The Book Thief 》Hemmings A.U

26.00

     "IT'S REALLY NICE to see you again," Ashton grins, wrapping his arms around me as soon as I enter the coffee shop.

    "I thought you would have forgotten about me by now," I admit, hugging him back tightly before pulling away. Luke smells different. Luke’s hugs are different. Luke is just...different. But I shouldn’t be comparing anyone to him. “It’s really nice to see you again, too.”

      We head to the counter and order our respective drinks, which Ashton pays for. I try to tell him that I can pay for myself, but he objects. When we get to our seats, he talks about a psychology class that he’s taking, techniques he’s learning to read people, and what --besides writing-- I liked.

     I liked movies and chocolate and reading and learning and a lot of other things that really didn’t matter but he wanted to know anyways. Learning, he said, was so much different from school. The very unfortunate reason he said that was because schools and their inhabitants have been conditioned to memorize and no longer think, to just do and say as you are told and hope to God you don’t fail the four year college interview that is high school. “College is better,” he says. “You’ll see.”

     But he doesn’t know that I might not ever get that chance. That said chance is dangling from the fingers of the six foot four bane of my existence. (When Lucy and I first met, I was astonished at the height of her entire family. For some reason, I needed to know just how tall all of them were, as if that would somehow help me grow, too. It didn't.)

    I found it easy to talk to Ashton, just like that night at the fraternity party. He was just so affable and warm and kind that not wanting to talk while around him was almost...weird. There are no awkward pauses or uncomfortable glances; everything is just easy. So very simplistic and right now, that was what I wanted most.

      I swirl my drink around and laugh and smile and for a good half hour I just enjoy talking to him. There is no impending doom or stress of my parents or school or anything.

      Yet  still, the ever present nagging thought; he's not Luke, he's not Luke, he's not Luke.

     When the annoying bell latched onto the door rings for the hundredth time that afternoon, I don't think of anything of it. It's another customer, another irritating chime that could have been prevented if the bell was never there in the first place. But when a body slides into my side of the booth, grinning and wrapping his arm around me, I curse that bell and the door and the entire God damn store. 

      "Hey, Cohen, what a surprise seeing you here." Luke grins down at me, dimple drilling into his cheek. One of his arms stays slung against my shoulder and the other cradles a black bag, full to the brim with what appears to be clothing.

     "Luke, what the fuck?" I growl through gritted teeth, shooting an apologetic glance towards Ashton. Luke ignores me and turns his head towards him, grin falling from his face. His blue eyes thin and he leans forward slightly, mouth set in a hard line.

        "What's your deal? You can get coffee anywhere you want," Luke says immediately, sounding incredibly annoyed. He is leaning forward on his elbows, head propped up on his hands.

        "Well maybe I like this particular store's coffee," Ashton replies, smirk deepening when Luke scoffs, shaking his head.

         "Or you like this particular girl who I can tell you right now; isn't interested in you." He combats, scowling. 

          "What, does she like you?" Ashton prompts, eyes flickering between the two of us. 

     "Cohen, I brought you a dress for the banquet." He says, voice stiff as he ignores Ashton and directs all of his attention to me. I squirm under his intense gaze, growing more and more uncomfortable by the second as Ashton awaits my response as well.