Maybe In Another (After)Life

Now or Never

July 22, 1995

Luke has never been much of a morning person. Most people aren't and he's never really understood why anyone would be. He's always been far more interested in sunsets than sunrises.

He's only ever met one person who could happily rise with the sun every day no matter how late he'd been up the night before. It's that same person that he's visiting so early in the morning.

"Hey, Max."

Luke stands in front of the gravestone with his hands in his pockets.

"I, uh, I know I was here just last week with the guys but, well, we, uh, we've got this show tonight. We told you, remember? At the Orpheum? It's big, man. Totally huge. I mean, this could really be the thing to launch our careers."

His mouth moves silently for a few seconds as his voice suddenly fails him and he bows his head.

"I shouldn't be telling you this," he says quietly. "I shouldn't have to. You should be on that stage with us, Max." He runs a shaky hand through his hair. "I mean, we're playing it for you."

There's a long moment where the only sounds around are the birds waking up. Luke sighs and crouches in front of the grave. He lets his eyes wander over the engraving, rereading the words he's had memorized for just over a year now.

Maxwell David Lincoln

March 23, 1978 – July 16, 1994

The Song Is Ended But The Melody Lingers On

"I had another dream last night," he eventually says. "It was you and me, like usual. You, uh, you had my song notebook. You were looking at "Now or Never" and it kinda seemed like you already knew the lyrics. I know that can't be right though because I wrote that one after you- after," he finishes abruptly, unwilling to actually say the word.

That's not the only song he's written with Max in mind. "Now or Never" was inspired by what Max had told Alex on that night, sure, but he's written others just to try and deal with his absence. Most were eventually scrapped as nothing more than scattered thoughts and ways to vent, never forming into actual songs.

Alex says it's a surprisingly healthy way of dealing with his grief. Reggie says it's no surprise Max is his muse. Luke gets the general idea the songs help them too.

"It's on our demo," Luke continues, still thinking about that dream. "We'll play it at the show tonight because it's," he draws in an unsteady breath, "it's the best way I can think of to have you on that stage with us, even if it's just in spirit. It's everything you believed in."

He's stopped flinching every time he has to use the past tense to talk about him. That's a good thing, apparently.

"You knew the lyrics," he says again. "You knew the lyrics and I- I really do feel like you're on stage beside me sometimes."

Luke bites at his bottom lip before he finally decides to just say it out loud, to make the deepest wish of his heart audibly known.

"Is that you, Max?" he asks softly. "Or is it just me making stuff up?"

He sighs and reaches out to trace the name engraved on the stone.

"I hope it's you," he admits. "I really do because I- I need to think that you're out there. I need to think that you're somewhere and that I'll see you again someday. If I don't have that then... I don't know if I can do this."

Luke blinks rapidly as his vision starts to blur. "I miss you," he says simply. "I miss you so much, Max."

He flattens his hand against the headstone, deliberately covering the July date.

"I've still got your guitar," he tells him. "I keep it clean, and the strings are good but... I can't play it. No one does." He chuckles weakly. "Sheila belongs to you, Max. Nobody else will ever play her."

Sheila because, of course, the Aussie had chosen that name when he christened the bright orange instrument. He thought he was absolutely hilarious and from that moment would only refer to it (her) as such.

The other three, seemingly without even realizing, picked up the habit.

Luke sighs quietly and shakes his head. "I guess I better get going. We've gotta get ready for tonight. I'll stop by after the show," he promises. "Tell you how it went."

He kisses his fingertips (callused from years of guitar playing) and presses them against the stone like he does every time he has to leave. 

"Bye, Max," he whispers.

With that, Luke stands up and turns to leave the cemetery, on his way to prepare for a night that's sure to change his entire life.