Luke Patterson Imagines (JATP)

Broken Arms, Not Hearts

Luke's pencil is scratching away between the lines of the faded spiral notebook before him. He should be focusing on the song- he needs to get these last few lyrics written tonight so the song will be ready for the next performance of Julie and the Phantoms, but his mind is on a completely different stage.

Around him, Luke can hear the distant sounds of rustling paper and clinking glass. He's stretched out on a new couch, cushions still somewhat stiff from the box. Luke just met this girl, Y/N, who moved to town recently, and he's writing songs while she's unpacking the last of her boxes. He sighs happily to himself, risking a glance over to the open door where he can just make out the busy figure of the girl one room over. Just thinking about her is enough to put a smile on his face.

Y/N moved to this town a couple of weeks ago. When Luke had first walked by her on the sidewalk, he was worried for a second that he must have really, truly died or something because he had just met an angel. Then she had turned around, introduced herself as Y/N L/N from down the block, the girl from the house with all the moving trucks. After Luke had recovered from the shock of having someone other than Julie or the boys talk to him, he had told Y/N everything about the world of ghosts on a walk through the neighbourhood.

She had been a little freaked out at first, of course. Luke's not sure who wouldn't be confused to find out that the boy in front of you had died more than twenty years ago, but Y/N took it surprisingly well. She had just shrugged, saying that it made sense- she kept seeing people that nobody else could, and people always called her crazy for it. Luke frowns to think of it- all those people, missing out on the incredible joy that was Y/N L/N by dismissing her and calling her names. They have no idea what they lost.

Anyways, Y/N is sorting through the last few boxes still lingering in the house. She'd invited Luke over to crash and write some songs. Her parents were away, meaning they could talk freely without it seeming like Y/N was having a conversation with thin air. The muffled sounds of unpacking and organizing are strangely relaxing, and Luke's just about to return to his partially written song when he hears the loud crash from the other room.

. . .

Boxes. Why are there so many boxes? You knew that packing up your entire life to travel to a new town would require a lot of storage, but it had been weeks. Surely you would be done by now. You fold up the cardboard box in front of you, now empty of knickknacks and books and whatever else you had shoved inside of it when you were packing up all those weeks ago. As you move to stack it with the other flattened boxes, you catch a glimpse of the boy in your living room and smile to yourself.

You still can't believe you've been lucky enough to have Luke Patterson as a friend. You laugh quietly, remembering his look of overwhelming surprise when you had greeted him in the street. You had hesitated a second, wondering if you shouldn't have said anything, but then he had rushed over to you, talking a mile a minute and asking how on earth you could possibly see him. It was a little strange to think that he was a ghost, but hey, weird things happen all the time. If this was what haunting was like, you were totally on board with it.

Reluctantly, you turn your attention back to the last few boxes in front of you. Luke had been looking for a place for songwriting other than Julie's studio, and so you had offered up your mostly furnished living room. You can hardly blame him for wanting a change of scene- if you had to spend day after day in the same few rooms, unable to talk to anyone except the same three people, you would want somewhere else to go too. So, you had offered him your address, and cheered inwardly when he showed up.

Enough time thinking about Luke: you have to get through these boxes. The one on top of the pile is full of things that you don't really need but couldn't bear to give away. You don't even bother opening it up, and stand on your toes to slide it into place on the top shelf of your closet. You reach for the next one and open it up, then bite your cheek in annoyance when you stare at the contents inside. You must have mislabeled the boxes- this is the one that was supposed to hide away in your closet, not the one you just put there.