Crash and Burn - LH

3 - would i

Disclaimer: I do not own the song Would I by Maggie Lindemann. All rights and credit goes to the writers.

I get to the studio at 8am. It's earlier than I normally get up, considering I haven't had anything to get up for in a while.
"I'm Dani Whittaker. I'm here for 5 Seconds of Summer," I say to the woman at the desk.
"Studio C, down the hall and to the left."
I adjust my guitar on my back and walk down the hall. I'm sure that they'll have instruments here, but today I need my lucky strat. The fender was the first electric guitar I got and even though it may be old, I write my best songs with it. And to think I used to judge musicians for their weird superstitions.
My entrance into the room is less than graceful. The door is heavy and the instrument hanging on me rams against it. Of course, my tote bag happens to slip off of my shoulder at the same time, creating a cacophony of clattering on the floor. I struggle to gather my things and when I eventually do and stand up, my eyes are met with a head of blonde. I roll my eyes.
"Really? You're just gonna sit there and watch me struggle?"
Luke gives me a shrug. "You seemed like you had it under control."
"You're an asshole," I say as I angrily sit down on the couch.
"Takes one to know one," he scoffs.
I've always had a short temper and Luke isn't helping. "Can you stop acting like I killed your dog? I'm sure you're having a blast playing the victim here, but it's not my fault that you dragged your band into the ground."
"You don't know anything about me or my band." His voice is a little too calm and I can feel his anger brewing like a storm. I know more than he thinks, but i'm not that much of an asshole that I'd use that against him right now. I may hate the guy, but it's his business and he'll tell me when and if he wants to. The tension in the room is thick and I'm hoping that the other guys come in soon before I run out of air.
Luke's phone rings after nearly 20 minutes.
"What the fuck, dude!" He exclaims. "Well I hope you know we're not gonna get anything done." He hangs up.
"That was Ash. They won't be here for at least an hour. Traffic."
I give him a close mouthed smile and nod and we continue in the silence. I grow tired of doom scrolling and pull out my guitar. I strum something that I've been working on. I have a chord progression and one verse and the chorus, but I've been stuck. The song is really personal and I'm hesitant to even play it's beginnings in front of Luke, but I do anyway. The sound of the guitar makes Luke look up away from his phone.
"What's that?" He asks.
"Just something I've been working on. I'm kinda stuck on it, though."
"Play me what you have."
"Really?" I ask. This is another side of Luke. A serious, hardworking side.
He nods and I play through what I have so far.
When I finish, he just stares at me. "So?" I ask.
"It's good. Play it again and I'll play around on the piano."
I play through it again, and Luke adds little things here and there. When I get to the chorus he starts to add floaty synth chords and I have to admit it sounds amazing.
"Why haven't you written more?"
I shrug. "I don't know. I've just been stuck, I guess."
"What do you normally do when you get writers block?" He asks.
"I guess I haven't really figured out what works for me yet," I answer to which he rolls his eyes. There's the Luke I know.
"Okay the song's clearly about depression. What are some things that make you sad?"
"Hmm let's see. Not being rich. Having to work a shitty waitressing job to scrape by..." I joke, trying to lighten the mood. I may be able to write about personal things in songs, but just talking about them has always made me really uncomfortable.
"I know you're kidding but let's just go with that. Sometimes when I get writers block I just go off the first thing that comes into my head."
"Luke Hemmings are you actually giving me advice?" I feign surprise.
"I don't give two fucks about how you write your music. But I have to admit that this song isn't terrible and I have my band's best interests at heart."
I hate how he emphasizes the words "my band." Not even for my own sake but for the other guys.
He picks up my guitar and I internally cringe. I don't want Luke touching anything I own. He starts to play and then sings:

Empty numbers on paychecks
Good days only on weekends
It's so easy to miss the point

I have to admit it's good. It's more than I've been able to come up with in a while. It doesn't help that his voice is angelic. It's no wonder so many fangirls are under his spell.

Before I know it, two hours have passed and the song is finished. We play it through one last time. I sing the first verse and Luke comes in with a harmony on the pre chorus. I sing the chorus and he takes over the second verse. I come back in for the second chorus and he harmonizes for the rest of the song. Our voices blend together even better than I was expecting and I can't help the chills that cover my arms when we finish. He looks into my eyes with a sense of pride for a little too long until the ringing of his phone breaks the spell.
"It's Ashton." He picks up and puts the phone on speaker.
"Where are you guys?"
"Yeah so," Michael sounds nervous on the other end. "We're not coming. We just wanted to get you guys together to see if you could get past this middle school feud."
I can tell Luke is trying to keep his composure.
"Fuck you," he spits before hanging up. "Fucking assholes," he grunts.
"I mean, at least we wrote a song. And it's a damn good one too," I try.
"Yeah, you're fucking welcome for finishing the song that you couldn't on your own."
The man may have a temper, but I do too and i'm not afraid of him. He holds no power over me. The contracts are signed. The deal is done.
"Fuck you, Luke. You don't have to like me and god knows I don't like you but you better get used to me being here cause I'm a part of this band now. It's not my fault that you fell off the face of the earth!" I yell.
His blue eyes grow dark. "And it's not my fault that you can't keep your mouth shut. If you knew what was good for you, then you wouldn't have done that on Next Pop."
It's this remark that hits like a ton of bricks. At least Luke going to rehab was private. But what dug my grave was televised nation wide.
"Fuck you, Luke," I shoot him daggers with my eyes before storming out of the room.