P.S. I Love You (Sequel to P.S. I Miss You) {SLOW UPDATES}

The Attic

"Calum, honey, can you please bring down all of those boxes?" His mother asked.

Calum did as he was told and ventured into the attic. His stomach twisted itself into knots. He felt weird going in there. The attic was Luke's space.

He could remember the many times when he'd catch him strumming his guitar, singing softly to himself. It was a place that Luke liked to escape to. I guess that was why none of them went up there.

This was a huge deal. For everyone. They all knew that nobody goes up there. It was the unspoken rule. And now someone had finally spoken about it. It was just like the bedroom. You just don't do it. You don't go in there. But now? Calum was the one who had to go. He was the one that had to venture into the dark and retrieve who knows what for his mother.

It was dark up there, even with the light shining above his head. Boxes upon boxes lined the ground, stacked on top of each other like legos. Dust coated the floor, a subtle reminder that the space hadn't been disturbed for a long time. The boxes were stuffed with who knows what and it felt weird to touch them. It felt wrong to touch these things. It felt wrong to bring them down the stairs. He didn't want anybody to touch them. He didn't want to touch them.

Because they belonged to Luke.

But, he knew that he had to.

So he sucked in a breath, clenched his teeth, and picked up the first box.

His mom was waiting at the end of the steps, ready to take the boxes. He brought down the first box and set it by her feet. He turned on his heel and went to get the rest of them. He felt like he was going to be sick. Out of everything his mother could have done? Why this? Why now?

By the time Calum was finished, he was sore and there was a total of fifty boxes scattered across the living room. Each box was filled with who knows what. And all of it used to belong to them.

His mother had smiled and thanked him. She turned towards the now messy room and sank to the floor. She moved a box towards her. His mom looked at him, gave him a small smile, and tore into the package like an animal.

Calum couldn't contain his curiosity as he watched his mother pull various items out of the box. He felt his brow furrow. And then his breath hitched in his throat. He tried to rein in the tears that now threatened to expose themselves.

Inside were school items. There were textbooks and soccer jerseys. There were notebooks with words scrawled across the covers. Pencils and pens, papers and binders. And no doubt inside each cover was Luke's messy handwriting.

His mother opened another box. Inside were sports equipment. There were stained clothes. Stained shorts and t-shirts. Stained uniforms and jerseys. He had forgotten how much Luke was into sports. It was a wonder how he got into music in the first place. Actually no it wasn't. Soccer cleats and muddy tennis shoes soon joined the pile in front of his mother.

As they unpacked each box, more memories of Luke came flooding back. Inside were all of his things. Calum could tell that they had meant a lot to him and his family. And each one was special. There were things that he didn't recognize or know was Luke's until then. Like the old basketball trophy from the year 2006. And the old piano books that had been scribbled in and written all over. It was painful to see for everyone.

Michael came in and had to run back out. We knew how hard it would be for him. I mean it wasn't easy. All of this was a reminder of everything they had left behind. It was a reminder of our time with them.

It took us a long time to unpack all of those boxes. It took about three hours to unpack and then another two just for separating all of the items. There were so many.

We had separated them into piles. Sports. Music. Baby stuff. Clothes. Luke's old computer and Laptop. CDs and records and recording items. There were several different magazines of cars and bands which got put into their own pile. Along with posters. He had quite a lot of posters.

And then there were things that had to do with us.

Our albums and EPs. Us featured in magazines. Us featured in articles. Pictures of us practicing. Pictures of us messing around. Pictures of us performing. Pictures of us with fans. Pictures of us with our family's. Pictures of him with Andy.

There was also band merch, which was put into a pile. All Time Low. Green Day. Mayday Parade. Blink-182. Good Charlotte. Sleeping With Sirens. Nirvana. Busted. McFly. A Day To Remember. Boys Like Girls. AC/DC. Def Leppard. Iron Maiden. Queen. My Chemical Romance. And about a thousand more.

You could really tell how much music had shaped his life. He had so much. He had so much music. So many music items. So much musical equipment. And it was agonizing to see.

Most of the boxes were filled with books. Books of his own choosing. Books with writing in them. Books filled from cover to cover with lyrics. Books filled from cover to cover of notes and chords.

The boys soon found all of his pictures. All of them. Ones from when he was a baby leading up to the accident. Photos of him with his brothers, Jack and Ben. Photos of him with the boys. And then a ton of photos of him with Andy.

There were pictures of them cuddled together on the couch and in bed. Pictures of them at the beach, Luke holding her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. Pictures of them eating. Pictures of them at amusement parks and concerts. Pictures of them smiling and laughing. And then pictures of them kissing. Him with his arm wrapped securely around her waist. Him with his lips pressed to her head. Him with his lips pressed to her cheek.

The two of them with their lips pressed together like they were the only people in the world.

They were perfect for each other. They had been made for each other. When you walked by them, you could just see by the way they treated one another. How Luke was never not touching her. How Andy never let her gaze stray from his face. How they smiled when they looked into each other's eyes. When you saw them, you just knew. You knew that there was nothing he wouldn't do for her. And there was nothing she wouldn't do for him.

The piles continued to grow as they emptied each box. Tears continued to flow down their cheeks. Giggles and laughter managed to slip into the air as they remembered some fun times. No matter how hard they tried to forget, it wasn't going to happen. No matter how hard they tried to mask the pain, it was always going to be there. It wasn't something that you could just turn off. Even though you wanted to. And did they want to.

Calum was trying to hold back tears as he opened another box. Ash tried not to laugh as he looked at Luke when he was younger. Michael tried to stop the tears and hiccups as he read one of Luke's songs that never got to be shared. Calum's mother was crying with them. Ash's parents were shaking their heads in disapproval or sadness, nobody knew. But, they were together. And that was what was important right? This is what Luke and Andy would have wanted. Wasn't it? This is what they needed. This was going to help them.

Even if they couldn't see it then, Andy and Luke could.

And they were happy. They were so happy. They were glad that the boys and their parents were opening the boxes. The boxes that told Luke's story. The boxes that told all of their stories.

But, it wasn't just their stories. No. It was our story. Because they were in it together. They had written it together. And together they had published it. The world knew them as 5 Seconds of Summer. But, that wasn't just who they were. No. They were so much more than that.

They were brothers. They were band mates. They were best friends. They were together.

And nobody--- nothing--- could tear them apart.

Not even death.

Because even the most important things--- even the most painful things--- don't always incorporate death.

And somehow that simple thought, had brought peace to them.

A peace that they all needed.