STARDUST ⭑ LUKE PATTERSON

nine

HER FINGERS RUN OVER THE PIANO KEYS. Each weight of her finger plays a long, somber note. On occasion, a broken, hollow chord.

Dawn and Willie listen from the living room, the haunting sound of a piano echoing around the empty house. Emmy had been playing the entire night, the same sad song she always did.

"H-How close was she with them?" Willie asks.

Dawn smiles sadly. "Close enough for her to break down and cry in front of me."

He nods his head slowly, eyes flitting to the dusty floors. Chewing on his bottom lip, Willie's fingers fidget with the hem of his t-shirt. "Is there a way for us to fix it?"

Another spew of empty music erupts from the front room. Dawn says, "What if you get Alex to come? Maybe even Reggie too?"

Willie instantly shakes his head, eyes filling with fear. "N-No. I can't. I can't see Alex," he sputters.

Dawn gives him a weird look. "What happened to you last night while all of this was happening? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why wouldn't I be?" he lies.

She looks at him even more skeptical than before. Dawn purses her lips, a nonverbal agreement to not pry. No matter how nosy she was, she always knew better than to dig at Willie's thoughts, and especially Emmy's.

"Okay, just tell me where to find them," she declares.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

She knows that ghosts don't need sleep, but Emmy was beyond exhausted, head resting against the piano. Her fingers continue to press down on the same pattern of notes, heart lurching with each sound. She was stuck in this endless loop of feeling the same wrenching pain in her gut, but she enjoyed the feeling. It made her feel more at peace knowing she could still feel.

"And I want you to want me this way..." she sings softly, making sure neither of her roommates could hear, "and I need you to need me to stay." Emmy hums the melody afterwards, throat sore from crying. She blinks slowly, the lyrics piercing her in ways she couldn't describe.

"That sounds like a good song."

Emmy's head shoots up, a drum beating against her ribcage at the sight of two familiar faces that weren't Dawn or Willie, but she had a feeling their presence had something to do with them.

"You always knew how to hit the audience right where it hurts," Reggie smiles, taking a seat next to her on the bench. He made sure not to sit too close, yet her head fell to his shoulder without another second.

"You okay, Em?" Alex asks simply, leaning over the back of the piano, eyes trained on her. She stays quiet, scared to admit how okay she wasn't. "'Cause Luke isn't."

She flinches.

"Listen, we don't know what happened between you guys," Alex continues.

"In 1995 and last night."

Emmy tilts her head up, purple hair tickling the side of Reggie's neck. "He never told you?" she questions in disbelief.

Alex quickly shakes his head. "All that time in that dark room, and he never explained it."

"He still talked about you though," the dark haired boy reassures, "literally all the time. Even now, and also before we even knew you were dead-"

Alex gives him a pointed look, Reggie's cheeks glossing over in pink. He may have revealed too much.

"Why are you guys here?" Emmy mutters bitterly, rising to her feet to walk by the window, sunlight beaming through her.

"Because if Luke is sad, chances are, you are too," Alex explains. "He already ran off, and we know not to bother him."

"Where'd he go?" She turns to look at them, hating how she cared.

"His mom."

"Oh." Emmy looks back out at the window. Their house sat at the top of a woods-dense hill, but she could still see some buildings in the city. The Hollywood sign shines in the distance.

Alex and Reggie share a look, feeling like they weren't going anywhere with this conversation. "We died before we could play the Orpheum," Reggie blurts out. Emmy stays quiet, but they could see she was listening. "Yeah, we went out for some street dogs, and we kind of, died."

"I told you guys to stop eating things that come out of a car engine," she scolds.

"We never got to perform, and Bobby stole all your songs-"

"Bobby did what?!" Emmy screeches, spinning around on her heel so fast. She was met with two boys with eyes the size of saucers.

Reggie points to Alex. "He took all of your songs, even Luke's, and he produced it under the name Trevor Wilson. He didn't give any of us any credit, and he got famous for it."

"That vermin," she seethes.

"Yeah, we're trying to make music with Julie to stick it to him, but we're not getting very far with the whole song writing," Reggie admits. "Every time Luke and her try to write-"

"He's writing songs with her?" Em interrupts, voice soft. She didn't mean to say that out loud, but the words left her before she could even process how she feels.

"Well, they're not good songs," Alex says. "He's been in a funk. He can't get past two lines before giving up. This whole Moody Luke thing isn't helping either."

"So, you want me to write you guys some songs, then," she discovers.

"No," they both say. "We're not gonna make you sit in a room with Luke when he obviously makes you upset. We love you," Alex claims. Her chest hurts at those words, and she wants to say it back. Emmy stays silent.

"But I personally think you guys should talk," Reggie chimes in.

"Why? So we can fight again?"

"No, so you can be friends again."

Emmy purses her lips, arms crossed over her torso. She takes a good look at her friends before slumping in composure. "I'll help you guys write music." Their brows raise in surprise, a happy yelp coming from Reggie. "Not because I want to make amends with Luke and become another writing duo," they frowned, "I'm just really pissed at Bobby."