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Chapter Text

Luke is pretty sure he’s never felt this angry in his life.

“If you have such a big problem with it, then why did you get me that guitar in the first place?” Luke spits out, his fists clenching at his sides as his mom stands in front of him. If Anger had a face, his mom could be its poster child. “What did you think I was going to do with it? Hang it on the wall?”

“Luke.” Emily’s words are dark, her tone even lower. “We didn’t get you the guitar so you could sneak out at night and not tell anyone where you were going! We didn't get you the guitar so you could stop caring about school or your grades or your future.”

“I do care about my future!” Luke cries, his voice breaking. “Why do you think I’ve been sneaking out for gigs, Mom? The boys and I—we have a shot at actually making it, and we’re taking that chance. You have never supported me, and I need you to because it’s what we’re gonna do. What I’m gonna do.”

This is an argument they’ve had a million times over, an issue they’ve never been able to get past. Luke’s mind is made up about his future—has been for years—but he isn’t sure why he keeps trying to change hers. It always ends with him feeling the smallest he’s ever been. Every. Time.

She’s shaking her head, her hand coming up to rest over her mouth. Incredulousness shines in her eyes but there is a determined glint behind them. “No. No, Luke, I won’t be a part of fueling your delusions about being some rock star. That’s not going to be your life.” 

“My life isn’t yours to decide!” Emotion is packed behind every word, the evidence of which is shown is Luke’s slight crack that is never noticeable, least of all when he’s singing.

He doesn’t like to yell, especially at older people and particularly at women. Yet, for some reason his mom can always pull that side of him out with no problem. 

Make no mistake, Luke is well aware that being a rock star isn’t easily attainable. Honestly, he doesn’t even expect to be playing sold out venues anytime soon.

He just knows, at the age of 17, that he wants to play music and share it with people who appreciate it for the rest of his life. To him, there’s nothing better than that. “What is so wrong with wanting that life? Being a musician is the one thing that actually makes sense to me, Mom. Music makes sense to me. Why can’t you understand that?”

“Music is just music!” Emily explodes, her hands spread wide into the air with wild eyes. “There’s nothing deeper than that! You’re going to end up like all those other celebrities, the ones who don’t care about life or the people around them. They’re bad people, Luke.”

“Not all musicians are bad people, Mom!” 

“Aren’t they? They only care about music and nothing else, and from my point of view? That’s exactly what you’re turning out to be. An uncaring, single-minded person.”

Luke knows the power of words well—good lyricism is one of his more adequate strengths. But he never knew his own mother could wound him with words like this.

He never knew herwords would carve him from the inside out and leave him with an ache that is unignorable.

“Why can’t you just understand this part of me?” Luke’s voice suddenly goes from desperate to exhausted, his body sinking down onto the chair in the living room. He hadn’t even been able to sneak in the door without his mom ambushing him—it was a small mercy that his father was working late tonight. But they’d had a good night tonight, him and the boys. They’d played at a club near Sunset, finally debuting Now or Neverto strangers. Good reactions all around, even with the tumultuous relationships at home for three out of the four of them; Luke had been feeling on top of life. What could bring it down?

Figures that it wouldn’t last.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Luke. I’ve tried to tolerate this—hobby of yours. The amount of money your father and I have spent on that guitar and all of its pieces is ridiculous. The money we’ve spent on your arts school. You can’t even try to take us into consideration? We didn’t work this hard just for you to throw it all away for a shot. There is no point in trying to compromise with you because you always want more. More music, more time, more free passes. I can’t let you do this anymore. You’re throwing your life away.”

And suddenly, Luke can’t sit still anymore. He can’t think of anything else but the countless things his mom and dad have said to him over the years, things about college and music and his future and all of it coalesces into something so final that he can’t move enough to feel free from his own skin.

“Mom, you’re not even listening. I’m doing what I love. Why can’t you get that?”

“Luke, music is not a viable career option. It’s something to do when you’re bored. It’s something that you smile and nod at until something important takes up your time. Blowing off school for this band is not going to get you into college or land you a good job. You’re heading down a dangerous road, and there is only so much your father and I can do to prevent that.” Emily snarls, her hands curling around the chair. The stark darkness of the night filtering in through the windows is painting a picture that Luke feels he can’t turn away from—a melody filtering into his head at the worst time. 

“God, I wish we never bought you that guitar.”

It’s like she’s punched him in the gut because Luke’s suddenly aware that he’s never had his heart broken. Music was his first love, and he didn’t have time to date anyways. But this? If he could describe heartbreak, this would be it. This is twisting a knife into his back.

“How can you hate such an important part of me?” His words are whispered and gutted, aimed towards the ground as he tries to fight back the tears that threaten to take him under.

Emily Patterson is many things. An accountant, a reader, a lover of animals. But for the first time, Luke thinks she’s not being his mother right now.

“If you refuse to play by our rules, in our house, then you can’t be here. Either you sober up and realize that you can’t place music above everything else in life, or you get out of my house.” Emily breathes expectantly. Her gaze is still filled with that hostility, that abhorrence for his music in her home. It’s everything that Luke never wanted—every word that he’s sure he will keep hearing in his ears once the blood rushing there recedes.

This is the part where he’s supposed to mutter apologies and promises to be better under his breath, hand her the guitar that’s slung over his back, and swiftly lock the door to his room. This is where he stays up til midnight doing homework just to appease her and where he changes out of his cutoff tees. This is the part where he’s supposed to back down, because nothing good can come of this.

This is when he’s supposed to transform into her diligent son for the night and pocket his dreams for another day.

But Luke can’t think anything good will evercome from this. He can’t fight the same battle with her over and over. He can never win.

It’s a breaking point, Luke thinks distantly, because if he leaves, he doesn’t know if he’ll ever come back. Then he thinks again and he decides—he doesn’t really give a fuck anymore.

“Okay.”

So that’s how Luke finds himself turning on the engine to his old and battered motorcycle, driving away from the home he’s grown up in for the past 17 years. There’s a couple changes of clothes in a bag with his school stuff, and his guitar strapped onto his back. The only things he’s ever gonna need.

And he doesn’t look back.

“I’m sorry, Julie, but there’s only so much I can do.” Ms Harrison’s apologetic face stares back at Julie, the sheet music in her hands practically taunting her. She shifts in front of the woman, her arms coming up to clutch at her body tightly. “The school is done waiting. In their minds, a year is long enough.”

“My mom died. This isn’t something I can put a goddamn time limit on.” Julie is fighting the urge to punch something, to throw the bag that’s on her back onto the ground and let out some type of unholy scream that would only be a fraction of the rage simmering inside of her. “How can they be ‘done waiting?’”

Her teacher doesn’t react to her language, nor to the outward expression of anger. She tries to be thankful for it.

Inwardly, Julie knows that Ms Harrison can’t do anything. She isn’t in charge of admittance into the music program—only the school can control that. And while Julie is infinitely grateful for Los Feliz High School of Art for helping her hone her skills as a singer, pianist, and songwriter, she can’t help but wish that she could give them a giant irrational middle finger.

After the year she’s had, she’s earned it.

“There’s really nothing you can do?” Julie pleads, changing her tone. Being angry at the world was nothing new for her—but it wasn’t going to open doors that were on the brink of closing. “I’ll do anything, I swear.”

Anything is broad. When Harrison told her that the only way she could keep her spot indefinitely and without question would be to play something for her class—she panicked. She bailed.

Maybe she deserved to be kicked out of the program.

Ms Harrison hesitates, her eyes avoiding her as she calls out a greeting to the students filtering in. Julie pretends that it doesn’t sting, that the woman who’s encouraged her for years suddenly doesn’t know what to do with her. Where to put her. How to tell her that maybe music isn’t for Julie anymore—maybe she should fill up her free classes with something less connected to her mom.

But then the words, “I’ll see what I can do,” comes out of her mouth and Julie lets her intent glare settle. A hopeful feeling begins to bloom in her chest before she reminds herself that hope is for dreamers.

“Really?”

“I’m making no promises, Julie.” Ms Harrison sends her a meaningful look, one that holds all the words she doesn’t say. “But be prepared. They’re not going to let you keep the spot easily.”

She nods resolutely. Determination strengthens in her mind and her body over the panic of losing something so constant on top of losing her mother.

She repeats, “I’ll do anything.”

Everyone in the Los Feliz High School of Art knows that Julie Molina’s mom is dead. So she thinks it’s a pretty sick joke when a couple of teenage boys decide to break into her mom’s studio at 11 PM on a school night.

It’s only because of that ever-present annoyance inside her that Julie shoves on her monster slippers and doesn’t even take off her glasses before she marches down the stairs, her father and brother fast asleep behind closed doors. Her windows had been open in an attempt to let the sounds of night lull her into a calmer persona—the only reason she was awake to hear the aforementioned teenage boys in the first place was because of an assignment for Composition class, the notes refusing to flow out of her mind and onto the page.

Julie’s been having this problem for months. No matter how much she wishes she could force the music out of her brain, it doesn’t come. After multiple therapy sessions, talks with both her dad and her friends, even reading the song her mom had left for her on the piano in the studio, Julie knows that she can’t give up on music. 

It’s different knowing that logically and then actually acting on it.

She knows, after that meeting with Harrison today, that giving up isn’t an option if she wants to stay in the program—and she does want to stay in the program. It’d taken her weeks to get to that point, of coming to the conclusion that yes, Julie still loved music. Even after all the pain it had given her.

But it still didn’t change the fact that her hands wouldn’t write. Her brain wouldn’t convert the melodies into something tangible, her fingers wouldn’t press keys on the piano, her voice refused to sing.

“Who—the fuck—breaks into—a studio—in the middle of the night?” Julie pants to herself as she stomps downstairs and wrenches open her front door, eyes narrowed on the lights that are currently flickering inside the studio.

She hears sounds of something clattering to the ground, of voices that are slowly rising higher and higher and suddenly Julie isn’t feeling particularly forgiving when she trudges over to the entrance of her mom’s old studio.

“Sweet digs, guys!” A boy cries right as she heaves the door open.

“Luke, there’s someone here.”

Three boys stand scattered around the studio, two facing her and one with his back to Julie. A tall boy in a pink hoodie, the one who spoke up, flashes her an uneasy smile. Vaguely, she recognizes him from somewhere, but she’s too angry to think about it. The other waves brightly at her, a red flannel tied around his waist and a leather jacket slung around his shoulders. Julie’s eyebrows furrow—is that Reggie Peters, her coworker, in her studio?

She stopped paying attention to people after her mom died. Perhaps that's why she doesn't recognize him right away.

Julie was expecting the studio to be trashed. An unfortunate reality of going to school with some cruel people, they didn’t really care about human decency. And while there are a couple things that have definitely been moved, it’s relatively normal.

A guitar is propped against the ladder to the loft, a matching bass on the wall perpendicular to it. Three bags have been thrown onto the couch, a Hello Kitty pillow on top of one of them and a journal peeking out from another one. The tarp that has been covering the grand piano for months has been lifted off, and if Julie looks closely, she can see finger marks that disrupt the dust that’s settled atop it.

But the boy who slowly turns, a winced expression already on his face—she realizes she does recognize him.

“What. The fuck. Are you doing?” Julie grits, gripping the handle to the studio like it’s her lifeline. 

Luke Patterson stands in front of her, after breaking into her studio, a hand on the back of his head as he smiles nervously. “Uh, we were looking for the bathroom?”

The first time Julie saw Luke Patterson was when he played a solo to a classic Trevor Wilson song in Performance. She was a sophomore at the time, almost two years ago. He was in her grade, she knew, and he was also one of the most talented guitarists at their school. She’d been shy back then—otherwise she definitely would have stayed late like some other girls had to compliment him.

He’d played her favorite song that day. 

He hasn’t changed from sophomore to senior year in the slightest. He’s grown a couple inches, sprouting up like all boys around that age do. She’ll deny it vehemently if anyone brings it up, but she knows for a fact that he works out like crazy—and has the shoulders, biceps, back (really, his entire upper body) to show for it. 

But right now, in a Rush shirt that is so 90s, a grey plaid jacket shucked over his shoulders, and these ridiculous chains hanging from his hip, Julie is not impressed.

“I’m going to call the cops.” Julie mutters to herself, then louder. “I swear to god, you guys have picked the wrong day to break into my studio. If you don’t get the hell out, I won’t hesitate to call the cops on you, on my life—"

“Woah, woah!” Luke bounces in front of her, hands spread in a placating gesture as he stoops to her level. She doesn’t lessen the intensity of her glare, instead ramping it up as she meets his hazel eyes. “We didn’t mean to—"

“Dude, don’t lie to her,” Pink Hoodie cuts in, making Luke let out a long-suffering sigh. 

“—okay, maybe we did mean to, but that’s not exactly helping our case—”

“Hey! You’re Julie Molina, right? My coworker?” Reggie asks, leaning over the chair that sits adjacent to the couch, his eyes suddenly screwed up as he watches her bite her lip in an attempt to not scream. “Luke, isn’t that—"

“Yes, I am Julie Molina, and have you forgotten that you’ve broken into my fucking studio?” Julie snaps, her patience slowly deteriorating the longer she stands in the cold Autumn breeze with just her sleep shirt on. She has to go back and finish up that progression, not stand here trying to reason with trespassers.

“No, no, we’ve definitely not forgotten about that,” Luke whirls back to her after meeting Pink Hoodie’s eyes for a couple moments. His eyes track over her, almost a sense of dread in them. “Listen, we just—we need a place to crash. For the night. I promise, we’ll be gone before you get up for school tomorrow.” 

“I—no!” Julie sputters, “You can’t just break into people’s houses, then ask if you can spend the night!”

“You are totally right,” Pink Hoodie sidles up next to Luke, thrusting out a hand. “I’m Alex.”

Julie stares at the hand, then back up at Alex. She doesn’t even have to say anything, just takes in a deep breath through her nostrils as he slowly takes the hand back with a sheepish expression. “Right, my bad.”

“Reggie!” Reggie points to himself. “I’m Reggie.”

“I knew that?”

“Look, we’re really sorry for breaking in. Like Luke said, we’re just looking for a place to sleep for the night. I understand that this isn’t exactly legal, and trust me, no one is more stressed about that than I am, but we’ve kind of all had a very shitty night and would be really, really grateful if you just looked the other way this time?” Alex’s voice goes up at the end of his sentence, betraying just how out of control he feels.

But Julie isn’t moved. No, she’s had a bad day and honestly does not have the bandwidth to deal with this right now. All she feels is exhaustion. “I’m sorry you’ve had a bad day, but you’re not the only ones who have those. You have to leave. Pack up your stuff and get out.”

Maybe she’s being too mean, maybe she’s doing the opposite of what her parents would do in this situation. If she knew Ray or Rose Molina well, they wouldn’t have blinked at the ask—hell, they probably would’ve offered blankets and pillows, knowing Rose's history. But she’s had a bad day and she doesn’t want to be nice. Not tonight. Not when all she ever feels like she does is placate to others.

Julie turns around and leaves the studio.

“Julie seems nice.” Reggie comments as Luke watches her retreating figure. “I’ve never talked to her at work.”

Alex rubs his eyebrow with two fingers, digging into the juncture at his eyes as he looks up. “Did you miss the part where she kicked us out, or—?” At this, Reggie tilts his head, frowning. “Yeah, okay.”

“What are we going to do?” Reggie asks, scuffing the brightly woven carpet with his battered shoes. “It’s either this place, or the street.”

Luke’s not going to let his boys sleep on the street. It was entirely too late to call Bobby, who was likely already in bed after doing his daily nighttime meditation, not to mention in his big house in WeHo. There was no way the boys would get there in under ten minutes. Patting both Reggie and Alex’s shoulders quickly, he runs out of the studio. “Be right back, boys!”

“Look at that, he’s going to get the police called on us.” Alex’s voice calls after him. “Lucky us. What do you think they’ll say when they throw us in jail?”

Ignoring Alex’s faint mutterings to Reggie, Luke bounds up the steps where Julie nears her porch, reaching out on instinct to grab her wrist in an attempt to stop her.

“Gah! Stop that!” She rips her hand from his, jumping back three feet in surprise. “I thought I told you to leave.”

“You did.” Luke tries to not let the nervous energy—or really, normal energy—show as he rocks back onto his heels. Giving no introduction, he jumps right into a spiel that is not rehearsed and definitely shows it. “You’re right—everyone has bad days, and we’re not entitled to breaking into people’s houses when we have one. I’m sorry about that. It’s entirely my fault. I thought the place was like a guest house. That you guys wouldn’t notice.”

Julie sighs, the curls slipping out from her two braids that she wore to school today. And Luke would know, since he spent the better part of Composition and English staring at them.

The first time Luke noticed Julie Molina was at a small cafe in the heart of Downtown LA. He and the boys had just finished playing Long Weekend for the first time during their freshman year for a more subdued crowd when he’d seen her walk in with another girl.

And he had tweaked his guitar strings when she threw her head back and laughed disarmingly, these glossy curls that were the prettiest shade of dark brown sliding over her shoulders and a tied back shirt, revealing a sliver of skin just above her navel. 

He’d seen her around Los Feliz, of course. It was hard to miss the wrecking ball of beauty that was Julie. They didn’t run in the same social circles, Julie content with whatever gaggle of girls she spent time with and Luke with his boys. 

But the first time Luke heard Julie sing in sophomore year? That was when he knew he was done for.

And now he’s gone and fucked it up by breaking into her late mom’s studio. How much more of an idiot could he be?

“I’m sorry, I’m just—” Julie breaks off, her hand coming up to twist at the collar of her shirt. Some ratty band tee from years ago, if the holes around the neck and near the sleeves were any indication. As if his embarrassing crush on her couldn’t get any worse, now he had to live with the knowledge that she slept in rock band tees. 

God have mercy.

Julie continues, “I’m tired, and I found out that I might get kicked out of the music program, I’m tired of people walking on eggshells around me, and I can’t really tolerate all the bullshit right now.”

Luke can tell she didn’t mean to blurt all of that out to him. Julie inhales sharply right after the words leave her mouth, as if she could take them back. 

But Luke frowns. “Why the hell would they kick you out of the program?” Luke asks, incredulous. “You’re one of the best musicians there.”

Her cheeks flush as she avoids his often intense gaze, instead staring at the greenery behind him. “I haven’t really been a musician lately.”

Luke makes a dismissive gesture, letting out a noise. “Nah. Once a musician, always a musician.”

Julie looks at him—really looks at him. Her brows furrow cutely as she asks, “Why do you need a place to crash?”

Now, Luke’s home life isn’t exactly common knowledge at school. Sure, the way he throws caution to the wind both in class and with the band is one thing—but no one knows the tiny little details of how it feels to live under a roof with parents who despise music. 

But for some reason, he doesn’t find himself hesitating when he says to Julie, “I got kicked out. Or I left, I guess. Whichever one makes sense to you.”

She blinks up at him, her head slightly tilted as a pensive look enters her eyes. He thinks she’s going to start asking him dreaded questions like why or when or honestly anything else. Instead, she settles on, “Which one do you want it to be?”

“I left.” The words are resolute, firm, and Luke knows that he won’t take them back. He left; he got away from the place that drained him. He’ll be 18 in a few weeks anyways. It’s fine.

“What about them?” Julie nods to the garage, presumably meaning the boys. “They decided to leave in solidarity?”

“No.” Luke shoves his hands in his coat pockets, fighting the urge to brush his hair out of his face. Alex has told him one too many times that it makes him look like a douchebag. “No, they—they’ve had other problems. When I left, they came with me because they were also done with the bullshit. I guess.” His attempt at a sheepish smile probably falls flat, dull from the events of the night. No matter how much he’ll obsess over it tomorrow, not even interacting with Julie Molina can erase that fight he had with his mom.

A sheen of recognition slides over her eyes as she moves over to sit on the stone steps. After a moment, she sighs and jerks her head in his direction, patting the space next to her. Luke plops down next to her.

“I’m not going to ask why,” Julie murmurs, her hands tracing the bracelets on her wrist. “Does this mean you actually have nowhere to go?”

Luke hesitates before he nods, the truth of the simple action settling into his stomach. He has nowhere to go—the boys and him have nowhere to go.

And yeah, music was his life. But he wanted to graduate before living on the streets, at the very least.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Julie is silent for a moment as she chews on her lip in contemplation, and Luke is suddenly struck with quiet sympathy for her. His problems were bad, but her words about her bad day don’t negate that. 

It was no secret that her mom died a year ago, back when they were both starting out their junior year of high school. Truthfully, Luke has no idea how she survived that train wreck of a year. Not to mention how that powerhouse of a voice went silent, the songs that he looked forward to listening in class coming to a sudden halt. 

It’s her mom’s studio, he now knows, though he didn’t before they broke in. He feels like shit for it.

“You can stay.” Julie decides, her palms rubbing against the skin of her exposed arms. Luke can see raised goosebumps. “For—however long you need. There’s a bathroom in the back and a couch that turns into a bed. You just can’t let my dad see you.” She shivers at the thought, though Luke has the inexplicable urge to whip off his jacket and lay it over her shoulders. “He’d kill me if he found out I’m letting three guys live in the studio.”

She gets up quickly, probably eager to escape the cool air. But she stops when Luke’s curiosity gets the best of him. “What made you change your mind?”

Julie looks back at him, the glasses on the bridge of her nose slipping down as she bites her lip. Luke didn’t know she wore glasses, and now he’s pretty sure he’s never going to forget it. 

“My mom was kicked out when she was a teen. Or left, if we’re looking at it from your perspective.” Julie’s joking, the left side of her mouth twitching upwards, and it’s all Luke can do to stop his jaw from dropping at the mere thought of her cracking a joke to him, of all people. “Her parents weren’t super supportive of her band or music. I’d be a hypocrite if I kicked you three out when all you need is a place to sleep.”

Luke’s head is spinning at the similarities between him and Julie’s mom. He was aware she was this music fanatic, but this is crazy. His mouth opens, then closes. Somehow, he finds the words. “Thanks, Julie.”

Julie’s smile isn’t what it used to be—unbridled, pure joy, like sunshine—but Luke thinks it’s better. 

A secret smile, small like she knows something he doesn’t, but luminous. Like the moon. Her walk up her porch and to the door is free, monster slippers making light padding noises as she reaches her destination.

“Don’t break anything.” Julie warns, her lips still quirked upwards into that smile as her hand lands on the doorknob of the house. “Night, Luke.”

“Night.” Luke rasps, and watches her figure disappear through the threshold of her home.