Spring

Scrambling in his haste, Luke tugged on one of his well-worn Converses, hopping then crashing into the wall with a wordless wince before tugging on the other. Tightening the laces with a quick yank, he tucked the grey strings into the sides and stumbled upwards to bolt out the door before remembering when he was halfway down the street that he was empty-handed. Panic drowned in the azure of his alarmed eyes as he froze, then turned on his heel to run back home, where he’d left the front door open.

His mother heard him from the living room, floundering around the hallway in a never-ending cacophony of crashbangthuds that trailed wherever he would go and called out calmly.

“In a hurry, Lucas?” The sound of his mother’s voice caused him to freeze, then duck his head as if her disapproving frown might set his hair on fire, despite being a room away: full names were never any good.

“Uh, just going to see a friend, mum.” he replied, hoping she wouldn’t ask who.

“Who?” He mouthed a swear word to himself, mentally debating whether or not to lie - probably not. His was the kind of mother who saw through him like a pane of glass: he was simply another vein on the back of her fair, thin hand.

“Amily.” he eventually conceded, brow furrowing as he awaited a protest or chastisement. Instead, there was a moment’s silence as his mother thought.

“Your ukulele’s in the kitchen.” she replied, no tone of admonishment or the expected inquisition. Luke blinked blearily. “Have fun.” Moving slowly, he tried to process what she’d just said. ‘Have fun? Was that…approval?
Shaking it off, he headed to the kitchen, finding his uke where he’d forgotten it on the counter. Grabbing it, he ran back through the house and out the front door, pausing to shout.

“Love you, mum!” His long, bandy legs carried him down the street with massive, hurried strides, an accident of monumentally embarrassing proportions waiting to happen. He’d been so engrossed with his new musical instrument, it had never occurred to him for even a moment that his mother had overheard him practicing religiously at every moment he could grasp, or figure out his plans form a name alone.
Luke had certainly spoken about her to his mother so often and in such a manner, Liz had expected nothing less of her son. And she was happy.

* * *

Outside the right house, Luke gripped his pristine ukulele in one hand and eyed the tree dubiously. It was actually rather taller than he’d expected - and even at Luke’s exceptional excess of six foot, he was still a atd scared of heights. Just a tad.

Chewing his lower lip and steeling himself, he made his way over and shoved the uke down the back of his hoody, grabbing the old oak with both hands and beginning to climb. The level he wanted to reach was the second story - its window furthest to the left, to be precise. Thankfully, the sturdy plant didn’t sway under his weight, but as he edged out to the branch he wanted to sit on, the wood bent and creaked under his touch.
Grimacing, he clasped it with one hand, testing its strength by allowing some of his weight on it. It creaked once, a low sound sound, as the fresh leaves rustled, newly unfurled after a long winter. Despite that, it seemed okay.
Breathing uneasily, he wrapped both legs around the branch and edged out nervously, his heart thudding chaotically in his throat. In fact, it was thumping so loud, he was surprised no one had come out of the house to see what was happening yet.

The branch dipped a little more but didn’t protest otherwise, so he edged out a little further, only as much as his cowardly heart would allow. Stopping there, he turned to the window and dug through his pocket until he found what he was looking for: skittles.
Taking a handful he took aim, lower lip jutting out, lip ring prominent, as he chucked one at the window.
Lime. No reply.
He threw another, eyes narrowed.
Orange. Nothing.
Blackcurrant sailed through the air and bounced off the polished glass but there was still no movement.
His fingers scrambled around for strawberry, the first going in his mouth, the second tossed at the window with more impatience than the rest. It pinged off and tumbled down somewhere into the vivid blades of green grass below. His arm moved back automatically to throw another one, but a sharp, clear voice sounded through the air before he could.

“Are you throwing rocks at my window?” Amily’s warm complexion and almond eyes ghosted into view. Luke stopped and dropped his arm, transfixed and wicked amusement flickered over her face in the form of upward curled lips and creases near her cacao eyes. Wild curls sprung from her bedhead in every direction, trembling and quivering with muted grace at every movement. A breath escaped Luke’s lips as enamour clenched his beating heart, fear diminished.

“Skittles, actually.” he corrected, finding his voice and letting his mouth curl into a smile. She scoffed derisively but moved to open her window; the spring’s new sun filtered through the leaves and cast them both in uneven, clean light as the heavy scent of blooming cherry blossoms roiled with the young breeze and swept into her room. She breathed in the delight and extended a hand, motioning for Luke to throw her a skittle.
He did, and she caught it, letting the sharp, sweet orange fill her mouth.

“Amily,” Luke began, holding the branch he sat on with one hand and reaching behind him, “I wanted to show you something.” Amily raised her eyebrows in curiosity, resting her elbows on the window ledge. She leaned out slightly, bringing her bare, beautiful, supple arms into view, as well as the twenty one pilots emblem on her t-shirt.

“Are you gonna fall out of that tree and break your face?” she teased, smirking at his put.

“No,” he grappled with his hoody awkwardly, watching her pull a face at his clumsy, silly movements. “Ah! Got it!” He caught He caught the neck of the uke and pulled it over his head, giving the delicate strings a strum. Amily smiled softly to herself at the sight of such a dainty instrument in the hands of a gentle giant.
He was such a wonderful, lovely idiot.

“New uke?” she asked, noting she hadn’t seen it before. He was a talented musician and she was already aware, but guitar was normally his instrument of choice. She went busking with him sometimes, collecting coppers and coins while he sang in his deep drawl until they had enough to buy themselves sundaes and give the rest to the animal shelter near their houses.
Luke blushed, nodding frantically.

“Look, just shush for a second or I’ll lose my balls. he said, knowing how quickly he might chicken out. Amily snickered at his choice of words.

“I didn’t even know you had any.” she quipped. He fought a grin and shushed her again. “Okay. Go on, then. Do what you were gonna do.” He looked at her again, taking in her tender, humoured expression.
She was the reason he sang. He sang all these silly, petty, irrelevant songs to hear the real symphony that was her laughter, and he knew he’d sing any song at any time of any day if she’d only ask.
She smiled encouragingly at his silent face and still hands again - and that was all the reason he needed. Parting his lips and moving his fingers over the smooth strings, he closed his eyes and sang.


Wise men say only fools rush in
But I can't help falling in love with you

Shall I stay, would it be a sin?
If I can't help falling in love with you

Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so we go
Some things were meant to be

Take my hand, take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help falling in love with you

Like a river flows
Surely to the sea
Darling so we go
Some things were meant to be

Take my hand, take my whole life too
'Cause I can't help falling in love with you
'Cause I can't help falling in love with you

But I can't help falling in love with you


As the words left his lips and the song came to an end, he bowed his head over his uke and finished without a flourish. Amily gazed at him intently and boldly, hands and hair trembling alike in the crescendo of the new year’s bloom. He opened his eyes and raised irises that seemed to have swallowed the entire sky above them, offering her nothing but his heart; Amily saw everything in them, a whole universe inside him that he offered her with the words of the king.

“Sing for me again.” she whispered, leaning further, eyes brimming with new hope. The universe inside him was all the world she had been afraid to ask for. Luke’s face broke into a heart-wrenching, soul-rendering smile.
In all his uncontained enthusiasm, he forgot about his grip - his legs slackened around the branch he was perched on as he tipped sideways, falling out of the tree. Amily’s symphony followed him all the way down.