I'm back! With a non-oneshot! It shouldn't be longer than a few chapters, but I may suddenly get inspired and carry on for longer than expected, who knows?
This is something very different for me – it's completely AU. Which makes me slightly nervous, because I've never done that before.
Some back story: Peyton doesn't live in Tree Hill, and thus her and the TH gang never knew each other or grew up together. For the sake of this story, the school shooting did happen, though obviously she wasn't there, and Keith did die.
At this point, Lucas and Peyton are both in their early twenties (season 5 age, I suppose). Lucas is a writer, but is struggling to write a second novel.
That should be all the details you need! Hope you enjoy!
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It's been years. Two long years, and Lucas Scott is not sure he can even call himself a writer anymore. The thrill that came from publishing his first- and only- novel has come and gone, and apparently, so has his muse. Although he's never told anyone this, he knows the precise moment it walked into his life, because the time between then and the instant it walked out is permanently burned into his mind.
He won't even tell his closest friends and family what spurred his sudden inspiration when he wrote The Comet. His best friend, his brother, his mother and everyone else he knows have all tried to prod the information from him. Though their efforts have been nothing short of persistent, he never gives an answer that is substantial enough to feed their curiosity. After all, his generic responses such as "inspiration comes unexpectedly," or "don't look for it, and you'll find it," aren't exactly riveting.
But every once in a while, he'll let the tiniest beginnings of a smile grace his lips- an act that only he thinks goes unnoticed- and say in a gentle, almost pristine whisper: "Just read the dedication in The Comet. That's why I wrote it."
In response to this, he'll receive something along the lines of an exasperated sigh, mixed with a roll of eyes and an incoherent grumble. That specific page in his novel is composed of merely a sentence, of which seemingly no one but him knows the true meaning…
"To waiting for someday."
He's been hiding behind a veil of secrecy for so long for only one reason. He has the slightest fear that if he lets anyone else in, a day in the not-too distant past will feel like a memory, rather than a dream.
Memories fade, but dreams are unwavering, even tangible.
This dream, which he knows is the essence of his inspiration, is kept close to his heart. So, he holds on to it with every fiber of strength he has in his 21-year-old body.
But his strength is beginning to falter, and the possibility of someday seems to drifting farther and father away with time.
This is why he has yet to find the will power to even put any thought towards a second novel. He could write another book about belief and hope, but at this point it would feel almost entirely false. Time is withering whatever amount of those feelings he has. However, whenever someone approaches the subject, he'll simply feign writer's block. In reality he knows that cliché doesn't even begin to cover his situation.
So, when Lucas hears his front door open and close, followed by Haley's voice making her presence known, he grumbles just enough to release his small amount of discontent. Hurriedly, he turns off his laptop and ventures toward the kitchen to greet his best friend.
"Hey Hales," he says with a smile, opening the fridge to grab himself a beer, offering her one as well. She grimaces and picks up a bottle of water instead. He faces her, leisurely leaning against the counter. "What brings you by?"
"Do I need a reason?" she says with just a hint of too much innocence in her voice, causing a knowing smirk to grace his lips.
"I guess not." He says.
"I mean, I am your best friend." Lucas raises a skeptic brow, chuckling at the obvious nature of her statement.
"Lindsey sent you over here, didn't she?"
Haley coughs as she swallows a sip of water, shaking her head with far too much enthusiasm to pass as nonchalance. "What? Of course not. No... No." she meets his eyes as he stares at her inquisitively, "…maybe."
He heaves an annoyed sigh, rolling his crystal blue eyes playfully and crossing his arms over his broad chest. She's clearly not intimidated by his frustration with her for having teamed up with his editor. Hands on her hips, she silently scrutinizes him in that motherly way that is uniquely Haley; he feels his resolve crumbling quickly.
"She just wants to know if you're writing, and since you're ignoring all her calls and emails…" She says pointedly, making his stance turn sheepish in seconds. "She asked me to check up on you."
"I'm working on it." He says.
"Are you?"
Lucas uncrosses his arms to run a hand over his tired face, almost as in defeat, and he shrugs. Haley smiles desolately, giving his shoulder a gentle, supportive squeeze.
"You're going to be okay."
"I don't know." He sighs, with a voice almost uncharacteristically vulnerable.
"Whatever it is that you found to spark ideas last time… you'll find it again."
He lets Haley's words wash over him. They're warm and far more comforting than she may think. And though faith in them is hard to find, he can only put all his hope into the possibility that she's right.
It's only about an hour after Haley leaves, forcefully telling him to not dodge Lindsey the next time that she tries to get into contact with him, that his phone rings. He doesn't need to look at the caller ID to know that his editor is on the other end of the line. Sighing, he picks up his phone, puts it to his ear and waits for the lecture he knows is coming.
Sure enough, as soon as he answers, he's met with a reprimanding tone.
"So you do know how the phone works!"
"Hi to you too, Lindsey."
"Sorry Luke, the casual act isn't going to work. Where have you been for the past two weeks?"
"Yeah, about that-" He isn't given a chance to explain, and is almost thankful for it.
"Tell me you were hiding away in seclusion, writing 24 hours a day."
There's an awkward pause, and Lucas despises himself just a bit for not being able to fill the silence adequately.
"Not exactly." He finally says.
"You must have something." She pleads.
"I'm trying."
"Lucas, I can't be your editor if there's nothing to edit."
"I'm trying!" He repeats, as if the words have suddenly gained more meaning.
"I hope so, or we'll both be out of a job soon."
Lucas grumbles incoherently, not understanding how everyone expects him to write hundreds of pages on a subject that he has not found.
"Look, I have to go." He sighs, hanging up before Lindsey can even get a word in edgewise. He knows she's probably the last person he needs to have a conversation with.
He tosses his phone roughly onto the desk in front of him, knocking over something in the process. As he kneels to pick up the item, his stomach knots when he realizes what it is. He purses his lips to keep his bottom one from trembling as he holds a photo frame in his hands. Thankfully, the glass is still intact, and he finds himself staring at the picture, smiling softly at the childhood memory it contains.
In that moment, he knows exactly who he needs to talk to.
He arrives at the cemetery, complete with a single flower in hand, not long after. A warm summer wind blows around him, somehow finding a way to comfort his shaken body. As he reaches his uncle's grave, he takes a deep breath and wills the small lump in his throat to disappear.
"Hey Keith…" he whispers tentatively. He kneels in front of the stone, bringing his free hand forward to let his fingers graze the letters etched into it. He sets the flower on the top edge of it and chuckles softly to himself. "Sorry for the cheap gift, I left home in a haste and this was all I could afford without my wallet with me."
The silence, with no low laugh or witty remark in a gravelly voice, nearly deafens him.
"So…" he murmurs after a moment, "I can't write a second novel. I've tried, I have. But there's nothing there. No motivation, no inspiration. All that left when I realized…" He swallows, almost choking on the sting of his next words. "When I realized that maybe she wasn't coming back. She's not coming back, is she?"
He closes his eyes, and for a split second all he can see is curly blonde hair and deep green eyes that are enticingly venomous. He shakes the image from his head as quickly as it appeared.
"Am I supposed to just quit now? What am I supposed to do?"
A gust chooses that instant to roll in, and before Lucas can move to grab the flower, it floats from the gravestone and falls to the ground a slight distance away. He rises to retrieve it and something in the far corner of his eye makes his heart skip what feels like multiple beats.
Surely his vision is deceiving him…
But it's not.
She stands just several feet away from him and- all at once- so many thoughts rush to him that he can only process a few of them.
He can't believe how much he missed her.
She's even more beautiful than he remembered.
And god, is he glad that someday is finally here.
All feelings of loss of inspiration vanish within a split second as he gazes at her, completely unmoving due to the sudden tension in his body. Her gaze shifts and their eyes lock, awakening emotions in him that have long felt dormant. A simple whisper is the only thing to escape his mouth; one sole word carrying enough meaning that, years ago, the person behind it was his reason for writing hundreds of pages.
"Peyton…"
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You're probably slightly confused aren't you? Feel free to question me, but it's all going to come together soon!
In the meantime, let me know what you think!