A/N: First story, yikes. Thanks to Mags for helping take some of the anxiety out of the experience by being a great beta.
Think of the ketchup, he tells himself. He blinks slowly, his brow furrowed in forced concentration as he watches the ketchup suspended in the glass bottles turned upside down on his counter. Thinking of the ketchup is easier. If he watches the ketchup, he won't have to look up and see the festivities outside.
It's Rachel's fault, the way he has been feeling. Previously tucked away in the far corners of his mind, his feelings went unacknowledged. Denial was as easy as watching the ketchup flow from one bottle to the other. But now he's being forced to confront what he's been trying to push away for years; the possibility of Lorelai. He can admit now, only in the safety of his own mind, that he has always felt something more than friendship for her. It's been years of fixing broken porch rails and broken hearts, and he knows that it's something about the way he feels around her that keeps him rooted firmly behind the counter day after day.
Before the tornado that is Lorelai came spinning into his life, he was lonely. He was living in grayscale, with nothing but drab grisaille surrounding him on all sides. Lorelai, however, was able to pull Luke away from the dull blur of routine and force him into focus. Just by sitting at the counter, drinking coffee, and babbling incoherently, Lorelai gave Luke something colorful in a previously black and white world.
He is pulled from his thoughts by the jingle of the bells above the diner's door, and he knows immediately. He's been turning a ketchup bottle over and over in his hands, studying the words and patterns across the bottle, and he looks up quickly when she enters.
"Hey" she says in a voice so innocently familiar that for a moment he lets himself believe that nothing is changing.
"Hey, why aren't you at your party?" he asks as he stops fiddling with the ketchup bottle and places it on the counter, giving her his attention.
"Well that's funny, I was about to ask you the same thing" she asks, amusement and curiosity evident in her tone. She comes to rest her hands up against the counter, mirroring Luke's stance. He knew that she was going to ask, and he responds with his premeditated answer. He's busy. They both recognize that he is lying, but Lorelai doesn't call him on it. They're talking back and forth, and Luke's hoping she'll let him do this his way for once. But just like he knew what she was going to ask, he knows her request before it even tumbles from her lips.
"I was kind of thinking, and you don't have to, but maybe you could pull yourself away for a second." She's asking so little and too much all at the same time, and Luke tries to sort through the thoughts in his head. He knows he doesn't want to, but he so badly wants to make her happy. It's always been about making her happy. He tries to deny her, unwilling to leave behind the distraction of the diner. And then she's telling him that he's important to her and how she wants him there, before she turns on her heel and leaves him alone with his ketchup.
Within minutes, Luke's resolve is crumbling to pieces, and he finds himself edging his way onto the outskirts of the party area. He spots her dancing with Max, and he tries to ignore the familiar pangs of jealousy and hurt coursing through him. He meanders a few feet more, his eyes glued to her and now blocking out Max, when she makes eye contact. She smiles, and waves, and Luke's heart speeds up. He waves back with a small smile, glad that she is happy. He's pathetic, and he hates himself right now. He finds a seat on a bench with three of Patty's ballerinas, and he watches her for a moment more before dropping his gaze to study his fingernails.
And he's back to thinking again. He can't ignore the burning feeling in his chest when he thinks about the fact that he's losing her, just like he's lost everyone else who has ever held any real importance. He thinks of how unfair it is, that he's finally realizing just how important she is in time for her to be married to someone else. He wonders if things will change completely, and he figures that they probably will. She won't need him to fix things anymore, she won't need him to cook or make her coffee for her. She won't need him, but he won't stop needing her. He wonders when the hurt will stop.
After an hour of being at the party, he decides to head back to the diner. He's put in enough face time to please Lorelai, and so he trudges through the diner to the apartment, closing up on his way. He sits on the edge of his bed, rubbing his face with his hands, taking off his hat and toeing off his boots. He lies back on the mattress and lets out a deep breath. He stares at the ceiling for a moment before sitting back up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He stands in the middle of his apartment; this is Luke Danes. His tiny life in his big-enough-for-one apartment, with his single serving ketchup, this is who he is. His hope for anything more is slowly depleted by the passing of years; he's resigned to the life he's leading. He wants to be able to let go of her, but he knows he can't. He hates himself.
He tries to distract himself when he finds the invitation to her wedding sitting on top of the pile of mail on his kitchen table. It's more than he can take, seeing the validation of it. He's not ready for it, and he realizes he needs to find a way to say goodbye to her. He wants to do one last thing for her, before she doesn't need him anymore. He has to do something.
He spends most of his time in the next week working on it. After the diner closes, before it opens, even during lulls, he finds himself hunched over the block of wood, whittling away carefully. He had found the picture in a book in his apartment, and he's committed himself completely to it. In the diner, he seems irritable and tired, and he is. He spends his evenings chiseling fruity goats and flowers in the time that he should be asleep. He doesn't like that he's so transparent, that she affects him like this. He hates himself right now.
Dropping the chuppa off at Lorelai's house days before the wedding, he tries to appear nonchalant. She is awed by the intricacy of it, and he's pleased that she seems to appreciate it. When they sit down to talk, he wants to tell her everything. He wants to tell her what he's feeling, that he's not against marriage in general, more specifically, he's against her marriage. Instead of professing his feelings, however, he takes the more subtle approach, as he has for years. He lets her know, in no uncertain terms, that marriage can be all right. If you find the right person.
And he takes comfort in thinking that Lorelai hasn't found him, that elusive right guy. He wants to think that she'll realize that, but he knows she won't. At least, not yet.
A few days later, Sookie is sitting at the counter in the diner, and he doesn't know what to think when she tells him that Lorelai's wedding is off. He's imagined this scenario in his head since the moment he knew about the wedding's existence. It's not glamorous; there are no cosmic alignments or fireworks displays. It's just news, but it makes him feel light, like the lead weight that was previously housed in his chest was being lifted. He doesn't know what to do with the information, or himself, so he pours Kirk more coffee.
Lorelai walks into the diner a few days later, and Luke can't suppress the feeling bubbling within him. It's the warmth that spreads to the tips of his fingers as he wipes down the counter when she sits at the stool in front of him, her favorite stool. They're talking, and it's familiar and certain, until the wedding comes up. The chuppa, he realizes, he left in her yard. The last thing either of them needed was a reminder of the wedding that wasn't. So he offers to move it for her, because she needs him to. And they're back to where they were; she needs him for coffee, food, and repairs. He needs her for everything else.
He's uncomfortably hot; sweat collecting on his forehead, as he drags the stupid chuppa around the yard for her. They're trying to make it into an archway. She's directing him to the right—a little to the right, a little more, sto-op, not yet…Now!
"No, that doesn't look right" Lorelai says in a playful whine. She is sitting on the porch step, conveniently shaded by the overhang, as Luke tries to ignore the overbearing heat. Stupid summer.
"Lorelai…" he groans warningly, because he's sick of pulling the dead weight of the chuppa across the lawn.
"I just want to find the right place for it!" she justifies indignantly, standing on the porch, hands on her hips. Luke opens his mouth to respond, but she's talking again. " God, it's hotter than Jack Lemmon and Tony Curtis in drag out here." Lorelai exclaims, fanning herself.
"Some like it hot." Luke grunts out, pushing the chuppa toward the driveway. Lorelai gasps in delight, and Luke sighs. "What? I know stuff" Luke offers with a shrug as she chuckles softly.
"Lucas Danes, who would have known." Lorelai says, still laughing, flopping down onto the top porch step. Luke smiles slightly at her amusement, and re-grips the posts of the chuppa. A minute more passes in silence before Lorelai disturbs it. "Okay, I'm officially bored." Lorelai ventures, leaning her back against the opposite side of the porch.
"You could, I don't know, what's the word… help?" Luke responds, still applying force to push the chuppa further left.
"I'm sorry, that word holds no meaning for me, you must be confused." Lorelai retorts with mock confusion, her eyes closing as she speaks, letting the sun wash over her. Luke shakes his head, and goes back to the chuppa. And it's silent, at least for a moment. "Okay, I'm getting drinks. Want something?" Lorelai asks, pulling herself up.
Luke looks over, nodding. "Uh, yeah. Water would be good" Luke says.
Lorelai disappears inside, calling "2 waters, coming up!" over her shoulder. When she reappears, she tosses his water right at him, chest level. "Think fast! Oh!" Luke turns, just in time to be hit by the water bottle. He groans, rubbing his solar plexus. Lorelai dissolves into giggles "I'm sorry, I- I thought… You would see it" Lorelai apologizes half heartedly, still giggling uproariously.
"Yeah, sure" Luke says as he bends to pick up his water bottle. He turns the bottle in his hands as he makes his way over to the porch to sit down. They sit in comfortable silence for a while, until Lorelai clears her throat.
"Luke?" She says his name so softly, like velvet ribbon wrapping around him. He hates it.
"Yeah?" He doesn't look up. He keeps his eyes trained to the tip of his finger, tracing messages into the condensation on his water bottle.
"Why weren't you coming to the wedding?" He knows he should've seen this coming. He hates himself for not seeing it coming, and for being utterly unprepared. She's watching him so closely that he feels the hair on his neck and arms reaching out, trying to crawl away from her suddenly solemn gaze. He can't make eye contact, and even if he could, he doesn't want to. So he tips his head back, he wraps his lips around the water bottle, and takes a big gulp. He knows what he wants to say, but it isn't what he should say. He keeps drinking. He wants to say the things that have been tethered to him since Rachel left, but he thinks it's too soon. He feels the water sliding down his throat. He wants to tell her everything in a big heartfelt confession, but he wants to think that he can't.
By now, there's not much water in the bottle left for him to drink. He feels the liquid pounding behind his eyes, and his entire body feels on ice. His brain is frozen from the combination of the question and the cold, and he can't remember how to thaw it out. It was something his mother taught him on trips to get ice cream. He had forgotten so much of her already; he should've expected to forget this.
"Luke?" Her question still hangs in the air between them. Luke knows he can't avoid it forever. He lowers the bottle slowly, and lowers his eyes as well. He doesn't want to see her face, not now.
He wants to yell at her, how unfair it is. She wants to know why he wasn't going to the wedding? He wants to yell at her, let go of all the anger and hurt. He wants to yell at her, because he thinks he might love her. She wants to know why? And he knows his answer.
"Because I couldn't go." It's so simple, and his voice is deep and familiar suspended in space. He's wrapped so many things into that one statement, and he hopes that she can unravel it, to find what he's really saying. But at the same time, he takes comfort in the fact that she won't.
"You… couldn't go." Lorelai repeats. The look on her face when he finally looks up is not as scary as he thought it would be. He's answered her question, and he can't figure out what she could still need from him. He starts to stand up, to cross over the yard toward the chuppa, to signal this discussion over. "What could you possibly have had to do?" she demands.
Luke turns on his heel slowly, acknowledging the edge of hysteria in her voice. He takes a deep breath, and leans against the edge of the porch rail. "I just couldn't go, okay?" His voice to her sounds exasperated, but he calls it defeated. She's getting angry now.
"You couldn't miss whatever it was you were doing that day to come to my wedding?" Lorelai is yelling now. She's yelling, and Luke admires her for it. He wants to avoid this subject. He doesn't want to ruin their friendship now, after he's almost made it through the past few days without wrecking their dynamic.
"What does it matter, it's not happening, so we don't have to worry about it!" His voice is louder than he intended, but the fire burning behind Lorelai's blue eyes sobers him.
"Just tell me why, Luke." Lorelai's demeanor is softer now, and it's lulling him into a false sense of security.
"I…can't." It's not the response she's looking for. She never did deal well with non-cooperation. She's frustrated, mostly with him. It's better this way, he reminds himself.
"Luke!" She barks out, and the tone of her voice is so stubborn, so demanding. She's always been demanding of him, and he usually complies. But this he can't give her. And he realizes that she's expecting him to, because that's what he does. He gives. He hates himself right now.
"Luke, I thought we were friends! But obviously--" Lorelai's words are drowned out as Luke focuses solely on the word 'friend.' It's all he'll ever be to her, he realizes. But maybe, if she knew what he knew, things would be different. The ache in his gut might be finally extinguished. And he finally realizes that he wants her to know. A switch is flipped, and puzzle pieces fall together. He steels himself for rejection.
"You want to know why I couldn't go? You really want to know?" He can see her nodding her head angrily, a glint of victory in her eyes. It fuels him. "I couldn't go because I didn't want you to get married." He thought it would come out in angry exclamation, but they both only hear it as a whispered admission.
Lorelai stands completely still, shell-shocked. Luke can't blame her. They stand unmoving, unblinking; her eyes on him, his eyes on the ground. "Listen, I'm going to go." He tells her softly, not bothering to look up before turning to walk away. He's reached the end of the driveway before he hears his name floating from her lips so softly, like that velvet ribbon wrapping around him. He's not sure he even really hears it.
"Luke." The one syllable lingers in the space between them, growing smaller and smaller because he sees Lorelai walking towards him. She's so close to him now, and her hands are resting on his limp forearms. "I didn't want me to get married, either." He doesn't have time to contemplate the full weight of her words, because the hands on his forearms are moved to each side of his face, and she's pressed her lips against his.
It's a kiss that starts out soft, but slowly climbs the charts in intensity. He wraps his arms around her, and her arms find a place around his neck. It all fits together so nicely, and he doesn't want it to end. But it does. They break apart, and it's not awkward, but it's not completely comfortable either.
"Lorelai?" He ventures, both of them still breathing heavily.
" Yeah, Luke?" It sounds like she's using his name purposely, to solidify his presence, their actions.
"I uh, I mean, if you wanted to take some time, y'know… Well, I could… wait a little while. We could, wait a little while." He hates giving her the out, but he knows he has to.
"Luke, do you want this, us?" She sounds surprised and insecure. He realizes he's said the wrong thing. He hates himself right now.
"I didn't mean it like—I just, because it's so soon after…" He trails off, not wanting to talk about the non-wedding or Max.
"I know, but I didn't-- it wasn't supposed to be him, Luke." Lorelai sound so sure, but he's still skeptical.
"How do you know?" His voice is quiet and low and questioning.
"Because my engagement party didn't feel right until you got there." And hearing Lorelai confirm it all, it's enough for him. And he can't believe it, because he's finally getting what he wants. And they're kissing again.
Standing in the middle of the yard, kissing Lorelai Gilmore, he doesn't hate himself so much right now.