#bro i have no idea loooooooool

hands of fate

he stares at their hands in wonder.

//

luke has always figured (and secretly known) that any change in life could be triggered simply by the brush one’s fingers, the grasp of a handshake, the slip of a hand in another.

an easy example would be when he had met his friends, his brothers. he had known even back then, as an excitable first grader, that simply by extending a hand in greeting, he was sealing the deal with a handshake.

a lifetime of friendship.

another example, one tinged with sadness; he was always tightly holding onto his mother and father’s hands, one on either side of him. if his hands were gripping onto them, then that meant he was safe — that they were safe.

his family.

he also knew that if he kept his hold on them, everything would be just fine.

but then his fingers slipped, and he let go; distracted by the shiny strings of a new guitar. he let go of his dad first, then his mom, hands and fingers outstretched towards the instrument.

he had nervously plucked at the strings, let his small hands reverently touch the neck of the guitar, the smooth shiny coat of varnish glinting back at him with secrets it held, secrets his hands were itching to discover.

he didn’t know it back then, but that simple brush of his fingers would alter the path of his life, forever: another example.

he no longer held his parents’ hands, no longer needed their reassurances to feel safe — his hands were always busy writing songs and playing his guitar, too busy to waste any time that might lead him away from his passion.

before he knew it, years had passed, arguments increased, and he no longer lived at home — no longer felt safe like he did on that fateful day many, many years ago.

luke had looked down at his hands, at his fingers, and wondered. would he be able to bridge the gap between himself and his parents by reaching out towards them using his hands? could he hang onto the both of them, just like he did when he was a kid? would that be enough?

he had prepared himself, using his hands to write a song that could help him open up, express himself and make them understand.

he was ready to face his parents, to hold their hands again.

except he never made it — brought to his own demise by his own actions, fingers holding up poison for him to ingest.

//

his first reflex is to introduce himself, holding his hand out in hopes to alter the mood in the studio. if only she could just reach out and shake it — then maybe she wouldn’t be so angry at them.

but she keeps her distance, her eyes as unfriendly as they were earlier, and he quickly pushes the thought aside.

he’ll have plenty of time for that later.

except he then quickly realises that he no longer has a physical presence on earth — no longer can his hands affect his surroundings, only sinking through the living world and leaving nothing behind.

it leaves him feeling empty — until he gets his hands on his guitar. if he keeps himself busy, if he uses his fingers to create something that would impact the world too far from his reach, he might be okay.

and it works. for a while.

playing music makes them heard.

playing music with her makes them visible.

as long as his fingers are plucking at his guitar strings, it almost feels like a dream come true.

until it doesn’t.

because he makes the mistake of shaking a cursed hand, makes the mistake of forgetting the importance of a handshake.

until it doesn’t.

because he makes the mistake of forgetting, just for a moment, as he reaches out to hold her hand, to thank her, to finally tellher — only to slip right through her.

how can he alter the doomed path that they’re on, when he can’t even hold her hand?

he doesn’t try again after that, doesn’t forget after that.

//

he stares at their hands in wonder, her fingers held tightly in his grasp.

he had been moments from disappearing — moments from no longer existing — as he stared in the watery eyes of the girl in front of him.

he had wished and wished and wished that he could hold her hand, just this once. a miracle before his end.

he blinks once, twice, eyes flicking up to look at julie’s face, the same sense of wonder etched on every inch of her skin.

he was holding her hands.

had her hands….changed the course of his existence?

he looks back down at their intertwined hands hanging between them, and a small smile ticks up at the corner of his lips.

luke has always figured (and secretly known) that any change in life could be triggered simply by the brush one’s fingers, the grasp of a handshake, the slip of a hand in another.

but he now openly knew that julie molina’s hands could change the fate of the universe.

and he planned on never letting go.