paper rings (l.h.)

50

That evening, Luke's POV.

Mary wasn't the only one who could sense through Luke's bullshit.

Calum had been on his scent for a while. Watching his movements, noticing how often he stayed up writing when he should be sleeping. Calum never dared spoke about it although it worried him deeply— he spared Luke that for the time being. But he kept it in the back of his mind, on the tip of his tongue. Like a hand, ready to grab if Luke decided to jump. On stand-by.

He hadn't quite been the same since busting the bathroom door down to save his best friend. No, he used to be carefree. Used to believe that they could survive on booze and redbull and expect to live past 24. Didn't want to acknowledge that they had a substance problem because doing so would compromise the height of their careers — turns out, it would have been compromised either way. Maybe Luke wouldn't have overdosed if they did.

But he knew Luke wouldn't have stopped until it killed him, and it nearly did. He stopped when he witnessed how pale those blue eyes turned, how gray and foggy they seemed not only as the paramedic shone their bright flashlights into them but the months leading up to it. Luke had done a good job keeping everyone from the true depths of his addiction, keeping Mary shielded from the true scope of his cravings. The only reason Calum was allowed this knowledge is because his own cravings are nearly drowning out the thoughts in his head, and he had been sober nearly half a year longer.

Calum's hands were stuffed in his pocket as Luke stood on the other side of the glass, the dim light of the box doing nothing to hide Luke's pale face and foggy eyes. With the headphones on his head, music pumping in one ear and the headphone removed from the other, Calum was amazed at how well Luke could sing being as tired as he looked.

But Luke was the one who spent an entire year pumped full of beer and Xanax and everything else in between and somehow managed to still sound perfect. Despite how hungover he was, or how rude he was being to the crew, he could put on a great show.

"What's this one called?" Calum looked over at Michael, sitting on the couch with a guitar in his hand. "Lover of Mine?"

Calum smirks. "Did Luke write it?"

"He said Mary did most of it, he just made it rhyme," the now-bright-pink-haired Michael scoffs, setting the paper copy of the lyrics, as well as any notes that he had scribbled sometime between now and it's introduction, on the couch beside him. Michael didn't sing half as much as he should, same as Ashton. Calum never said it out loud, but truly thought that his own voice was nothing short of ordinary compared to theirs, as well as Luke's. Bass, however, was the one thing he brought that was unique to him and only him. His skillset, how he had practiced since he knew how to read gave him an advantage. His Father was a music teacher, and Calum was exposed to each instrument while watching his Father practice lesson plans, build a curriculum, and even teach Calum a few tricks. He learned violin, piano, clarinet, guitar, saxophone, but nothing quite stuck like bass.

Double bass of course, until his older sister joined some rock band as the lead singer. The bassist, Mali's boyfriend, brought him under his wing. Taught him the basics, with his Father filling in the rest once he himself learned. He always had more questions, had begged Mali to let him tag along to their rehearsals just to feel the bass on his chest from an audience member's point of view. Calum studied the strings her boyfriend plucked, anticipated the way it would sound, how it would vibrate through his bones. Mali, despite the near eight year age difference, was never one to exclude her baby brother. She loved him, and he loved her. He had his family to thank for every success he had achieved thus far.