It was perfect.

We were perfect.

I can still remember what it felt like to laugh with him, to cuddle with him while we watched Mean Girls. How he’d yell at the screen, how he’d recite every word, how I’d shush him and tell him to shut up. He’d just chuckle and continue to do it, because he loved to get me riled up.

I can still remember the first time I’d ever met him.

At first, he was just Blondie, the blonde, blue-eyed boy living down the street, the one who’d started appearing at the bus stop that took me to school at the crossroads of the small, suburban area. I could remember the day clearly. I’d been eleven years old, and I’d sprinted all the way to the stop, worried that I would miss the bus, my backpack swinging wildly on my shoulders.

He’d been standing there, something new and out of the ordinary. I remember how wide my eyes had gotten when I’d first noticed him standing by the large pole, feeling a rush of protectiveness surge through me. He was standing at my bus stop.

For the next couple of mornings after that, it had been pretty awkward. He hadn’t made any move to try and communicate with me, and neither had I. We had just stood there, as far as possible from each other, shuffling our feet awkwardly, not knowing how to start up a conversation.

And then, that fateful Friday morning, I’d finally gathered up the courage. We’d just been standing there—I’d clenched my jaw and stomped over to him, extending my hand and hoping I didn’t look too menacing. “Hi. I’m Ava.”

His face flooded—with relief? Probably because he hadn’t wanted to make the first move. He shook my hand formally, nodding, still looking extremely uncomfortable, “I’m Luke.”

“Nice to meet you,” I’d said, hoping that small talk would lessen the tension, “I’ve seen you around school. How do you like it?”

He shrugged, “It’s alright.” His eyebrow furrowed and he pushed some of his long blonde fringe away from his eyes, exposing me to crystal-clear blue eyes. I thought they looked pretty, like the ocean.

Then he became Blondie, the boy I’d become acquainted to, the boy I’d had a few of my classes with during the next year. I think that then was when I’d finally taken a liking to him, finally noticed that he’d made a few friends, but he was mostly shy and quiet—not the bad kind of kid that always sat at the back of the class…the timid one that sat off to the side and preferred to be left alone.

And then, at thirteen years of age, that was when we’d really become closer.

We’d been paired together for a science project, and he’d insisted that I’d go over to his house. His mother, Liz, had been extremely sweet, but Luke had pretty much been awkward about the whole thing. I think it’s safe to say that I was too.

“Relax, Blondie,” I’d assured him, “I won’t tell anyone that you sleep with a giant stuffed penguin.”

I smirked as the words fell from my lips, but I’d been sincere. I hadn’t told anyone.

After that…well, we had sort of just—clicked.

He’d introduced me to a friend he’d made, a dark-haired boy named Calum. I’d decided to return the favour and introduce him to one of my good friends, Michael. It was safe to say that Luke and Michael did not like each other at first—in fact, they actually kind of hated each other for a year straight. But that all changed once Cal and I got together and staged a little intervention.

I’d found out that Luke could sing during the summer, when we’d been hanging out by a small creek that nobody knew about other than us. He’d been humming a Blink song, and I’d demanded that he quit being such a pansy and sing out loud. He wouldn’t.

I’d pleaded, begged, and even threatened to toss him into the creek. He’d just laughed, thinking that I wasn’t serious. It wasn’t until I’d grabbed him by the shoulders and pushed him backwards that he’d finally given in.

And then he became Blondie, my best friend.

Along with Cal and Michael. I’d never really been into hanging out too much with girls, or too much with guys, sufficing that I had an even mix of friends that were the opposite gender. I made time to spend with my girlfriends, but I always had Saturdays reserved for the guys, no matter what.

On those Saturdays, we would eat chips, play video games, swear like sailors—when our parents weren’t in the room, of course—and have a good time. Michael would even bring his guitar, and he, Luke, and Calum would proceed to either sing seriously and try, or just scream out at the top of their lungs. It depended on their mood.

Cal dabbled in the art of songwriting. He wasn’t that bad either. And that was when Luke proposed that they become a “band” of sorts.

Cal and Mikey weren’t all for the idea at first. I, however, encouraged Luke to go ahead. I mean, he was pretty good, and with a bit of pressing, he finally posted his first solo video on YouTube.

I swear: I watched it ten times straight before he complained that I was hogging the computer. Secretly, I think he was a bit embarrassed, because when I gave him room to sit down beside me; well, his cheeks were dabbed with pink.

And then the sleepovers began. Luke, living only down the street, would climb into my window every night, and we’d talk about anything and everything. Up until then, I’d never thought about him as anything other than a friend. He would confess his worries, crushes, hopes to me, and I’d listen.

In return, he’d do the same once I told him that I’d wanted to become a journalist, writing being my passion. He’d encouraged me to follow my dream, just as I’d persuaded him to post his videos on YouTube.

And then Cal and Mikey joined the band.

It was great. They called themselves ‘5 Seconds of Summer’, thinking that they’d never go further than being a garage band, maybe playing a few gigs here and there. They didn’t really know at all where the band was going.

Neither did I, to be honest.

But I was always there, cheering them on from the sidelines, from behind the camera, smiling at each of them warmly and nodding my head along to the strumming of their guitars. When I reached Luke, I couldn’t help but to smile extra wide, and for a moment, he’d look up at me and return his, his ocean eyes sparking for a moment before he looked back down.

It wasn’t until a few months later that I’d realised something. It had happened on a Sunday night. Luke had snuck into my room, as he always did, this time complaining about how stupid girls were and how they never noticed the signs that guys laid out to get their attention. I could’ve agreed with him, except I was against males rather.

He’d completely spilled about this new girl that he liked. She was exactly his type: long, blonde hair and bright eyes, extremely friendly with everyone, new to the high school, but had made friends so quickly you’d think she’d been here for years.

And as he’d ranted on and on about how amazing he thought she was, something stabbed me in the pit of my stomach, like it actually hurt to be listening to him.

And then he became Blondie, the boy I’d developed a crush on, the best-friend-turned-object-of-my-infatuation.

I tried to persuade myself that this wasn’t really happening—I couldn’t like my best friend—that was just weird. I avoided him—or at least, did my best—for a few weeks, thinking that maybe if I didn’t spend any time with him, the affection would melt away, like ice in sunlight.

If anything, it made it stronger.

And I realised that there was no getting rid of it. I could only sit there, smile, nod, and give advice to Luke as he fought with typical teenage boy troubles, as he recounted all the run-ins he’d had with ‘hot’ girls. He didn’t realise that he was tearing me up inside, and neither of us could do anything about it.

I could still remember every detail from that morning.

“Fuck,” I mumbled, slipping on my rain boots and bolting through the door, clutching my thermos in my hand and praying that no coffee would spill out. Fifteen years of age, and I was still late to school…I was beating myself up inside.

I knew that I wouldn’t be able to see Luke today at the bus stop—he’d probably caught the earlier bus, whereas I’d slept in and was now running late. Dammit.

I also knew that I’d forgotten something—a damn umbrella. There was no use in going back inside now—I was halfway down the black. I ran the rest of the way to the bus stop, splashing through puddles and keeping my head down while the rain pelted my hood. My hair was still wet from my shower, and I almost decided to skip today—I would just be embarrassed walking into class so late.

I reached the bus stop, the rain loud, and the skies as gray as graphite. There was a figure standing a few feet away—simultaneously, we turned towards each other, and I was shocked to find wide blue eyes staring back at me.

“Luke?” I yelled over the downpour.

“I woke up late!” he shouted back at me, and I couldn’t help it—I laughed. When I stopped, I turned back to him, “Any chance I could squeeze in there, Blondie?”

“Always!” he replied loudly, and I smiled at him, my stomach doing backflips. Then I scolded myself—I couldn’t feel that way about my best friend. But I did, and it was horrible. I hated knowing that he’d never feel the same way about me.

“Thanks,” I said, looking down at my boots, as I managed to stay shielded by the umbrella, hearing droplets smack the material that was currently buffed out over our heads. He chuckled, “No problem.”

I began to look up at him, and when I finally did, I didn’t see Luke standing there, looking poised and as cool as he always did. Instead, it was like things seemed to slow down, even though all I knew was that at that exact moment, his face was rushing down to mine.

And then I felt the softness of his lips, felt the itty bitty scraps of stubble on his chin. The hand that wasn’t clutching the umbrella came up, snaking into my hood and under my dark, damp hair, cupping around the back of my neck and pulling me further into the kiss. I was shocked at first—it was my first kiss, after all—but then I realised what was happening, what I’d always wanted to happen had happened and I began to move my lips with his.

Neither of us was experienced. You could tell. But the way he kissed me—it felt as though we’d been doing this for years. I wrapped my right arm around his neck, smiling against his lips as we stood there, kissing in the rain.

That was the day he became Blondie, my boyfriend.

And for a while—the next two years, to be exact—things were amazing.

It was almost like we were the perfect couple. Sure, we had our fights—big ones—but I knew that I could never stay mad at Luke, at my Blondie. He was just too perfect, too absolutely wonderful for me, and it was far too hard for me to stay mad at him. And I’m pretty sure he felt the same way about me too.

Ashton came into the picture. The boys were doing covers on YouTube, and they were pretty damn good. I had applied to a magazine internship, hoping but knowing that they probably wouldn’t take me in. But that didn’t matter. Because I had Luke through it all.

And then, that fateful July morning.

“Luke, Luke, Luke!” I giggled, knocking on his door rapidly. I bounced on the balls of my feet, clutching the letter to my chest. I was dying to open it, but I wanted him to be there with me when I did.

After what seemed like an eternity, the door swung open, and there stood my wonderful boyfriend. He wore dark jeans and black Vans, his Nirvana t-shirt hanging baggily on his skinny but cute torso. His hair was hanging low on his face, half of it swept up and the other half as it always was, in his eyes.

He was experimenting, I suppose.

His bright blue eyes raked over my body once, stopping to look at the envelope. Then, he shot me a wide grin, “It came in?”

“Yes!” I squealed, and then I leapt on him, wrapping my arms and legs around him and hugging him, “Oh my god! I can’t believe it! I didn’t think they would even reply! Can you imagine what would happen if they actually accepted me? Holy shit, holy sh—”

Luke cut me off when he set me down and pressed a long kiss to my lips, shutting me up and stopping my rambling. He finally pulled away after a lengthy moment, and I grinned up at him. He led me to his couch, where we both sat down, and I ripped open the envelope greedily.

My fingers fumbling with the paper, I managed to unfold the single piece. My eyes scanned the short note for a moment before I began to read out loud, “‘Dear Miss Summers. We are happy to inform you that we have received your application to Beeline industries. Your letter was quite impressive, along with a sample of your work. We would like to invite you to join an internship program’—oh my god. Oh my god!”

I flung my arms around Luke’s neck, nearly crumpling the rest of the letter. He laughed but hugged me back before pulling away, his eyes twinkling excitedly, “Go on, read the rest!”

“‘—an internship program at our base in Los Angeles in Ameri—” I broke off, my eyes widening, “—what? No. I applied for the one here, where we are. No, that’s not right.”

I took a closer look at the envelope, opening it to see if there was anything else inside. While I did that, Luke picked up the letter, scrutinising it. His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed heavily.

“Aves,” he began, and then he read, “‘We understand that you had applied for the location in Australia. However, the only spots available are situated at the Los Angeles location. We apologise for the inconven—”

He broke off into a chain of swear words, “Inconvenience? No shit.”

I stared at him with wide eyes, my mouth popped open. He ran a hand through his blonde hair, tousling it, and finally returned my gaze. I was speechless, unable to say anything, knowing that if I did, I’d probably break down and begin to cry.

But it was too late. My eyes were watering. I clenched my jaw, hoping to delay the tears, but my bottom lip quivered. Luke seemed to realise what was happening, and he was suddenly there, comforting me and wrapping me in his arm. We lay back on the couch together, silent tears beginning to streak down my face.

“Aves,” Luke whispered, “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I shook my head and squeezed my eyes shut for a moment before they flashed open again; “I’m not going.”

“What?” Luke pulled away, cupping my chin to make me look at him. I just closed my eyes, more tears slipping down my cheeks, “No Ava. I’m not going to hold you back.”

“Who says it’s you?” my pathetic attempt at a joke fell through my lips, “Maybe I don’t want to leave Ashton.”

“Ava,” he said seriously, and I just shook my head, emitting a soft sob, “No Luke. I’m not going. I’m not going to leave you for a stupid magazine company, you—you know that.”

I wasn’t making any sense now. Luke’s long spindly fingers came up to wipe some of my tears away, “Yes you are. Ava, this is huge. You’re so talented; I would’ve been surprised if they hadn’t accepted you. You’re going to be so successful, so amazing at what you do. I’ll visit. And we can call, text, email, Skype, all of that stuff.”

I shook my head, but then Luke assured me, whispering, “I won’t forget about you. Please don’t just throw that all away.”

“I can’t Luke,” I cried, “I can’t.”

But somehow, I managed to.

Because at the end of that very summer, I was all packed up, ready to hop onto my flight to Los Angeles the following day. The night before my flight, Luke took me to the creek, where we’d spent the majority of most of our summers together. But this time, things were different.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” Luke murmured as he stroked my hair. We were lying down on the blanket he’d spread out—we’d finished packing up the adorable little picnic he’d set up for us, and now my arms were wrapped around his, our feet tangled together. Luke had his chin set on the crown of my head, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Hey Aves?” Luke asked me, still running his fingers through my hair.

“Yes Blondie?” I asked, my eyes closed.

“I love you.”

I froze, my body tensing up. I didn’t want to look at him right now, afraid that if I did, I’d simply break apart and start crying all over again. It’s what I’d done for most of the summer anyways.

But I was leaving tomorrow, and Luke deserved to know the truth. “I love you more,” I replied softly, and I felt both of our bodies relax at the same time. I pulled away and looked into his light eyes, smiling at him, and cautiously pressed a slow, sweet kiss to his lips.

“Hey Blondie?” I asked.

“Yes Aves?” he smirked at me, which I returned before turning serious once again.

“Make love to me.”

That night was slow, sweet, and passionate. It was everything I could’ve ever asked for. It was the first time for both of us, the dawn filled with nervous touches and wonderfully soft kisses, nothing hot and heavy, just long and lengthy, nice and measured, gentle and deliberate.

It was the best night of my life.

That was when he became Blondie, my first, the boy I was totally and irrevocably in love with.

“Bye Ash,” I sniffled as I enveloped Ashton in an embrace. He didn’t reply—I think he was scared of crying as well. I moved on to Calum and Michael, hugging both of them as well, both of them wishing me luck and promising that we’d see each other soon. Fuck, I loved those boys.

And then came the goodbye I was most dreading.

Luke’s hair was messy and dishevelled; his eyes puffy and red. He wasn’t crying at the moment, but his lips were pursed, trying to stop the shakiness of his bottom lip.

“I love you, Lucas,” I whispered to him, pressing my forehead to his. The rest of our friends slowly backed away, wanting to give us some privacy. Luke grabbed my face in his hands.

“I love you so much, Aves,” he whispered to me, pressing a slow kiss to my lips. I could feel my tears on his face, and I momentarily let go of my suitcase handle to wrap my arms around his neck, pulling away eventually to hug him tightly. I almost didn’t want to leave anymore, simply wanting to stay here with him—forever.

Eventually though, I had to go.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispered fiercely to me, and then let out a low, dry laugh, “And fuck, Aves, I know it sounds cheesy, but it’s so true. I’m so in love with you. I’ll never stop.”

More tears came. And they wouldn’t go away.

The first few months were the hardest, I think. Luke and I texted, called, emailed, Skyped, any kind of communication possible. I would contact the boys as well to make sure that they kept him in line, joking around with Ashton, teasing Calum, talking about everything with Mikey.

I missed them all so much.

But then I realised exactly what was happening.

Every day, the boys’ fame grew. They were getting thousands upon thousands of subscribers on YouTube, more and more fans. It was amazing. But I saw that I was only slowing them down.

I was a weight. They couldn’t be bothered all the time to maintain a relationship with me. It would only decelerate the rapid speed that they were travelling at, their popularity mounting with each new video.

And so, gradually, the texts, the calls, the emails, the Skypes…they all stopped.

Luke was the persistent one. Every day I would see multiple texts he’d sent me, asking how I was, if I was mad at him, why I wasn’t responding. He’d call at least five times, and I always had calls pending on Skype, notification on my email.

He sounded so desperate, it made my heart hurt. I wanted to reply, but I knew that when I did, I’d never be able to stop. And that was bad. Because I couldn’t drag Luke down. He needed to be heard, recognized for his amazing talent.

And I wasn’t going to stand in his way.

And so, he became Blondie—my high school sweetheart, the boy I once loved. Blondie—the boy I tried desperately to forget.

Blondie—the distant memory.

Blondie—the boy I would never see again.

Notes

I hope you enjoyed the prologue! This is just a bit of a backstory! I won't be updating again til my other story is finished! Then this story will become my top priority!

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