What about working for the boys and the fans ship her with Luke and they say they are just best friends but end up realizing they love each other in soft rn :(
A/N: This had me fucked up. Also, too in–depth to just do in a one part little drabble, so I wrote it in multiple parts! If you want the next part, just go ahead and request it here!
(Part Two is now available: here!) (And so is Part Three: right here!) (And so if Part Four: right here!)
[+masterlist]
@mukeclifford: @Luke5SOS and @y/t/n are SO cute!!!!! they’re totally dating there’s no other explanation that’s it that’s the tweet
@wackycalum: I don’t have a problem with @Luke5SOS and @y/t/n being an item, but lying about it is fucking messed up. Just be honest to your fans. Don’t lie. We’ll find out eventually.
@rAiNbOwAsH: how cliché is it that the social media manager is messing around with @Luke5SOS what a way to keep her job
@bitchluke: honestly people that are hating on @y/t/n for absolutely no reason are just jealous bitches she’s a professional doing her job let her be even if she and @Luke5SOS are dating that’s their business (but i do think they’re fucking cutE)
Y/N. Social media manager to well–known band 5 Seconds of Summer. Currently rumored to be dating Luke Hemmings, aforementioned band’s front–man. Actually, let’s make a correction to that statement: Always rumored to be dating Luke Hemmings, front–man. It probably (read: most definitely) had something (read: everything) to do with the fact that the two of you were always together and always ended up having your picture taken. Together.
Maybe everyone else saw something the two of you couldn’t and didn’t.
There was just something about the way the two of you––clicked. It had been that way since the second you got the job. Somehow, you and Luke always just gravitated toward each other. It was like magnets. You were the north pole; he was the south. In any crowd, you were always the first face that Luke searched for; the first hand he reached for; the first voice he sought out amongst thousands of screaming fans. It all started with just one photo from two years ago. All of you were at the airport. Hundreds of people were scattered around with their suitcases and carry–ons and airplane tickets. Calum, Michael, and Ashton were all in the security line getting patted down by TSA at JFK. They were headed to Europe; you were staying behind in the city for a while. Luke, however, was standing in front of you right before the security checkpoint line with his suitcase at his side and his duffle bag on the ground. Some fan must have seen the two of you and taken the snapshot before uploading it. That was the only thing that made sense. It was probably the look in his eyes that they saw: the one that spoke of a myriad of unsaid words and confessions and admissions of truth, bottled–up emotions, fear, and heartbreak. That one.
You, in your complete naïveté and blindness when it came to the entire situation, chalked it up to just Luke not wanting to leave a close friend behind. Europe was always a special place for the two of you. Midnights in Paris; early mornings in Rome; evenings in London; afternoons in Berlin. There was always something so incredibly romantic about it all––traveling in the late night to another country. Sometimes, it felt like the two of you were running away from it all like some modern–day Romeo and Juliet. But then the light of day would spill through the windows of the airplane and the rough landing of touch down would shake the two of you from whatever reverie you both daydreamed about whenever you had the chance. (Not that either of you would ever dare admit that.)
So, that was that.
You could easily explain that photo. Luke wasn’t too keen on leaving his good friend and social media manager behind in a different country. You had the same look in your eyes for nearly the same reason. And because you weren’t so trusting of four boys having unlimited access to their own social media accounts with absolutely no repercussions whatsoever. That was a gut–wrenching thought, in and of itself. And that was all.
But that photo then went viral and––well––the rumors came shortly after that and stuck. More rumors meant more photos meant a vicious cycle that neither of you could escape from.
And maybe that was why you were, once again, staying behind in NYC while the four boys were on an airplane to Europe. More specifically, that was why you were sitting in your boss’s office with your legs crossed and your hands fidgeting nervously in your lap. You knew what this was about; it wasn’t that hard to put two and two together. With new music coming out, the last thing the band––and the executives––needed was the rumors about you and Luke taking center stage instead of the upcoming single. You understood that; really, you did. But that definitely did not mean that you were any keener on sitting in the principal’s office ready for whatever detention they were going to hand out to you.
“Y/N, you have been doing an amazing job as the band’s social media manager. Really, you have.”
“Thank you,” you mumbled.
“That being said, we do need to adjust our course. I am sure that you are aware of the rumors going around about you and Luke Hemmings. All the photos and tweets and mentions. Your Twitter mention activity has increased by 67% as of late. That’s remarkably convenient for the band. Their mentions have increased nearly 85% since the rumors started up again. But, right now, with the single about to be released, it isn’t so convenient. Actually, it’s not convenient at all.”
“Yes, I’m sorry about that. I didn’t realize that––”
Your boss interrupted you with that fake smile on her face. “We’re going to need something from you, Y/N. What we’re going to need,” she stood up and walked around to the opposite side, leaning against the desk with her ankles crossed in front of her. This was the part of being called to the principal’s office that you definitely didn’t like. “What we’re going to need from you is less involvement. Less involvement will mean less photos and less photos will mean less rumors, and all of that put together will mean that news about the upcoming single will be front–page news and not meaningless and contrived photos of you and our front–man.”
Less involvement? How would that even be possible as the social media manager? Her job was to be the definition of involved. If the executives were wanting less involvement, she wouldn’t be able to do her job. She wouldn’t be able to do anything.
“But I’m the social media manger,” you said. “How am I supposed to be less involved?”
She smiled. It was fake, the kind that flight attendants gave you when they were two seconds from taking you off the plane. “Ah, yes. That is another part of the equation. We’re going to be giving you promotion. You’ll be based out of LA. So, pack your bags! You’re headed to the West Coast!”
“A promotion? To what?”
“You’ll get all the information when you get there. The company will pay for your AirB&B until you find a suitable residence. Your plane ticket and conformation e–mail have already been booked and sent to you on company expense. It’s a direct flight from JFK to LAX, so don’t worry about that. And we’ll also take care of your apartment here. Furniture will be sent to you as soon as you find a place to live, and we’ll pay off the rest of your lease.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re getting promoted, Y/N. That’s a big deal. We help out our big fish here, you know.”
“But I’m not a big fish. I’m just a social media manager for 5 Seconds of Summer.” You still weren’t all that sure what was going on. All of this wreaked of some sort of convenient cover–up. With you out of the picture, there were no rumors about the two of you together leaving all the spotlight for the new single and upcoming album and later tour. It was all picture–perfect in the eyes of the executives. Even you could see that.
“Not anymore, you’re not. This’ll be good for you, Y/N. Trust me. Maybe one day you’ll be sitting in this office. You never know!”
“So, basically, you’re firing me from my job and giving me a desk job on the opposite end of the country just because of some stupid rumors.”
“Doesn’t matter whether they have any evidence behind them. Rumors spread because they’re just that––rumors. All people need to think that something is true is their own belief in the rumor. And you just being around Luke gives them just the evidence they need to run wild with it all. Don’t think of this like a punishment, Y/N. Think of it like … the next step in your PR career. It’ll do you some good. Now, if you don’t mind––”
You understood her unsaid sentiments. Get out of my office. Pack your bags. Go to L.A.
So, you did just that.
You walked the twenty–seven blocks back to your apartment, packed your tweed weekender bag and your pink rolling suitcase, printed out your ticket, and stood in the threshold to the apartment that you had lived in for three past three years. (Although, saying that you lived in that apartment might be a stretch; it was more of a home base that you just ghosted through from time to time.) But even with that, it was your home. It was the place that you and Luke had ordered late–night Chinese takeout (pan–fried pork dumplings, lemon chicken, Mongolian beef, Vietnamese doughnuts). And the place that you and Michael and Ashton had a three–a.m. water balloon fight in the living room, knocking over and breaking your flower vase mid–fight. (You won.) And the place that you and Calum had Ghost Adventures marathons until the sun would filter through the blinds on the right side of the living room. Most importantly, it was the place that you had come to view as your home whatever that meant at the end of the day. So, standing in the door was maybe more than a little heartbreaking. It was only 731 square feet, but they were yours. And now? Well, now, you were being banished out of the kingdom and sent to exile.
Perhaps that was a little dramatic. But, for you, it felt like the truth.
You shut the door behind you and left the apartment building that you were all–too–familiar with and caught a cab to JFK.
“Leaving the city or just a vacation?” The friendly cab–driver asked as he pulled into the street.
You sniffled and stared out the window, catching your last view of the Empire State Building as you did so. The sunlight glinted off the tall metal building in an annoyingly tragic and romantic sort of way. Memories of the time that you and Luke climbed all the staircases to the very top of that building flashed through your mind like a supercut. Heavy breath, burning legs, racing heartbeats, and your hand in his. It was up to the jury to decide whether the racing heartbeat was because of the flights of stairs or the hot hand she was holding onto. (Her bet was on the stairs.) “Leaving.”
Who even knew if you would ever be allowed to return?
“That’s such a shame. Well, either way, I’m sure the universe has something amazing for you in store. I just know it.”
But without this city, without your home, without all those memories that you were speeding past left and right, you weren’t so sure.
hi!!!!! "if you don't want to be with me anymore, just say it." with luke if you wanna. i know you're going to make me cry. ((-: xx.
insp. / quote sent in from a lovely anon
“Oh come on,” Luke chided, rolling his eyes and leaning against the stairway railing with his arms crossed in front of his chest and an indignant look stretched across his face. “You don’t have to lie to me, okay? I’m a big boy, I can handle rejection.”
Shaking your head, you sighed and simply brushed past him up to the second floor of the blonde’s loft, the city lights from stories below etching luminescent designs on the white ceiling above his California King size bed laid in the middle of the spacious room. The argument currently taking place was one you were absolutely sick and tired of; the lone subject Luke never failed to bring up despite the fact that you told him many times you refused to talk about it.
“Are you serious?” Luke asked in disbelief, following you closely behind as you slid your overnight bag you’d brought to his apartment the previous day out from under his bed before shimmying out of the shirt of his that you’d been wearing since you’d woke in the morning. “That’s it, you’re just gonna leave?”
You shrugged, keeping your eyes on the open window panes and willing the glowing grid of the city to not morph into a mush of lights; ordering yourself to keep your tears at bay. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Luke,” you stated, your voice quiet, meek, and the slightest bit hoarse as you fumbled for your pair of jeans previously kicked by the blonde’s dresser the night prior.
“What do I want you to say?” he repeated back to you, the pitch of his voice heightened with desperation. “I want you to tell me you feel it too.” Luke swallowed, his shaky exhale loud in the vast silence of his apartment as you pulled your jeans up your legs with difficulty; trying to ignore the burning of the boy’s gaze burning into your back. “I want you to stop lying to me.”
You sighed at his statement, rolling your neck and flashing your eyes to the ceiling while harshly biting on your bottom lip before weakly responding, “I’m not lying,” followed by an unsteady inhale as you searched for your t-shirt. However, you didn’t even take a full step towards the other side of the room to scour for your missing piece of clothing when Luke’s snarled proclamation made you freeze.
“If you don’t want to be with me anymore, just say it.“ His words hung in the air for what could’ve been seconds or could’ve been hours for all you knew before you whirled towards him on the heel of your foot
“Excuse you?” you seethed, backing Luke up against a wall before raising your pointer finger to poke his chest. “If I remember correctly, we aren’t even together in the first place.”
“Oh, come on,” the blonde contended, rolling his eyes. “We’ve both only been seeing each other for months now and–”
“Really?” you sneered, “You haven’t even been around enough to know if that statement’s even true or not about me.”
His mouth gaped in shock before his eyebrows furrowed and his voice cracked the slightest bit as he asked, “You… You’ve been with other people?”
You sighed, frustrated, and resumed your search for your shirt. “That’s not what I meant, Luke,” you spat, spotting the maroon piece of cotton wadded up in a ball in front of the in-suite bathroom door; where only hours before you’d spent an entire shower just giggling into Luke’s mouth while he soaped up your body and you proceeded to shape his hair into a mohawk via shampoo. “It’s just, I dunno,” you stalled. “Just… the fact that I’m silent doesn’t mean I have nothing to say.”
“Seriously?” Luke scoffed, perching himself on the end of his bed as he watched you shove your toothbrush and a random collection of face wash things in your bag with his elbows pressed into his knees as he held his face between his hands. “Look, I’ve taken you to meet my parents. My brothers absolutely adore you. The boys tell me pretty much every fucking day that I’d forever regret it if I fucked this thing up with you. And yeah, I know saying ‘I love you’ is a big deal but–”
“No, that’s exactly it!” you exploded, all the rage and sadness and frustration you’d kept pent up inside the hollows of your heart each time Luke so much as uttered the words into your skin while you two were making dinner or after you were coming down from your highs or while he leaned his chin on your shoulder with his arms wrapped around your waist in the grocery store as you two heatedly debated which cereal to buy (always always always, your two favorite cereals both ended up on the conveyor belt every time you checked out no matter how much time you spent quarreling in the cereal aisle). “‘I love you’ doesn’t mean shit, okay?”
“But–”
“No!” you interjected, the tears in your eyes blurring Luke’s distraught expression from your vision. “Every time I’ve heard that stupid expression, I’ve believed it.” You were nearly delirious now, yanking on your frizzy hair as you heaved large, jagged gusts of air into your lungs. “And guess what? When they decided they were done, they up and left. No ‘maybe if we met each other at a different time, this would’ve worked’ or ‘god dude, i’m sorry this didn’t work out but shit man, did i love you;’ it was just ‘I never meant what I said. I’m leaving now.’” You sniffled, wiping your nose on the sleeve of your shirt. “So I’m not gonna say it to you, okay? And I’m gonna keep pretending you aren’t saying it to me because I’m determined to not let it fuck whatever we have up.”
Luke watched you sniffle, the snot dripping from your nose causing the tiniest of smiles to appear on his face despite the situation as he plucked a few tissues from the top of his dresser and cautiously crossed the room towards you. When your posture remained slumped despite his proximity, the blonde took that as a go-ahead to gently tuck his fingers under your chin and swipe the kleenex beneath your watery eyes and runny nose. Though you couldn’t deny it was kind of disgusting and embarrassing, the way Luke so daintily held your face between his hands while cleaning you up made your heart beat stutter.
After your breathing finally lulled to regular pattern and only hiccups remained from your crying, the blonde pressed a featherlight kiss to your nose before slotting his lips against yours; the saltiness of yours melding with the taste of his that you distinctly recognized (without even consciously acknowledging it) as “home.” After pulling away, Luke pecked your mouth a few times in a rapid succession; the quiet giggle and scrunch of your nose causing him to grin.
“You don’t have to say anything, pumpkin,” the blonde assured you, rubbing his hands up and down your goose-bump riddled arms before slotting themselves around your waist, pulling you into his chest. “If that’s what you want, we don’t ever have to say it, okay?”
Nodding, you nestled your face into the warmth of his chest.
“Just know that I’m yours, yeah?” Luke calmly whispered into your ear, gently swaying your body with his. “Always have been, always will be.”
“Apparently you left this sweater at my place all that time ago… I could’ve got a friend to give it to you, I guess, but… I don’t know. I just came without thinking.” And Michael
[part 1] // insp. // for the lovely @leadsguitar
Twelve days had passed since you’d last seen Michael, though the imprint of his lips on yours still felt as fresh as it did the moment he pressed you against the elevator wall.
“Please,” he muttered, his warm exhale puffing against your mouth, his desperate pants causing shivers to roll through your body. “Please let me try,” he begged, his arms straining against his leather jacket that smelled of rum, Doritoes, and Michael’s shampoo as they leaned against the wall on both sides of your head.
“Mikey,” you breathed, your throat dry even as your cheeks were the exact opposite; soaked with tears as they ran abundantly down your face. “I… I don’t know.”
A pitiful whine sounded from the back of the boy’s throat, his adam’s apple that your eyes were leveled with bobbing at the action. “Please, baby, I know I was stupid and–”
The elevator door rang, notifying you that it had reached its end destination before the doors slowly slid open.
“I-I can’t,” you whimpered, ducking under Michael’s extended arm and rushing out of the restricting lift, gasping for air as you ran across the lobby and towards the parking lot, ignoring your ex’s pleads as he beckoned you back. Blearily, you made your way to your car, just barely able to see three feet in front of you due to the amount of tears flooding your eyes before sliding into the driver’s seat and slamming the key into the ignition. Willing yourself to calm down, you dragged shaky breaths into your lungs and wiped away the snot from your nose before you finally decided you were stable enough to drive.
It had been two days since the last time Michael contacted you; his final text, “I’ll leave the key under the mat if you ever come back” burned into your eyelids, the words imprinted into your mind like a record player stuck on a loop; the same collection of letters like a mirage every time you blinked. You couldn’t count the number of times you’d picked up your phone and almost dialed his number, the amount of instances you’d written him texts the length of essays before sighing and deleting the message. Each time your finger hovered over his name in your Twitter app or started to spell out his username in the Instagram search bar, something stopped you from doing so. Though you craved to peer into his life that didn’t include you, you always managed to save yourself from the heartbreak.
That is, until this morning. Waking up proved to be a struggle as you’d spent hours the night before, tossing and turning before finally falling asleep, all but dragging yourself out of bed to make a cup of coffee (and as a force of habit, making enough for two; nearly crying when you realized you had no one to share it with). Curiosity got the best of you as you sat, curled up in the arm chair Michael and you had purchased together - the first large token item you’d bought as a couple, scrolling through your phone. Your heart pounded as you thumbed through your ex’s social media accounts, his beaming face flanked by his equally ecstatic bandmates at a recent award show greeting you at the top of his twitter. His feed was full of random tweets - replies to fans, random exclamations about shows they’d played, the occasional interaction with a famous person, anything and everything - with sporadic sprinkles of lyrics pertaining to heartbreak. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were about you considering you were the only person he’d been linked to for the past two years.
After deciding you’d tortured yourself enough, you decided to clean your apartment considering you hadn’t really done a thorough cleanse since before the breakup. You scrubbed rigorously at the dirty windows of your living room, dusted the cabinets in your kitchen, and vacuumed the carpet in your bedroom. Finally making your way to your closet after every other task had been completed, your eyes raked over the abundant amount of clothes hung from the racks before they settled on a familiar worn sweatshirt you’d spent many nights wrapped in while nestled into Michael’s body.
Before you could even register what you were doing, you were driving. The only things that registered in your mind were the reds, greens, and yellows of stoplights and the occasional switching of lanes before you found yourself staring at an all too familiar mahogany wooden door, the piece of clothing in the crook of your arm. Without even thinking, you raised a hand to gently knock on the entrance, the shuffle of feet on the other side of the door sobering you up just before it swung open.
“Y/N?” Michael breathed, his eyes blinking rapidly as if expecting you to disappear. “What are you doing here?” His eyebrows furrowed as he glanced down at the ‘welcome’ mat beneath your feet before glancing back up at you, murmuring a shy, “I-I wasn’t kidding about keeping the key under there for you.”
“Um…” you mumbled, trying to form any semblance of a coherent sentence as you stared into Michael’s eyes. “I- I don’t know, yeah, I just– it felt weird to do that? Like, it’s not really my… place anymore?” Your nervously gulped, trying to avoid acknowledging the pain that reflected in Michael’s puckered expression. “I just– Apparently you left this sweater at my place all that time ago… I could’ve got a friend to give it to you, I guess, but…” you shuffled your feet, staring numbly at the ground. “I don’t know. I just came without thinking.”
“Oh,” Michael acknowledged, scratching the back of his neck before crossing his arms in front of his bare torso, a pair of sweats the only thing adorning his body. “Um, okay, yeah. Sure.”
You nodded, clumsily shoving the weathered sweatshirt into Michael’s unexpecting hands before turning on your heel and trying to calm your breathing.
“Wait,” Michael blurted, desperation dripping from his tone. Slowly, you rotated back towards the boy who still held your heart, his eyes mirroring the same watery coating as yours. “You don’t have to leave yet.”
And really, the events that followed an awkward cup of tea and a storm of a confession consisting of murmured “I still love you”’s and “I’m only me when I’m with you”’s was bound to happen at some point, whether it be in two days, two years or twenty because you and Michael were better as youandMichael and the gentle exhale that your lungs pushed out when your body melded to his proved that. Each kiss gained more momentum as you reacquainted yourself to the dyed-blonde mouth, catapulting you into the ecstasy and bliss that only your lover could provoke. The gentle thud of your back against the mattress you’d spent countless nights upon and his torso pressed tightly against yours felt like coming home; the familiar weight of his member pressing into you reigniting a fire you never even realized had burned out. You reveled in the clench of his jaw, the quivering of his tummy, the strain in his biceps as he held himself above you and his mumbling of “Fuck baby, I missed this” hotly whispered into your ear. Losing yourself in the pleasure Michael was providing you, ribbons of bliss shot through your body as your lover grunted, his eyebrows furrowing as he savored the expression of pure euphoria spread across your face. Your reaction set of Michael’s own orgasm, his hips sporadically pumping into yours as he burrowed his face into your neck, your fingers running through his hair making the after haze of his peak all the more enjoyable.
“I love you,” he mumbled into your soft skin after a considerable amount of comforting silence had passed between the two of you, pressing a kiss to the junction between your shoulder and neck. “It’s always gonna be you for me, you know?”
“Yeah,” you agreed, kissing the top of his head and smoothing your nails lightly down the length of his back while his fingers gently drew circles on the skin below your breasts. “I know what you mean.” Michael raised his head from the crook of your neck and pressed a peck to your chin before kissing you on the lips after you declared, “You’re it for me, too, loverboy.”
“It was all my fault. Every piece of it. Why do you blame yourself?” With luke please :)
insp.
It was drizzling outside, the distant pitter-patter of rain thumping against the awning of the little hole-in-the-wall cafe you found yourself approaching Luke in; your hair frizzy and makeup slightly ruined and dewy as a result of the crappy umbrella you’d bought months ago deciding today would be the day to break. It’d been almost a month since you’d seen him, since the last time you’d met up with him, but he still looked amazing as ever. A jean jacket fit snugly over his shoulders and you couldn’t help a smile from forming on your lips as you noted his hair was floppy and unkempt.
“Hey, Lu,” you greeted, ruffling the blond tufts before sitting across from him, watching in amusement as he huffed and combed his hair back into place.
“Hey,” he replied, his tone short and eyes avoiding yours.
A moment of silence passed before you raised your eyebrows and leaned across the table. “Are you okay?” you asked, your elbows pressing against the wooden surface.
Briefly, the blonde’s gaze met yours before it flicked away again, his glance fleeting and skittish. As well as you knew them two years ago, you weren’t quite sure exactly what the look meant, nor how you were supposed to respond to it. Clearing your throat, you tried again. “What’s wrong?”
Sighing, Luke reclined back in his chair and rubbed his hands over his face before he matched your stance, both of you leaning forward into the table so that your faces were only a foot apart.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he stated, his voice void of emotion though the crinkle in his nose told you his comment ran deeper than simply the restaurant you two met at every few weeks or so.
“Do what?”
Again, Luke sighed, his eyes rolling at your question. “I can’t–” he mumbled, trying to vocalize the thoughts that were running through his head without sounding like a complete asshole. “I can’t do this–” he motioned wildly at the space between you and him. “This ‘just friends’ thing, okay? It’s not working out for me.”
Your eyebrows furrowed, your lips pressing into a taut line before you remarked, “But Luke, you’re the one who wanted us to be friends after we broke up so–”
“Because I’m in love with you,” he interjected, his brow creased and eyes narrowed, though they were adamantly stuck to the mother and her child walking across the street outside with only a measly pink raincoat to cover both of their heads.
“What?” you inquired, breathlessly, not believing you’d quite heard him right.
Laughing humorlessly, the man turned to you, his expression one of pure disbelief. “You’re kidding me, right?” he asked and shook his head when you stared open-mouthed at him. “I wanted to be friends with you because I needed you in my life. But,” he swallowed, staring at the circles of condensation left on the table from the previous customers who sat there. “I just can’t. I’m ready to be over you.”
Your posture straightened, his words stinging. “What the hell does that mean?”
“It means,” he started. “It’s been a year since we broke up and it still kills me every time I see you.”
Angrily, you shook your head. “You’re the one that even suggested the breakup in the first place.”
“You went through with it!” he accused, his face pinching into an expression that belonged to a sulking child who was denied a cookie.
For a moment, the only sounds that infiltrated your ears were the clatter of plates against trays and the gentle lull of the rain outside, a stark contrast to the anger you felt bubbling inside of you. “Listen,” you began, your voice coated in bitterness. “I agreed to separating because that was what you wanted.” You raised an eyebrow when Luke opened his mouth to disagree. “For the last… I don’t know,” you shrugged, “Four? Five months of our relationship,” you trailed off, fiddling with the frayed corner of the menu beneath your hands. “It didn’t seem like you wanted to be together. And, I guess I kinda just… accepted that when you suggested breaking up. Because, like,” you frowned, “I wasn’t gonna try to make you stay a part of something you clearly weren’t happy in. I wasn’t gonna make you continue being with me if you didn’t want to me anymore.”
Luke’s jaw clenched, his hunched shoulders and shaking hands conflicting with the hard expression stretched across his facial features. You took his silence as disagreement and continued to babble on.
“It’s just, you were never home and you– you stopped making an effort like you used to in the beginning when we were together.” Your throat felt dry and your mind begged you to stop talking, but your mouth had other plans. “Like, when you used to always call me at eight o’clock at night despite whatever timezone you were in and sent me stupid snapchats throughout the day…” A fond smile had somehow wiggled it’s way onto your lips but quickly dropped when you were reminded of just why you were reminiscing. “You stopped, so I just… I knew you were done with me and so I,” you shrugged, “Just let you go, because I thought that was what you wanted.”
Luke couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at the sheer absurdity you just spewed, though you interpreted his action a completely different way.
“Luke, you don’t get to be mad at me when you’re the one who broke us up!” you repeated, your voice growing hoarse. “Look, I know I wasn’t the best girlfriend in the world but–”
“It was never your fault,” Luke practically growled, effectively shutting you up. He forced himself to take a deep breath before continuing, his hands having practically torn apart set before him completely into shreds. After deciding he was calm enough, he opened his eyes and immediately locked them with yours. “I want you to understand this, okay? It was all my fault. Every piece of it.” The blonde ran a hand through his hair, making the strands stick up in all a bunch of different directions that in any different circumstance but this one would’ve had you teasing him. “Why do you blame yourself?”
You chewed on your lip, folding your hands in your lap and tried to ignore how sweaty they felt; your palms pressed slickly against each other. “I don’t know,” you admitted, “You didn’t care so I just…” you tapered off, shrugging in conclusion.
“I always cared,” Luke countered, ignoring the skeptic look you shot at him. “I know I did a shitty job of showing it towards the end but,” he stared out the window again, noting how the rain had stopped and the sun was just barely poking through the clouds. “I guess I got used to having you, you know? I thought you’d always be with me and I’m sorry, because I know I stopped making an effort but…” Luke interlocked his fingers together on the tabletop. “If it makes you feel any better, whenever I thought of my future, you were the only thing that was definite, you know?” After a beat of silence, he quietly added, “Still do, to be honest.”
“But, you’re with her,” you spat out, the bitter words burning your tongue before you could stop them. Immediately, your skin warmed at your outburst.
The blonde shook his head, his eyes wide. “No! I-… I’m… I’m not dating her. I can’t.” He frowned. “It wouldn’t be fair.”
“Fair to who?” you inquired, not quite sure if you wanted to know.
“Fair to me… or,” the blonde’s gaze cautiously held yours. “Fair to you…?”
“Oh,” you breathed, staring at the boy across from you as he ordered drinks for the both of you. “So you’re not together?” you asked, once the waitress had left.
“No,” Luke replied, leaning forward across the table and tentatively laid his hands across yours that’d come to rest in front of you. “I could never be with anyone but you, darling.”
