passion • muke au

dreams.

a/n: whaddup, me again since I'm the author of this story. ya so I'm prewriting probably like 3-5 chapters for this story before I publish any so just know that these next few were written before I put any of this fic up (:

(don't forget to pick your favorite cover)
-Kerri

luke

I smiled at the beautiful stranger, occasionally taking a sip of my coffee. I had moved my laptop and myself over to sit across from him, resulting in a conversation that had lasted at least 25 minutes by now.

"I never did get your name?" he said to me.

"Luke," I smiled again, which seemed to be something I hadn't stopped doing since the beginning of our conversation.

"I'm Michael."

"Well, Michael. It's nice to meet you," I said, my mouth still stretched wide into a grin. We had already gone over all the formalities and small talk. He's from Indiana, I'm from Australia. He's a writer, I'm a singer...

A director/waiter.

In a way, my dream was much more far-fetched than his. He told me he had musical training as well, he could write lyrics and compose music. He was immensely talented, from what I've learned so far.

He told me he's never done anything that's been bought or published, but I could see that he loved writing, and I always believed that passion was the most important piece when you're puzzling together success.

My dream was to be a singer. But, I had no formal training. Rather, I barely had an idea how to become a singer, at least one who actually makes money.

Michael's situation wasn't much different than mine (other than he actually knew what he was doing). We both worked shitty jobs to make enough money to, well, live. And not a whole lot else.

I had a small apartment with my friend, Ashton, and a tiny, furry cat called Rolo. Ash named him after the candies.

My father died when I was young, of cancer. We had always gotten on so well, my best friend until I was fourteen. Nineteen now, I had never gotten along so well with my mother (a/n: I'm sorry, I know everyone loves Liz, but Liz doesn't have a place in the story, HA, FUCK YOU), so I moved to New York, somewhere I could do what I wanted and be far enough from her.

"Shit," I heard fall from Michael's lips as he quickly stood up. "Uh, I've got a thing. Like a meeting thing. With, like, play producer people? I'm gonna be late, I'm sorry."

"Oh, no, that's fine, yeah. Do whatever you have to do," I said quietly.

"Yeah, I'm sorry, shit," he said, quickly digging a pen out of his pocket and scribbling something on a napkin. "Uh, here. Bye Luke," he smiled as he tossed the napkin my way, then sped out the door to haul a cab.

I grabbed the brown napkin from where it landed near me, turning it over and reading what it said.

212-554-7652
--Mikey (:

I smiled at the napkin and folded it, gently putting it in my tight pocket.

"Two-one-two, five-five-four, seven-six-five-two," I closed my eyes and whispered to myself, a smile creeping to my lips for the hundredth time today. "Mikey."

•••

a/n: ok I hope you liked that. It was really short, so I'm sorry. Some of the chapters in this story probably will be pretty short, and some will probably be really long. Whatever I write, idk

LUKE SEEMS SO CREEPY AT THE END HAHHA

xo
-Kerri