wasting time » lh ; mc

twenty two

:: 22 ::

       Cars were both stuck in traffic and moving busily across the road in a frenzy that Luke will never understand. From the hotel window he could see the rainy day weather, the small images of people on the sidewalk protecting themselves from slight drizzle with obnoxious umbrellas as he's sat in the comfort of a dry room and tracing his finger down the glass as a raindrop slowly trails down from the outside to collect in a translucent puddle at the window sill.

It was quiet, and Luke was in a good mood.

There's been a lot of time to think. He's had time to think about Penelope, he's had time to think about Michael, and he's had time to think about his father. So, you could imagine the amount of chaos that Luke's brain has been housing among the quiet of the outside he's pretending to be so intensely immersed in.

He could hear his father talking from his side of the hotel room, which was separated by a thin, almost pointless wall meant for privacy. To whom, Luke didn't know. But he did know one thing: Andrew Hemmings is a sneaky bastard. Clever, but sneaky.

Here's the thing: Luke knew they were going to New York—he saw the magnificently bland Welcome sign that signified their arrival. He knew they were going to the actual city of New York—with skyscrapers that kissed the clouds and crosswalks that last for hours. He thought they were going to NHL Headquarters. Which is his fault for not realizing sooner, really, because his mom didn't come with them, and Mom is always with them.

And Luke realizing this is not a bad thing, not at all. It's just, he would have prepared himself better if he knew he and his father would become tourists for the day.

Arguably, this was a surprise—as it was meant to be—but Luke kind of feels like an idiot for being so grumpy on the car ride into the city. He would've acted much more grateful had he known Andrew actually, for once, arranged time to hang out with him. And in one of Luke's favorite places, to make the boy feel even worse.

The Hemmings family had been many places over the course of Luke's life—New York had never been one of them. It was a state that, for some reason, always captured his attention: they lived so close to it, why had they never taken the chance to visit even for just a day?

With Luke's knowledge of it being for another hockey-related event, it wasn't very exciting, he didn't want to appear as excited because Andrew so often misreads a lot of what Luke does and would think hey, he enjoys going to hours-long conferences about repetitive bullshit! But now, it was pathetic how much he wanted to cry for knowing his dad pays attention.

"Did you get your stuff together?" Andrew walked in, smile on his face and phone in his hand.

Luke nodded absentmindedly. "Who were you talking to?" His eyes flicker to his father putting the phone in an empty pocket.

"Mom," he answered. "Asking when we'd be home, if you liked the surprise, everything else."

At the mention of their trip, Luke smiled gratefully, "Thank you for doing this." When Andrew returned it softly and nodded, Luke turned completely toward him with a curious gaze. "I told Mike to come over, like you asked—uh, why'd you ask?"

"Just 'cause. And don't get jealous, you're still my favorite son."

"I'm you're only son."

"Exactly," Andrew said. Luke shouted a, hey!, to which the older man added, "But Michael is my favorite friend that you've ever had."

Okay. Michael. Michael is the one thing that started the chaos that his Luke's thought process at the moment and it's weird. It's very, very weird.