Tonight, We'll Light Up the Stars

by: singyourmelody

Author's Note: Don't own Austin & Ally. Title is from Goo Goo Dolls' "All that You Are" and the song lyrics included are from Jenny & Tyler's "Song for You," which is completely amazing. Definitely check it out. This will be a two-parter and takes place a bit in the future.

"Your tassel goes on the other side," she says, reaching up and moving the blue and green fringe attached to his cap. Her thumb lingers over the engraved number. "We haven't walked across that stage yet."

"Graduation," he says, sighing. "Freedom. I can almost smell it."

"Oh, sorry, that was me," Dez says, walking by. He laughs. She rolls her eyes.

"I can't believe we're here," she states, quietly, looking around at the people and the balloons and the banners proclaiming congratulations and excitement.

"I know. It doesn't seem like that long ago you were busting me for playing drums and eating corndogs in the store," he gives a small chuckle.

"And stealing my song."

"I'm never gonna live that down, am I?" he asks, smiling.

"No. Never," she smiles back.

The principal calls for the graduates to line up and she exhales.

"You gonna be okay up there?" he questions, seeing her physically tense at the thought of walking across the stage.

"We'll see," she says. She has gotten better, she has. She can do this.

He reaches out and gives her hand a squeeze. "You've got this. Just look at me the whole time."

"How do you know that will work?"

"Well, you can sing in front of me, right? So just imagine we're in the practice room singing and it's just you and me," he suggests.

"Just you and me," she repeats.

She finds his eyes when they call her name and she makes it across the stage with only a minor stumble over the potted plant (who puts a potted plant in the middle of a graduation ceremony anyway?) and he laughs only a little. She's momentarily upset until she realizes that she's laughing too and that really, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter?

She loves the feeling that she gets when she performs. The air enters her lungs and her fingers dance over the keys as she sings for invisible crowds and silent audiences and she is, for that moment, completely free.

(She doesn't tell him this though. Performing has always been his thing.)

There are times like right now, with her graduation gown folded neatly on top of her yearbook (binding broken from one too many people handling it), where she just sits down and plays. There are no lyrics, just the smooth melody pouring out of her and her soft hums echoing in the distance.

And everything is perfect.

"That's a new one," he says from the doorway.

She stops abruptly.

"Didn't hear you come in."

"Didn't think I'd find you here on graduation night. I thought we were going to hit up Brock's party?" he asks, walking across the room and sitting on the bench next to her, in his spot, the one that years of late night writing sessions have christened as 'his.'

She shrugs. "I needed to be here for a while." She looks at him and she knows he understands. Sometimes she just needs to be alone with her thoughts, her songs, her private hymns.

"Play me something?" he asks.

So she continues the melody that she had been working on and he slowly starts humming along.

Eventually she stops and silence engulfs them. It's uncomfortable. They aren't used to silence.

"It's not going to be the same, is it?" he asks, staring forward.

"No," she replies. "It isn't." She can't look at him.

"Remind me why we're doing this again?" he asks, with a small chuckle.

"Because you got into Eastman. You don't say 'no' to Eastman."

"And you got into Berklee College of Music. You don't say 'no' to Berklee," he counters.

"No, I guess you don't," she says, finally looking at him. He looks at her too.

"This isn't goodbye yet, you know. We have the whole summer. And we'll go to the beach and write music and hang out," he states. She's not sure which one of them he's trying to convince, but she thinks it isn't working for either of them.

"I know, it's just . . . I don't. I don't want to lose you," she says, staring at her hands.

"You're never gonna lose me, Ally," he says quietly.

They sit, without speaking for a few moments.

Finally he clears his throat. "I have the same fear, you know. I don't want to lose you either." His voice sounds hollowed out, shaken.

She doesn't know why she does it, but she reaches out and takes his hand. She's half surprised when he doesn't pull away, but instead tightens his grip.

They sit side by side, faces forward, hands interlocked for one breath, then two.

"How do we avoid losing each other?" she asks.

"We stay together."

"Together?" she questions. "I don't know what that looks like."

"Me either. We'll figure it out," he asserts.

She looks into his eyes then. He always was good at propelling them forward. And they are moving forward, whether she's ready or not.

"Okay," she says, exhaling.

"Okay."

"Did you want to go to the party now?" she asks.

"Nah. I'd rather stay here with you," he says.

She smiles a small smile. "Me too."

They write a new song that night, one about holding on and letting go, a song about being caught somewhere between the present and the future. It gets late and the next thing she knows she is waking up curled up next to him on the small couch in their practice room.

I'm holding you closer than most, she sings in her head, but she realizes that she has no idea how to let go of the boy sleeping next to her.

Summer comes and they spend it well. Hanging out with Trish and Dez, writing music, playing gigs across town; she even works on her tan a bit (a bit, not a lot, the dangers of too much sun exposure are significant, she reminds him). His tan looks flawless of course, especially under the bright lights.

He smiles at her from his place on stage. He's singing the first song they ever wrote together. It was years ago now, but for some reason he always plays it whenever he's doing a full set. It's not even their best song, but there's just something about it that they just keep coming back to. That song, with its lyrics about breaking down walls and taking chances, is different now. He plays it slower and only on the piano; there are no background vocals or drums. It's a ballad now. It's their private ballad now.

She shouldn't be surprised. Of course the song would be different, because they are different. At eighteen, he four inches taller and at least a little more mature. He takes his music even more seriously and is working hard to craft a more unique sound. She's different too. Her hair is longer and she no longer reveres pickles as a separate food group. She's actually learned to like the horror movies he loves (although she will never be able to get behind Zaliens 10-12. Enough is enough, she tells him). And she can sometimes be on stage in front of people. Sometimes.

They have changed, but in a lot of ways, they have changed together.

He finishes his set and the crowd is enthusiastically applauding. He gives his traditional bow before holding out his hand in her direction and clapping himself. She sighs. She hates it when he does that, but she appreciates how important it is to him that she is recognized.

Later they'll split a brownie sundae at the ice cream shop and she'll realize that this is one of her favorite moments, when the glow he radiates from performing is so blinding that it almost hurts her eyes. In these times, she can tell that he is in love with every part of life. It's contagious and makes her heart feel like it is exploding out of her chest.

"Austin?" she says.

"Fine, fine, you can have the last bite," he concedes, smiling.

"No, it's not that."

He waits patiently for her to continue while scooping up the remaining ice cream.

"Let's do something crazy," she says. He chokes a little bit. She is Ally Dawson, straight-laced keener girl who colors within the lines. She only crosses the street in crosswalks and she eats five fruits and vegetables a day. Usually. But today, today is different.

"Crazy?" he asks and his eyes are twinkling.

She nods. "Crazy," she says and she can't keep the grin off of her face.

It's after midnight when they get in the car, but they stock up on caffeine and good music and hit the road. (She makes them leave notes for their parents, because they may be doing crazy things but one of them still has to be a little responsible.)

They arrive in Key West at about five a.m. and he turns to her and says, "What now?"

"Now we sleep for a few hours. It doesn't open until nine."

"What doesn't?" he asks. He's genuinely curious, because this is so not like her but it is so like him. She thinks he's rubbing off on her.

She grins. "You'll see."

They sleep in the car for a couple of hours, waking up to her cell phone alarm. They get a quick breakfast and head down to the shore, and his eyes get wide when he sees what she has planned for them.

"Are you kidding me?" he shrieks. "Ally, seriously?" He's like a little kid in a candy store and she can't help but laugh.

"Not kidding. We're doing this."

He hugs her so tightly she can barely breathe and within an hour, they are strapped into jetpacks, ready for takeoff.

(She had found the Jet Pack Adventures website a few months earlier when she was looking for props for Dez's latest video. As she watched the videos of people flying high over the ocean, she was mesmerized. And terrified. It became a sort of distant dream that she knew she wanted, but that she didn't want alone. She wanted him with her. So here they are.)

"Are you ready?" he calls out to her.

She nods and tries not to look too scared.

He reaches out and takes her hand.

"Are you?" she counters.

"Oh yeah!" he shouts as the water jets propel them high into the air.

"That. Was. Amazing," he says as they walk up the boardwalk. "I can't believe we did that!"

"I know! The feeling of just being completely weightless as if nothing could hold me back. It, it was incredible!" she says. They are talking a mile a minute about the view and the blood rushing to their heads and how amazing it felt to feel nothing at all, and neither can seem to stop as the adrenaline courses through their veins.

"Best day ever," he says, as they collapse on a bench.

He pulls out his cell phone and switches it to camera mode.

"We need to document this," he states, before pressing his cheek against hers and snapping the shot.

She smiles as she looks at the photo; he is sporting his traditional Austin "what up" face and she's smiling as she looks at him. She pauses when she sees herself. There's something different about this picture from the hundreds of others they have taken, but she's not sure what it is.

"So what now?" she asks. "Do you need to get back home? There's not a show tonight. . ."

He looks around thoughtfully and then back at her. "Let's stay."

"Stay?"

"Yeah, why not? Our own little mini vacation."

It's mid-July and they both know what is coming at the end of August, but she wills herself not to think about it.

So instead she nudges her shoulder with his. "Let's do it."

She drags him to the Butterfly Conservatory (she is still Ally after all, cloud watching, butterfly loving Ally). The butterflies take little notice of her, but they love his blonde hair, and he can't get them to stop landing on his head. She takes photos of him with her phone and texts them to Trish and Dez. Trish responds right away with Where are you? and she realizes that they hadn't even thought to invite their two best friends.

She doesn't have much time to ponder that, however, since he declares that he gets to choose what they do next. He rents them bikes and they ride around the streets for a couple of hours soaking in the sun and she doesn't even worry about what the UV rays are doing to her skin (much).

They hit up a pub for dinner and he (unsuccessfully) tries to buy them drinks.

"You're too eighteen," she says when he returns dejected, and she ruffles his hair. She's secretly glad he was rejected. She has no idea what alcohol will do to her but she suspects she'd be kind of a crazy drunk, singly loudly and badly dancing on tabletops. She shudders at the thought.

While they're waiting for their food, a man gets up on stage and sets up a microphone.

"Ally, I think it's open mic night," he says, excitedly.

"Are you going to sing something?" she asks.

"Not me. We," he says, gesturing back and forth between the two of them.

"Austin. . ."

"Ally, come on. It'll be perfect. No one here knows us at all, so we could go up there and bomb and it wouldn't be a big deal," he says.

"You know I can't. . ." she states.

"No, I know you won't," he interrupts.

She pulls back a little when he says that.

"Do you not remember The Helen Show?"

"I remember that that was three years ago."

"Austin, I just can't," she says, looking at the stage and the microphone standing up there, lonely and intimidating.

He shakes his head as if he's disappointed in her.

"I thought you wanted to do something crazy," he says. "Well this is crazy."

She still isn't convinced and stares at him.

He exhales and lowers his voice, leaning closer to her. "Ally, I've always wanted to sing with you. Really sing with you. On stage, not just in front of Dougie the Dolphin in our tiny practice room. And come August. . ."

Come August they won't have the opportunity any more. She knows this.

"It just something I've always wanted," he finishes.

She narrows her eyes. He knows what he's doing; he's calculated exactly what she needs to hear to concede, preying on a combination of nostalgia for the past and the desire to make him happy.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but okay," she says, softly.

He looks quickly at her. "Okay?"

"Okay, yeah," she tries to muster up a smile, but it doesn't matter. His smile is big enough for both of them.

Ten minutes later, he's holding a guitar on stage and she's standing next to him, microphone strategically placed in front of her face. She looks out into the crowd of people, but can only see lights. She's grateful that her audience is as unknown and silent as the imagined one in the practice room.

"Hi everyone. I'm Austin M—" he starts with his traditional opening before stopping. He clears his throat. "We're Austin and Ally. This is a song we wrote a while ago. It's called 'Song for You,'" he says, before playing the opening chords.

He begins singing and she inhales sharply before joining in. She was concerned that her harmonies would be a little rusty but once she starts singing, everything flows with ease.

My voice you didn't know, didn't know
I called you had to go, had to go
Back to your little world
Where nothing is strange

You set out on your own, on your own
You said, I'm heading home, heading home
Back to the life you know
Neatly arranged

I have done for you
Everything my love

When they sing the first chorus, she realizes that she is singing a chorus in front of people and she momentarily falters, but she locks her eyes with his.

She doesn't look away. Neither does he and the music flows around them, to the farthest-most corners of the bar and back again.

Hear my song for you
I will not hold my tongue
Open your heart, open your heart
For I have loved you from the start

As she sings with him, she loses track of the lights and the people she knows are behind them. They aren't there. Nothing is there but him and her and the song that they both created. The song that they are breathing life into and pouring out into the world.

"Open your heart," he sings.

"Open your heart," she joins in.

"For I have loved you from the start," they finish together.

She doesn't look away from him, she can't. The song is over, but she is still right there in the middle of it, with him. Eventually the applause, much louder than any she can remember, snaps them out of their trance and she turns to look at the crowd. The lights dim a bit and she can seem them now. She almost runs off stage, but he grabs her hand and together they bow.

They leave the bar and stumble out into the street and don't say anything.

He still has a tight grip on her hand but in the shadows of the streetlight, she can't see his face.

"Austin?" she finally says, tentatively and he turns to look at her, dropping her hand. He looks angry.

"What the hell was that, Ally?"

"What do you mean? I made it all the way through," she states.

"Not that. That, that. . ." he points back to the pub, "That was the best experience I have ever had performing. I don't understand."

She doesn't know what to say to that.

"I mean, all these years I have been playing by myself and singing by myself, when I should have been singing and playing with you," he states, obviously frustrated.

"What? I can't do that normally," she says.

"You just did! I mean, didn't you feel it too? As if nothing else mattered but the song. We fit perfectly up there. I knew it. The audience knew it. I have never heard applause that loud. It was just. . ."

"Right," she finishes quietly.

He nods. "It was right," he says more softly. "But I don't understand why you been depriving me and yourself of this experience all these years," his voice rising with every word.

"You don't get to be mad at me about this!" she responds. "I have been working very hard to get to this point. And I'm still not cured of my stage fright. It doesn't just magically go away, Austin."

"Do you want this?" he asks.

And she has to ask herself that same question. Does she? What does she want?

"I don't know," she mumbles.

"What?" he practically yells.

"I don't know what I want!" she yells back.

He shakes his head. "That's a lie."

"Fine, maybe it is. But nobody ever goes after everything they want, Austin. It doesn't work that way. I'm sure there are things that you want that you haven't gotten!" She's yelling louder now. It's strange; they don't usually yell at each other.

"Of course there are. But that doesn't mean that I don't try for them," he states.

She looks at him skeptically. "Who's lying now? You don't always try, because sometimes you are too scared of what the outcome might be."

The conversation has drifted away from music now and they both know it.

Now, it's about them.

"Can you blame me?" he asks.

"No, I guess not. It goes both ways," she says, trying to accept some culpability.

"Does it?" he questions.

And just like that, things are different again.

"Yes," she says with as much confidence as she can muster for the actual question he is asking. The one they have been dancing around for as long as she can remember. She looks right at him, refusing to budge, refusing to even blink. "Yes, it goes both ways."

He takes a step closer to her then and reaches down, cupping her face with his hands. Instinctively, her arms wrap around his waist and he kisses her softly. It's tentative at first; after all, they've been best friends for years and you don't go around kissing your best friend.

But then.

Then, it's as if someone turns the volume all the way up and he's pulling her closer and closer and she's running her fingers through his hair, then wrapping her arms completely around his neck, as he deepens the kiss. She's practically stepping on his toes as he holds her up and his mouth is moving quickly over hers, faster and faster. They haven't kissed before but now it's as if they've forgotten how to do anything else. Eventually he pulls away and looks at her, his face a mixture of surprise and excitement.

She's not sure what she looks like because all she can hear is her heartbeat and a small voice chanting over and over again . . .

"August," she says quietly.

"I don't care," he says back, before he kisses her again.

And really, the tingling feeling that spreads from her hair to her toes when he kisses her and the way that the crooks of her arms seem to fit perfectly around his neck and the fact that every single part of her body melts perfectly into his, makes her not care either.

She knows that she will care later. That she will realize that she changed everything for this and that she could very well be setting herself up to have her heart broken.

But this is him and her and right now, that's all she needs to know.

End of Part One.

Thanks for reading and reviewing. Love to all.