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Reggie meets them first.
He literally does. Every single one of them, he meets before they meet each other. He’s the string that ties them together, at first, before they’re all connected.
But even though he is the first for all of them, there’s still an order there. He doesn't meet all of them at once, after all. They slip into his life gradually, over the years. He finds them with sticky fingers and angry frowns and oversized hoodies, ties invisible strings around their hands and drags them with him for the rest of his life.
But there’s an order. He doesn't think any of them even know it, the true version. If asked, he’s willing to bet they’ll all guess wrong. The true order in which he’d met them had never mattered much to him. The fake one they made up themselves, however, mattered a lot to them. Bobby liked being the first because it made him feel good things whenever Reggie reminded him that he was his first real friend. Alex liked thinking he was in the middle, without the pressure of being first or last. Luke liked to think he was the final puzzle piece, the one to connect them all into a perfect harmony.
Reggie is the connector. Luke really ought to know that by now. He doesn't say anything, though, when they joke about it. It doesn't matter to him. All that matters to him is that they’re here, that they’re his. It doesn't matter how they came to be here to him. That only matters to others, it seems.
Luke is the first.
He meets Luke years before the others, actually. It's just that Luke doesn't seem to remember it at all, so Reggie never brings it up.
Alex and Luke met last, in Bobby’s garage for their first band rehearsal. Bobby meets Luke just a little earlier, even though they'd known of each other for a while already.
Reggie meets Luke when they’re eight years old.
When he was younger, Reggie used to spend the summer with his grandparents at their cabin in the mountains. He always looked forward to those weeks, to getting to spend time away from the screaming and the crying and the anger at home, even if he couldn't quite explain that yet. His grandparents were very different. They never yelled, just laughed a lot. Reggie’s grandpa took him on fishing trips and taught him how to style his hair. Grandma helped him learn to read and gave the best hugs.
They died when Reggie was nine, within a few months of each other. He’s never stopped missing them.
When he’s eight, however, he doesn't miss them yet but he’s welcomed into their home with open arms. Grandma makes chocolate cake, his favourite, and grandpa tells him stories all night long. At some point, he brings up the summer camp that opened down the road. Reggie thinks spending the summer away from your family sounds kind of lonely and kind of awesome at the same time. Then he remembers that he’s away from his parents too and he loves it, so everyone must love summer camp too.
At this point, he hasn’t yet realised that his parents aren’t exactly the blueprint for good parenthood. He still thinks it's normal for all the doorposts to be scratched up from the slamming doors. It's all he’s ever known, after all.
He doesn't think about the camp much more after that. Not until one day, a week after he arrived at the cabin, he’s searching for wild strawberries in the forest and walks around a tree to bump into a boy a little shorter than he is.
They both fall on the ground from the impact, groaning and rubbing at bruises that have yet to colour. Reggie will have one on his calf for three weeks from where he landed on a rock. It’ll be shaped like a butterfly and he’ll spend several hours trying to draw it to commit it to memory, that’s how pretty he’ll think it is.
Now, though, he doesn’t know that yet. What he does know is that the boy in front of him is crying, and then he’s scrambling up and stumbling away, away from Reggie, who’s still sitting on his butt and shaking leaves out of his hair.
Reggie follows him without thinking about it. It’s like the moment they collided, a string snapped into place between them, connecting their pinkies. There’s only so much the string can give before pulling taut and hurting. Reggie follows him so the string can hang between them, relaxed, and so he can ask the boy if he’s okay.
The boy says his name is Luke and as it turns out he’s not okay. Luke is eight and from Los Angeles, like Reggie, but lives all the way across town. Luke thinks sleepaway camp is stupid and the counsellors are stupid and the rule about only one phone call home a week is the stupidest of all.
Luke is homesick. Reggie doesn't know that term yet, certainly hasn't felt it, but he does feel bad for Luke. He’s crying again, his eyes swollen and cheeks red. His dirty hands leave traces of mud on his face when he tries to wipe the tears away.
Reggie’s grandparents have a telephone. Luke knows his mom’s phone number by heart.
It's easy to wrap his hand around Luke’s and pull him up from where he’d dropped onto the forest ground. Easy to help brush leaves and twigs from his hair, to giggle when Luke throws them at Reggie instead. It's even easier to run back to the cabin, empty strawberry basket forgotten in his free hand, and beg his grandma if his new friend can please use the phone.
They bring Luke back to camp after he’s talked to his mom and eaten a slice of Reggie’s favourite chocolate cake. Luke’s sticky fingers are still tangled with Reggie’s as they run around the path pointing out cool things to each other. Reggie’s grandma follows at a much more sedated pace, smiling at their antics.
The camp counsellors are relieved to see Luke. Reggie waves at him, invisible string swinging in the air between them, and Luke shoots him a gap-toothed smile back.
They don't see each other again that summer.
They won't see each other at all, in fact, until Luke moves to Reggie’s neighbourhood when they're both twelve and attending the same school. Luke never mentions that summer, never mentions the camp, and Reggie doesn't either, unsure if it’s really the same Luke or not.
He won't realise it fully until he’s fourteen and at Luke’s place for the first time, to work on a science project. He’ll see the pictures of a young Luke hanging in the hallway and he’ll know.
Luke never sees pictures of a younger Reggie. He never comes to Reggie’s place to do homework because Reggie, at this point, doesn't come home himself until he absolutely can't avoid it anymore. He’s not even sure if there are any pictures of him when he was eight. If there are, he hasn't seen them.
So Luke doesn't see any pictures and Reggie never brings up that summer day in the mountains because Luke had seemed so embarrassed that day in the forest, embarrassed to be missing his parents. Reggie doesn't want to bring that feeling back, especially now that he knows Luke and his mom have a rocky relationship these days. He never asks and so Reggie never tells, content to let his friend think their first meeting was in science class when Luke said he liked Reggie’s band shirt.
But Reggie knows. He knows that the string wasn't created that day in class. That it had been there for years by then, pulled tight between them, so thin and light it was barely noticeable. Reggie knows that when Luke introduced himself for the second time, the string had just doubled up, become bigger so they could no longer ignore it. Thankfully, neither of them are keen on breaking it.
Luke isn't the last. He's the first, the one it all began with. He hadn't been the first to reach out, to introduce himself. It had been Reggie who chased him through the forest that day, Reggie who had pulled twigs out of his hair and shared his family for a couple of minutes. It hadn't been Luke who connected them.
It had been Reggie who handed Luke a string, tied securely to his own pinky already.
He’ll forever be grateful that Luke slipped the end around his finger too.
Bobby is next.
Bobby’s story, at least, is true. They’re both eleven, Reggie at the same school he’s always attended and Bobby suddenly halfway across the country, away from everything he’s ever known.
Reggie sat down by himself that day. It’s the first day after a long weekend and their teacher had said they could sit with their friends today while she made a new seating chart.
Reggie doesn't have any friends to sit with.
It’s not that he doesn't want any friends. It's just that at this point, he’s realised that most parents don't fight every second for the day, that most houses don't need new doors every other month because they’ve been slammed shut too hard. When he realised this, he thought about it long and hard. Then he decided not to tell anyone. That would just cause more fighting between his parents. There's plenty of that already.
However, if he can't tell anyone about his home life, he also can't have any friends over after school. He can't attend birthday parties - or, god forbid, throw his own - because he doesn't know how to get a gift. He definitely can't join any after-school clubs either, because you need a parent to sign off on that and Reggie actively avoids asking them for help. Reggie doesn't particularly need any of those things, but they sure would come in handy when it came to making friends.
It's fine. He likes school and he can check books out at the library without parental permission. He likes to go to the beach, is teaching himself to make music on an old guitar he found. He has hobbies. He’s fine. He just doesn't have any friends.
He’s still Reggie, though. Still nice to everyone, including the teacher. He tries not to be too distracting during class but he spends most of their breaks chatting to whoever is willing to listen, always has a smile ready. In many ways, Reggie is the friendliest kid in their entire class, so naturally, he’s the one tasked with making the new student feel welcome.
He’s also the only one with an empty seat next to him, but Reggie liked to think that was just a coincidence.
Bobby arrives that Monday and sits down next to Reggie without a word. His dark hair flops over his forehead, barely obscuring a large frown. He’s staring at his desk like it contains all the answers in the universe. It’s quite a heavy expression for an eleven-year-old.
Reggie says hi. Bobby stares harder at the desk. Reggie introduces himself, asks for Bobby’s name - he knows it already, the teacher told him when she pulled him apart that morning, but he’s trying to be polite - and Bobby keeps staring, his eyebrows drawn up even tighter.
Reggie offers to help Bobby with his maths assignment. Bobby leans back suddenly, flops back in his seat. For a second, Reggie thinks he’s broken whatever spell had been keeping Bobby in place earlier. That they’ll get to be friends now.
Then Bobby groans, long and hard, and glares at Reggie. The moment is gone and the joyous feeling is replaced by disappointment.
Reggie tries, for those first few days. None of his attempts to get Bobby to talk are successful. Eventually, he stops trying.
Then one day, three weeks later, Bobby approaches him on the playground. He introduces himself and says that he could use some help with his long divisions. Reggie smiles brightly, feels it take over his face, and gladly accepts the plea for friendship.
Bobby will apologise for his behaviour later, once they’ve both grown and matured and finally know what a good apology entails. For now, that’s not necessary. For now, there’s Bobby’s hand in his as Reggie tugs him back towards their desks, that eternal frown on his forehead faded for once. They squeeze each other’s hands hard and Reggie thinks they both need it, the reminder that they’re not alone. Thin string wraps around their connected palms, wedges between their fingers and around their thumbs, trailing all the way down to their wrists. They don't know it yet, but they’re connected now and will be forever.
His palm will tingle for a little longer after they let go of each other. It'll do that a lot in the future whenever Bobby touches him. Like the string that binds them is electric, like it leaves traces on the places it touches them. Reggie sees Bobby rub his palm sometimes after holding Reggie’s hand. He’s always wondered if it feels the same to him. He’s never dared to ask. It doesn't take Reggie long to figure out why it happens though, to figure out that Bobby is special in a way that few others have ever been or will ever be.
He realises he loves Bobby pretty early on in their friendship. He won't realise he’s in love with Bobby for a couple more years. When he does, he’s fresh out of a relationship with a girl he really liked but who didn't seem to have liked him all that much considering the way she crushed his heart. Bobby is there for him, holds him and watches silly movies with him and drinks hot chocolate that has more baileys than chocolate in it. They fall asleep together and Bobby is the first thing Reggie sees when he wakes up that morning, hair sticking up in odd directions and a little bit of drool gathering in the corner of his mouth.
Oh, Reggie thinks. The string around his palm tightens in response.
He doesn't say anything. He’s not ready for that, with his ex still fresh on his mind and the fact that he likes boys being as new as it is. He stays quiet, not daring to disturb the best relationship he’s ever had, even if he thinks it could be even better.
When Bobby wakes up, Reggie grins and pretends his world hasn't just been flipped around and shaken up. They make breakfast together in Bobby’s eternally empty kitchen, fight each other on the way to the shower. They hang in the basement, their basement, all day, watching movies Reggie knows Bobby hates but endures because Reggie loves them. Reggie picks all the cashews out of the trail mix and gives them to Bobby even though they’re his favourites too. At the end of the day, Reggie realises he’s barely thought about the breakup at all. Bobby grins at him when he says as much, all floppy hair and bright eyes and forehead smooth of wrinkles. Reggie almost confesses right there.
He doesn't, though. He doesn't say anything.
That’s okay.
They’ve got time.
Alex is last.
If he ever found out he was last, he’d take that to mean that he wasn't necessary in the first place, that he was just an afterthought. That's exactly why Reggie will never tell him.
One of these days, they’ll get it through Alex’s head that all of them love him, that he’s their brother and they would never leave him behind, that he’s needed and wanted and oh so loved.
Until that day, Reggie will keep his secrets close to his chest.
He meets Alex when they’re both fourteen and in music class together. Their school splits them up into groups for it. There’s a piano group, a guitar group and a group with everyone who plays literally anything else.
Reggie has started to learn to play bass by now. He's in the miscellaneous group only because the guitar group got too big. On one hand, he doesn't like that he’s now separated from Bobby, who had taken to the guitar like he'd been born playing it. On the other, this is a good opportunity to make some more friends.
Alex is one of those friends. The only, really, but that’s just a detail. He’s the only friend Reggie needed in that class too, and that part Reggie finds much more important. It doesn't matter that none of the other kids seemed to like him very much. Alex did and he was the only friend Reggie needed.
Alex is new in town. He wears oversized hoodies to hide in, has his shoulders scrunched up by his ears at all times. He rarely speaks and always looks vaguely nauseous. His hands are constantly moving, tapping out a beat or plucking at the string of his hoodie or twirling a ballpoint pen like it's a drumstick.
That pen is how it starts. One day, about a week after Alex joined their class, he’s messing with it while their teacher talks about music theory. Somehow, he manages to break the pen open, ink covering his hands within seconds. Alex’s head bows down like he might cry.
Reggie doesn't have to think twice. From his seat next to Alex, he has a perfect view of what just happened. He also knows that Alex has been quiet and uninteresting enough that nobody else noticed.
He digs the pack of tissues he carries around for Bobby’s hay fever out of his pocket and tosses them into Alex’s lap. Alex startles and twists around. Reggie just nods encouragingly, which seems to be enough to prompt Alex to rip the pack open and start cleaning the mess on his hands. Once most of it has been cleared, all that’s left is a dark blue stain covering his hands. He’s still scrubbing, but a dry paper tissue can only do so much.
Reggie has been scheming, though.
He raises a hand, forces his best sick expression on his face and tells the teacher that he’s not feeling well, may he go to the nurse, and may Alex walk him so there’s someone to catch him if he faints?
He’s pulled this stunt a dozen times with Bobby when they want to blow off class. It always works.
Within a minute, he’s leaning against the bathroom door as Alex scrubs at his hands with soap, blue water trickling down his wrists.
Reggie introduces himself like Alex hasn't heard his name when the teacher takes attendance every morning this past week. Alex returns the favour. All too soon, they’re both sitting on the floor and talking about music, a wad of blue tissues forgotten next to the sink.
Reggie lets Alex pull him off the floor when their lunch break starts. He asks Alex to sit with him and Bobby but Alex turns him down, though he looks pleased with the idea. Later, Reggie would learn that Alex had found it a bit of an overwhelming prospect. He doesn't know that yet, but it doesn't matter because soon, Alex will slide into a seat across from Bobby like he belongs there.
He does belong there. Reggie knew it from the second Alex’s hand gripped his own, the second he felt Alex’s thumb press into his wrist, the second he squeezed back and that same gold thread that connected him to Luke and Bobby tied him to Alex.
They sit next to each other in music class after that. Alex opens up slowly but once he does, he’s snarky and funny and often has Reggie struggling to hold back his laughter in class. He’s scared too, always a little anxious and more than a little terrified to share too much of himself. Reggie does whatever he can to make sure Alex feels safe and happy and comfortable around him. In turn, Alex does the same for him. It's a good, solid friendship, entirely different from the one he has with Bobby but not less meaningful. Alex is his brother. Bobby definitely isn't. That would be crossing all sorts of lines.
Funnily enough, despite sharing a music class, Reggie doesn't actually hear Alex play until about a month after the ballpoint breaks. When he does, it's just another piece of the puzzle that makes up Alex falling into place. Alex puts his everything into the drumming, uses his whole body to do so. He relaxes in a way Reggie hasn't seen before. It's like the beat takes over, becomes part of him, wraps around him until Reggie can no longer tell which parts are Alex and which parts are music and rhythm and pure gold.
Well, that last part is easy, actually. Alex just usually keeps the gold under wraps, covers it with his large hoodies and uncertain expressions. The only part he can't possibly hide is the gold of his hair.
Reggie tells Bobby about it at lunch. Bobby responds with stories of Luke, who plays the guitar the way Alex drums. Of course, Reggie thinks.
Of course it's the four of them. Strings around his pinky, his palm, his thumb. Gold thread floating through the air like music notes.
Of course it's them. It couldn't be anyone else. Not for Reggie.
The next day, they have lunch with four people instead of two. It’ll take them a while to actually form the band, to get Alex to agree to play with them and Luke to convince his mom to let him go to practice and Bobby to volunteer his garage as the band space.
The first steps have been made, though. The strings are in place.
So yes, Alex is the last. One day, when Reggie finds the right words and Alex finds his footing, he’ll explain all of it. How Alex was the last piece but also the first, in a way, because Bobby only brought Luke to lunch because Reggie brought Alex, and Luke was where it all began.
Because that lunch was where Sunset Curve began.
Alex is last. It doesn't make him any less important than the others.
In the end, it doesn't matter what order Reggie met them in. How they’d met, when it happened and who had said what first, none of it seems important when they’re all connected. The strings between them grow stronger, tie every member of the band together.
When Luke and Alex had their summer thing, their string was pulled taut, was worn down and nearly snapped. After the final breakup, after some time to heal and lick their wounds, they’d done everything in their power to fix it, to repair what had nearly been broken. They’d pulled their friendship back from the brink, both knowing it was too important to screw up.
When Bobby had a bad day, when his parents showed up for once and messed with his head, when he’d grow tense and snap at them and withdraw, they’d wait him out, give him enough space to pull the strings tight but not enough to break them. When Reggie came back from his house after deciding he wasn’t up to dealing with his parents that day, they’d crowd close to him, contact points thrumming with energy.
The strings never broke.
Reggie looks around one day, at band practice, and sees his friends around him. Luke, curled around his notebook as he scribbles down some lyrics. Bobby, leaning over Luke’s back and pointing out a chord that needs changing. Alex, in front of them, tapping the beat of the song against Luke’s propped-up feet.
Reggie smiles.
He walks over to his friends. Folds himself over Alex’s back, winks at Bobby, nudges Luke’s knee. Every single one of them looks up and smiles back at him. The strings on Reggie’s hands are tingling, buzzing, pulsing along with his heartbeat. He’s never felt more at home.
It doesn't matter who he met first. All that matters is that he met them at all.