Luke Patterson was freedom.
Alex always felt trapped.
His clothes were all ill-fitting because his mother insisted on shopping for the son she clearly wished for and not the one she actually had, so he was stuck looking like an absolute fucking nerd in his perpetual arrangement of Sunday-bests. His skin was tight and itchy around his muscles since a growth spurt he'd yet to get used to that made him tall and lanky; he felt like a lighthouse, except the last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself. His entire life felt like a poorly cast play where he had a role nobody else wanted, especially him— because it was a shit role, of course.
He found some reprieve from the semi-permanent façade with the band.
The guys kept gifting him clothes that were more Alex and less The Mercer's Son (Bobby got him a pink hoodie that quickly became his Favorite Thing Ever; Reggie pitched in with a rainbow bracelet that was basically glued to his wrist now; Luke had given him a fanny pack— "that messenger bag Mrs. Mercer got you makes you look like a prep," he'd said). They made it a running gag that he was now taller than the three of them to the point where he'd become desensitized to the whole thing. They made sure that when they performed it was fun, Bobby himself on more than one occasion nagged him for getting lost in his perfectionism, underlining that he was supposed to enjoy the whole Being A Rockstar Thing.
Luke was the most ardent "do whatever you want" supporter though. He'd masterminded nine out of every ten late-night sneak outs that led them to clubs they shouldn't've been in, convinced him to pierce his ears, and calmed him from every anxiety attack he himself brought on with his bonkers ideas, as Reggie called them.
In hindsight, this was probably one of those absolutely bonkers ideas and, really, Alex blamed himself for not stopping it earlier.
They were running. Wet pavement beating like a tachycardic heart under their frantic steps, November wind biting at their faces and ruffling their hair, police sirens blaring just a couple blocks away, obscured by their labored breathing.
This wasn't their first police chase, funnily enough; no, they popped their Cop Cherrie when they had their first real gig down at The Noisemaker. They hadn't even done anything, really, but a fight broke out while they were waiting for Reggie and Bobby to bring the van around when the red and blue lights shone all around them so, due to some weird but godsent Punk Kid instinct, they started running— they weren't even being chased. Bobby tried to let them know as much in between fits of giggles when they came back to the bar minutes later, out of breath and scared out of their minds.
They weren't exactly guiltless this time, though.
See, Alex had been having a rough week and he wanted to kick back and relax. His definition of relaxation entailed sitting in the garage with his boys, eating junk food, and making fun, alongside Bobby, of Luke and Reggie when they disappeared to the loft to make out.
Luke had some very different plans.
As soon as Alex walked into the garage and found Luke already waiting for him with That Smile, he knew his fate was sealed. It was the smile that he wore whenever he was about to make life very difficult for everyone around him. The "Memory Making" Smile, Reggie called it— because he was grossly in love with him. Bobby's moniker for it, the "Get Bail Money" Smile, was closer to reality.
Alex thought it was a "Red Tape" Smile because it was a clear sign you needed to step the fuck away from it as soon as you saw it.
Luke knew this, of course, so he'd concocted this little ambush so Alex had no choice but to hear him out. Sadly, for Alex, Luke was very persuasive; it really was no wonder he'd talked all three of them into doing some very stupid, very illegal shit. To his credit, though, he was also quick on his feet and always got them out of whatever mess he got them into, leaving barely any room for arguing when he flashed The Smile and the cycle started again.
