!'
His Mom looks unamused but is softening to the both of them. 'It’s too loud, regardless. We’ll upset the neighbors this early in the day.'
Alex lets the two of them bicker and uses the distraction to turn down the stereo. Jessica doesn’t even notice. His Mom mouths a thank you . She often remarks how when people warned her about raising a teenage boy, they should have been warning her about raising a six-year-old girl going on seventeen.
Alex heads into the kitchen to make himself a cup of coffee; a pot already made on the side. The entire room smells sweet. Vanilla coffee. He sips it as he potters around the kitchen, then washes the few leftover dishes on the side from breakfast. He’s got some spare time before he needs to head to school.
His Mom joins him in the kitchen, and squeezes him on the shoulder, 'Thank you, sweetheart.'
'Happy to help, Mom,' Alex says honestly. 'Do you need me to pick up anything on the way home from school today? I could go by the store?'
He turns to face his Mom, wet plate and scrubber trickling water down his hands to his wrists. She smiles tightly at him. Alex inherited her blonde hair- which used to be natural, but now she gets touched up every couple of weeks- and his Father’s jawline. He’s heard that a lot in his life. How he looks exactly like the both of them. His Mom is already wearing makeup. She likely woke up at 6 am to ‘make herself look pretty’ to collect the mail. Appearances are very important, after all.
'Bless you. No, it’s okay. Wouldn’t you rather be hanging out with your friends after school than running chores for your Mother?' His Mom sounds neutral, but Alex feels a slight change in her tone. His stomach clenches in nervousness. Has he said something wrong?
He clears his throat. 'I don’t mind. Really, basketball is on Wednesday and Friday this week.' His one extra-curricular activity. He wanted to do track, his parents wanted him to do a group sport.
His Mom pours the last of the coffee into a mug then gestures to ask if he wants another pot made. He shakes his head. He can hear Jessie stomping around in the sitting room.
His Mom’s gaze lingers on his face for a fraction longer before she sighs, almost as though she had more to say. Alex often leaves their conversations feeling like there’s something more to be said, but they’re both too afraid to say it.
'Dad let me know he won’t be making it to dinner tonight.' His Mom fills Jessica’s sparkly pink water bottle from the filter jug. 'He had to leave early this morning, too.'
Alex doesn't comment on how few nights his Father has been at home of late. He works hard and provides well, never missing a special occasion or a school event. It’s not Alex’s business to criticize.
'I can help make dinner tonight then,' Alex says, stacking the last of the plates up to dry on the side and drying his hands.
'Thank you, sweetheart.' She smiles at him. 'Dishes and an offer to help cook dinner? You’re going to make some special lady very happy one day.'
Alex feels himself blushing, embarrassed that ‘girls’ have made their way to a near-daily topic in the Mercer household. He catches a rare quiet Jessica watching him from the kitchen entrance. 'I already have my special ladies right here.' He sticks out his tongue at her, and she mimics him back.
He grabs his jacket from the back of the chair and slugs his rucksack over his shoulder. 'See you later. Love you both.'
'Love you!' Jessica yells loudly, as she runs to wrap her arms around his waist in a hug. He scratches the back of her head. He unhooks her little fingers from around him to wiggle himself free, sad that they can’t spend the day together and heads out.
Cold air sweeps from Alex’s cheeks to his ears as soon as he’s stepped outside. Although the days are slowly getting warmer, the wintry mornings linger. His body always runs on the cold side; wearing hoodies well into the year. Despite the joys of the morning fun, he’s relieved to get away from the house. And his family. With this feeling comes overwhelming guilt that he could even feel this way. That he wants to leave sometimes. Go somewhere no one knows him. That he wishes there weren’t already people in his life who love him and see him in a certain way. He feels like they’re watching and he’s letting them down.
But, yeah, everyone feels that way. Misunderstood kid. Classic teen.
There are other kids Alex recognizes from his school walking from his neighborhood. He doesn’t join them or try to invite them to walk with him. The walk to and from school is his. No one to entertain, no reason to think about his words or actions, no one watching.
Alone. He likes it that way.
Luke
Luke spends an extra few minutes choosing his clothes and packing his backpack. His father hasn’t left the house yet, which can only mean there’s a family breakfast about to happen. And that likely means he’s in trouble.
What could it possibly be this time? He hasn’t had a school report in a while. His last detention was over a week ago (got caught skipping class again) and he already faced that talk. The longer he spends getting ready for school, the less time they have to list his failures yet again. He gets it, he’s a disappointment. Nothing new. Same talk next week.
'Luke! Food is getting cold!' His Mom calls gently up the stairs. He rolls his eyes, frustrated that he can’t sneak out his window and deal with his lecture later. Why can’t family breakfast ever come with good news? Or positivity?
He throws himself back onto his bed, hands in his hair, clasping his eyes shut. Only a minute later, he hears his dad calling up, 'Luke!' So he rolls off the bed, grabs his bag and hurries down the stairs. Swinging himself around the bannister, he almost collides with his Mom waiting patiently at the bottom.
'Careful!' She immediately reaches up to adjust Luke’s hair with her fingers. He shrugs her away.
'Mom, quit it,' He whines, and she stops. 'Please.' He adds quickly, feeling bad at her hurt expression. She turns before he can see it for long. Disappointed her. Again and again. He really can’t do anything right.
His Dad is sitting at the table, a book in hand. One of the new Stephen King books. His Dad always has a book open nearby. He could spend hours sitting looking at pages next to his Mom with her knitting. He’s never understood how they never seem bored sitting still. How they don’t have the energy to do anything else. Luke needs to be enjoying himself through actions. He’s never been a reader or into crafts. Music is his craft.
Jumping around on a stage, dancing to the beat, experimenting with his mic or instrument. The energy from his body being transferred into his guitar and the stage. That he understands.
His Dad closes the book and places it to one side without marking the page. His Mom asks him what he wants to drink and eat.
'I really should head to school.' Luke attempts to avoid whatever this is.
His Dad shakes his head. 'You’re joining us, kiddo. You can spare a few minutes.' So Luke grabs a glass of juice and sits opposite his dad. His Mom sits between them, buttering herself a slice of toast.
'So,' His Mom’s voice takes on a light tone, 'How’s school?'
Luke takes a bite of an apple and shrugs. 'It’s cool.'
'Good.' She smiles, and Luke feels himself smiling back. His Mom’s smile does that. Hair semi-tied back, freshly trimmed as usual. She’s a hairdresser; has been since Luke was born. ‘You were born with so much hair!’ The story goes. ‘I knew as soon as I saw you I’d need to learn to cut it or you’d turn into Rapunzel.’ Luke has had a haircut every two weeks for the last fifteen years he expects.
'Your father and I were discussing some summer options that we thought might be exciting for you to do.' She says this quickly, all in a rush. 'I thought you might like to work with your Father.'
Luke doesn’t even need to hear the rest of the proposal. 'Dad, please no. You know I have plans this summer!'
His Dad doesn’t even seem to hear him. 'You’re fifteen, Luke. It’s time to be responsible and get some work experience. Colleges want to hear you’ve seen the working world, not that you’ve spent summers messing around in those clubs.'
'Playing music!'
'It’s not working, Luke. I’m sorry, but you need a career.'
'Music is a career! I’m not-'
'You’re not old enough to understand this, but you need to be realistic. We got you that guitar so you’d pay attention in school. Not to spend your life making pennies performing.'
Luke feels his muscles clenching, his face burning with anger. He wants to yell and throw his juice from this stupid breakfast across the table instead of listening to this. It’s not fair. They never even try to understand what music means to him. How this is his dream. It’s not some unachievable fantasy. It could happen!
'I am not a child,' He finally snaps, japing his hand into his chest with every word. 'Why can’t you believe in me for once?'
There is no immediate response, so Luke stands from the table.
His Dad and Mom both talk over each other. 'We believe in you-' His Mom carries on, 'We know how talented you are, darling. But this would be good for you and your schooling and college. We’re not stopping you from playing music.'
Luke is too annoyed to care at the moment. 'If you believed in me, you’d support what I want to do.'
They want to say something more to him, but he ignores it. He can’t believe they would try to take his summer away from him. There are things that he has planned. He’s been booking places to sing recently, writing more songs, practising with every waking second he has. They don't realize how hard he works. He could never be happy sitting in an office all day like his dad. The repetition of spending every day in the same place would never make him happy.
Luke slams the front door shut as he leaves, grabbing his bike that he’d dropped by the side of the house and setting off to school.
His parents never stop whining about his life. What did he want to do after he left school? What job did he expect to get if he didn’t keep up his grades? Why couldn’t he put the same amount of effort into high school as he did his music?
He could feel the day when he could move out forever coming, but it couldn’t come soon enough. They got nothing about him. He wants to make a name for himself with music. Everyone else tells him he’s got talent! That he’s going places.
The cycle to school doesn’t take too long. The morning is still coming, with an icy breeze chilling him and waking him up at the same time. His rucksack digs into the back and his guitar case hangs awkwardly over it. He’ll never risk leaving it at home.
The school courtyard is heaving with students for the day, a sea of denim blue legs and keds. Luke didn’t recognize many of the kids in his school. There always seem to be so many. Despite only being a sophomore, Luke seems to fit in well with the other students. He keeps his head down and busy and everyone either exchanges friendly hellos or stays out of his way. A lot of the music kids recognize him from practice. He hangs out with a group of band kids or some of the baseball team when he isn’t rehearsing.
Lisa Kelly waves at him as he walks to class, and his stomach turns with nerves. She is by far the cutest girl in their year, with glossy pink lips and strawberry blonde hair. They’ve hung out amongst others a few times and things had been going well, yet he hadn’t had the courage to ask her out yet. Just the two of them.
When things are less busy, he promises himself. Class and music and… things were just busy and Luke never has time to think too much about girls. He heads to his locker and doesn’t stop to chat, although he’ll kick himself for that later. Every interaction with Lisa Kelly ends with Luke kicking himself. He thought it would be romantic to write a song about her before he asked her out, but has figured nothing out for it yet.
The bell rings as he’s shoving books into his overflowing locker. Scribbles are covering every loose piece of paper tucked between pages of books. Lyrics come to him a lot easier in chemistry than actual chemistry does.
He’s not stupid. Doing badly in class isn’t anything to do with how intelligent or unintelligent he is. He’s simply never going to need science or algorithms when he’s a musician. It’s all a waste of time. Bigger picture.
As he’s slowly walking towards class, asking himself would it be so bad if he cut first-period, he hears a loud metallic thud. Like someone has slammed their locker door shut around the corner.
'Quit staring at me-' And Luke tenses as he hears a slur being yelled. He turns the corner, eying the situation. There are two guys, tall, both with dark hair. Seniors, he assumes. Over their shoulders, pressed against a locker, is a skinnier blonde kid with a pale expression on his face.
No one has seen Luke yet. It would be easy to turn around, head to English, and ignore the entire situation. Let it resolve itself. He catches another look at the blonde and instead walks straight into the chaos.
'Hey, guys, what’s the matter here?' Now that Luke is practically facing these students, he’s second-guessing his decision to play the hero. How is his Mom going to react if he comes home with a black eye? He keeps his tone light and non-accusatory, hoping to score some points for diplomat rather than winning in a brawl.
'Caught this queen coming into the bathroom with us,' one lad says. He’s wearing a plaid shirt and has the sour expression permanently, it would seem. A Southern twang in his voice.
The blonde boy’s eyes are darting between their conversation and down the hallway, hoping for a teacher or member of staff to catch them at it before things kick-off. He’s keeping surprisingly calm, considering that he has two hands pinning him against a locker.
'How am I supposed to know when you’re in there?' The blonde speaks out evenly through gritted teeth. His voice is both flat and careful. This doesn’t sound like the first time he’s been in this position. Luke can feel panic brewing in his stomach, palms sweaty, and adrenaline kicking in at his sarcastic, dull words. He sounds bored. Is that confidence, arrogance, or idiocy he’s listening to?
The guy holding onto the blonde’s shoulder presses harder, him against the metal with a force that could hold him off the ground. He laughs humorlessly at this.
Blondie winks at Luke. 'How often do you find any excuse to pin a guy against a wall, eh?'
The man releases him in a flash, but Luke sees his hands clench into fists as he drops them to his sides. 'Shut up, you pansy.'
The blonde flinches but keeps his cool. 'I don’t know what you’re talking about.'
One guy, the silent one, raises his hand. Luke acts on impulse. He grabs his sleeve, twisting his arm back between his shoulder blades before releasing. The guy yelps in shock. Both boys turn to square off at him, ignoring their original target for fresh bait.
'Woah, woah.' He backs off a couple of quick steps. His sneakers squeak in the cold echo of the empty corridor. This is not his fight to be picking.
One of their fists collides with his stomach before he has time to tense. Luke doubles over in pain. God , he sucks in air but feels no relief. T hat hurt . Luke’s never been in a fight. He prides himself on being the first one to talk his way out of any sticky situation. However, they seem satisfied with his lack of a response, and he hears the guys laughing as they jog off down the corridor, leaving him coughing and clutching at his stomach.
Not before they turn to spit towards the blonde and warn him to back off.
Luke stands as straight as his pain allows, meeting the blonde’s concerned gaze and mustering all the confidence he can. 'It’s aiight.' He holds a hand out as the blonde tries to support his wobbly stand. The two of them got lucky. Although, Luke is less so.
'That went well,' The blonde says mockingly, but Luke can see that he’s troubled at the sight of him. He adds gently, 'You didn’t need to do that.'
Luke shrugs his shoulders, ignoring the hot sensation spreading in his gut up to his ribs. 'They were being jerks... I’m Luke, by the way.'
'Luke. Yeah. You sit a few seats over from me in bio. And English lit. We, uh, have a lot of classes together.'
'I need to pay more attention in classes.' He smiles awkwardly, feeling guilty that he doesn’t remember names or faces well. He takes a moment to commit the blonde to memory: long thin nose and deep-set eyes, a brow made to be creased and frowning, several small moles doted on his right cheek. A little color has returned to his face.
The other boy shrugs, pulling at his clothing to look neater, focusing on exactly where he was being grabbed. 'We’ll call it even. I’m Alex.'
Luke extends a hand out to Alex, having learned from his father that it’s important to show respect for another man by shaking their hand. Never remain seated when you’re introduced to someone, he would say, firm handshake and bow your head courteously if they’re your superior. Alex hesitates before closing the gap.
'You’re not... bothered by what they were saying about me? You’re not going to ask if it’s true?' Alex challenges, but his vulnerability spills finally out into his words. He held it together, but the conversation and accusations clearly hit a nerve. He looks down at the ground rather than meeting the other boy’s gaze.
There is nothing Luke can say in this situation that could make up for the damage that high school's relentless bullies have caused. By the jocks and popular kids that seem to dominate the halls, spreading vicious lies and making rules to suit them Instead he simply squeezes his hand in a way he hopes is reassuring.
'Do-do you want to talk about it?' Luke asks as the other boy drops his hands back together in front of his body, picking at his nails nervously. Man, he barely knows the guy: of course, he will not want to open it up to a random student who doesn’t remember him from half a dozen classes.
'No. Thanks though.' He clears his throat, still picking at his fingers in front of him.
'So, see you in class?' Luke takes a step in the direction he came, remembering his guitar and bag are sitting waiting for him around the corner on the way to English.
Alex chuckles and follows the one step. 'English together, remember?'
He brings a hand up to his forehead, feigning shock. 'I knew that.'
Alex picks up a backpack from the floor and gestured grandly for him to lead the way, 'Sure.' He says, but Luke can hear his smug smirk without even turning around to see it.
This blonde kid is alright.
It takes a couple of days for them to talk again. Luke doesn’t even see the kid at lunchtime, and he seems pretty intent on ignoring him during classes. Taking a punch for someone doesn’t entitle him to a friendship, but he thought he’d get a polite smile at the very least. He can’t even have bragging rights for winning a fight because that would involve disclosing why Alex was being picked on. And because he didn’t technically win or fight.
He lingers a little after class, wanting to check in and see if Alex is okay. He’s been thinking about the altercation a lot. It might not be a big deal, yet something about the whole thing rubbed Luke the wrong way. He’s never noticed people being so homophobic before. He kind of figured there weren’t any gay people at the school, or at least Luke hadn’t met anyone who’s out.
Luke doesn’t want to get lumped in with the homophobic people in their school- although Alex might not even be gay. He’s seen those bullies around since the fight and they hang around in similar social circles. When the basketball guys and baseball guys sort of park their groups next to each other at lunch. He left immediately after seeing those two, but who knows how often they’ve eaten lunch with him in the same crowd? So he went and sat with the music kids, listening to them chat about the nearby clubs and upcoming concerts.
Most of the bands don’t stand out to Luke. He makes a note of a couple of nights coming up with open performance spaces, should he ever want to play. Open mic nights, that sort of thing. As if his parents would let him stay out past seven. Most people get their curfew extended as they get older; Luke’s seems to decrease. Soon he won’t even be able to attend after-school activities.
He notices how often he crosses paths with the blonde kid- Alex. H e mentally corrects himself. They share four classes; English lit, American history, biology, and gym. Alex sits in the front row, never raises his hand, rarely speaks to anyone else in the class. Alex picks at his nails a lot in class, and he does this cool thing where he twiddles his pencil between each finger, running it down from top to pinkie in a smooth spiral.
After school, Luke heads down to practise his guitar in one of their music rooms. He goes often, preferring the emptiness of school rather than at home. His parents get annoyed if he spends more than an hour playing. He’s not working on anything special, covering some songs that he’s been loving recently. Time passes quickly, and it’s only feeling hungry that pulls Luke away from strumming and gets him to pack up.
As soon as he opens the door, he hears the rhythmic beat of drums. He follows the noise, listening outside each door until he’s sure he’s at the right one. He immediately recognizes the song as one of Nevada’s, Lithium. It has an amazing guitar riff intro that Luke has memorized. The drummer doesn’t miss a beat and Luke wants to pull out his guitar and play along, even if his acoustic won’t sound right. He stays firmly on the spot until the song is over, before knocking on the door.
'Yeah?' A breathy response comes from the other side, and Luke pushes it open. A familiar blonde is sitting, looking sweaty and distracted, surrounded by a drum set. He meets Luke’s gaze and stands up abruptly, knocking over his stool and stumbling over it. One stick clatters to the ground. He steadies himself, and Luke suspects if he wasn’t already pink that his cheeks would be rose-tinted by now.
'You’re awesome, dude!' Luke wants to jump up and down on the spot that Alex is an actual drumming legend in the making! He is so wildly talented! That song rocked, even with nothing else to accompany the drums with.
'Uh, right? Thanks. I don’t, uh, play. Often.' The kid is so nervous, but Luke is too excited to worry about that right now.
'You want to go again? I could grab an amp and a guitar. I know they’ve got some-'
'No!' Alex laughs apprehensively. 'I’m beat right now, was finishing up here.' Alex’s hair is a mess from throwing his head around, his t-shirt marked from sweat. He looks like he’s been going for a while, still sounding slightly breathless. He packs up his things whilst running his hands through his hair to tame it. Luke can’t help think he looks like a performer. He loves seeing people coming off stage, messed up by the music, buzzing from the ride that they’ve come off of, sinking back onto earth from space.
Luke quizzes him, desperate for more information. 'I’ve never seen you playing. You’re not in band?'
Alex doesn’t look up, 'No. I prefer to practise on my own.'
'Why?'
There’s a pause before he gets a response. 'Don’t know. I can concentrate better.' His pitch jumps up a notch, and Luke is sure this isn’t the whole truth. He doesn’t press. This is the most he’s got out of Alex since they met, and he can’t mess it up.
'How long have you been playing?' He asks instead of prodding further about why Alex isn’t in the one music extra-curricular in school.
'Four years. Give or take.'
'Any other instruments? Do you write? Sing?'
'Not really.'
As Luke calms down from his excitement, he sees Alex does not look like the musicians coming off stage. He’s not high on performing, or excited. He looks sad; his brows knitted together, hands gripping tightly onto his remaining stick so hard that his knuckles are white, shoulders tensed around his neck. He looks like he’s got the butterflies that come before a performance, rather than the thrill of finishing one.
'Are you okay?' Luke finally asks.
Alex stands up to look him straight in the eyes. 'Not really.' He shrugs and doesn’t look like he’s going to elaborate.
Luke passes him the other stick from the ground where it rolled off to and helps him straighten out the set. 'I’m hungry.' He settles on saying, 'You wanna go grab some food?'
Alex looks down, mulling over the offer as he turns the sticks in his hands. 'Yeah. Yeah, okay.' He drops the sticks back onto the set and grabs his jacket draping over his bag to pull on. It’s pale blue denim, the only pop of color in his otherwise black outfit. He takes a deep breath, as though preparing for something big, before following Luke out the door.
'So,' Luke asks, 'tell me what music you’re into.'
Alex
There’s a vicious pain in Alex’s stomach that the smell of fried food on the Santa Monica Pier does not help settle. Never in his lifetime did he guess he’d be hanging out with Luke Patterson. Known at school for his musical talent- and therefore popularity- he’s never looked in Alex’s direction once. Hell, they’ve taken classes together for months now and he assumed Luke couldn’t pick him out of a lineup.
He’s noticed him before. Seen him play once or twice at school, always in awe of his talent. Not inclusive of the guitar and voice, but how comfortable he is on stage. No nervousness, not a crack in his songs or missed cord when he’s in front of a group. That feels like a talent in itself.
Then he took a punch for Alex. He stood up for him. No one has ever done that before.
Luke asks a lot of questions. Mostly about music, which feels like a safe topic. He laughs when Alex shares he listens to a lot of pop music; a lot of mainstream artists that his sister likes. Luke lists Guns n’ roses, Genesis, Queen… the list carries on for a while. He let Luke waffle on a bit about his own guitar and shows that he’s played, while Alex takes in the scenery.
The pier is quiet for a weekday, some families pottering around playing games and having something to eat. The two boys pick up some fries from a greasy looking stand with free ketchup and head down the open beach. It’s brisk, and the sand is damp from the tide heading back out. Both his food and the air smells like salt, and the sounds of the pier grow more distant as the waves get closer. Despite all the surrounding people nearer to the coastline, it feels secluded.
'I meant to catch you after last week. See if you were okay.' Luke breaks the silence.
Alex doesn’t want to think back. Bullies have gotten tougher in high school. No more taunts but physical threats instead. He can’t admit that he’s not been able to go into the school’s toilets since it happened. Doesn’t want to risk them being in there. They should not matter. They’re people Alex does not care about. Kids he’ll never see once he’s finished school and left for good. Yet their judgement and hate left him feeling scared. Is this what life will always be like?
'I’m aiight,' He responds quietly, throwing a fry out to the seagull that’s lingering nearby. 'I should ask how your stomach is.'
Luke laughs gently and Alex cannot look at him, instead of focusing on the bird nipping at the sand and the distant waves. 'They barely got me.'
'You’re full of it,' Alex says, and feels guilty immediately. Why can’t he ever just say something normal? Why does he always say things without thinking? He chances a glance over and Luke is staring at him with a huge grin on his face. 'What?' Alex shifts uncomfortably and takes a few fast steps forwards.
Luke catches up with him easily. 'You’re surprising me. First a drummer, now with the sarcasm.' There’s a sudden realization as he bounces on the spot, spraying sand with his feet. 'That’s why you do the pencil thing!'
'The pencil thing?'
'In class, with your pencil. The spinny trick.' He mimics a finger falling between his other hand and Alex realizes what he means.
'You watching me, Patterson?' He feels himself blush and is grateful for the cold sea breeze that is keeping him chilled right now. Luke noticed him. He often feels invisible in school, or like people only pay him attention enough to call him names. It never changes, no matter what he does. He dresses like everyone else, keeps his head down. Nothing memorable or embarrassing ever happens to him.
Luke tosses a fry into his mouth. 'Don’t remember ever telling you my last name.' He smirks, unphased to be caught out.
Alex scoffs, 'As though I haven’t heard all about the great and talented musician Luke Patterson.'
Luke holds his thumb and pinkie out and waggles his tongue, rock star fashion. 'Not yet.'
'So what got you into music?'
Luke tells Alex about growing up with boundless energy, never being able to focus in school, a fixation for his cassette player. His parents tried punishments, then tried sports, then tried doctors, then a combination of all three. Eventually, a teacher advised his parents to encourage his ‘special spirit’ rather than deny it and offered to teach him to play the guitar. As long as he kept his grades up, his parents would pay for lessons and give him time to practise.
'The funny thing is that now, my parents totally regret giving me that guitar. All they want me to do is get a desk job and give up on my dreams. But I kept to my end of the deal.'
'Your dreams?'
'Yeah, man. To be on stage! I want to be a musician for real!' They’ve settled on a ledge near the beach, sat down just staring at the ocean in the distance. Even now, Luke is rocking in his seat with energy. Maybe that’s what people see, especially on stage, from him. It’s almost contagious. Alex can feel his enthusiasm.
'You’ll make it.' And he believes that. They’re fifteen. Who knows where they’ll end up? But if someone around here was going to make it big, he’d bet money on Luke.
Luke leans back onto his elbows, his collarbone showing above his vest. 'You're the first person to ever say that to me.'
He thought everyone would tell Luke how amazing he was- how else could he ever be so confident? He knows what it’s like to have expectations from his parents. Some days it’s like someone has planned out his whole life. Their difference is that Alex doesn’t have a dream separate from that. He assumes he’ll go to college as his dad wants, meet a nice girl and have a big wedding like his Mom wants, stay living nearby as Jessica wants. He doesn’t even know what he wants to do yet, so why not make them happy?
'Come on, Patterson. You’ve got fans .' Alex doesn’t like the slightly bitter tone in his words. He doesn’t even want what Luke has; the attention, the stage, the girls.
Luke kicks sand from under his feet, the wind carrying it for a second before it lands straight back down and there’s no way to tell anything has moved.
'No. I get told I’m talented “for my age”. Or that I’m good at my hobby.' His whole face scrunches into something like frustration, but Alex can’t place the emotion. 'I want this to be my life! This is all I want to do, you know?'
Alex doesn’t know. Doesn’t even think he could understand how much Luke cares about this future he’s planning for himself. The sun looks like it’s setting.
'We should head back,' Alex says, the sky turning a deep shade of orange to replace the crystal blue.
Luke doesn’t seem to listen, instead, he scoots up on the ledge so his leg is facing straight to Alex.
'You know I’m not friends with-' He pauses, 'all the guys on the baseball team.'
'That’s so unlucky because I’m besties with them all.' Alex raises an eyebrow. Where’s he going with this?
'I don’t even know their names. They might know me and our circles cross but-'
'Stuart and Ian.'
'Yeah. I guess. Them.' The winds picking up and Alex is feeling a chill even through his denim jacket. How Luke is comfortably in a vest is beyond him.
'Why- why would I care?'
Luke grins, 'Cus we’re friends and I don’t cozy up with people that treat my friends like that.'
'We’re not friends.' Alex can’t hide his smile.
Luke bites down on his lower lip to hide his with no success. 'We’re not? I took a punch for you, Alex…' The boys both laugh as he clearly doesn’t know Alex’s surname. '… Ander. Alexander.' He finishes with a cocky swish of his head, bringing himself to be practically leaning over Alex.
This is the closest they’ve been. He can see the dimple in Luke’s chin, the downward curve of his eyes, a small freckle to the left of his nose. Alex breaks off his gaze with a shake of his head.
He exhales slowly, the usual knot in his stomach becoming heavier with every thought coming to his head. Luke Patterson is at the beach with him, talking to him, joking with him. Part of him is sure that this is all one big joke.
'I never asked you to,' Alex says quietly, immediately regretting it.
'For you, Alex, anytime.' Luke winks, reaching down to the ground to pick up a rock. He tosses it back and forth in the air like a ball, giving it a spin with his wrist. 'With one condition.'
'What?' His voice sounds like it’s coming out high.
'You gotta let me play with you sometime,' He rummages the top layer of sand at their feet for a different rock, this time finding a small oval shape. Luke mock plays the guitar, pick in hand, humming the tune to Lithium, the same song he caught Alex drumming too earlier. The very reminder of someone listening to Alex prickles his cheeks with embarrassment, but he nods in agreement.
'Maybe once. No one else. I’m really a solo player, actually.' He attempts weakly to backtrack, annoyed to have gotten caught up in Luke’s enthusiasm for a moment. Ignoring him again, Luke continued to jam out to the song with even more enthusiasm than before and without saying a word takes to stroll back up the beach towards the pier. Alex lingers only for a moment before catching up to him.