daddy's girl ❥ luke hemmings ✔️

23. "heat of the moment"

SOPHIE

I fall asleep on the couch sometime around 11pm, after endless hours wondering what the hell just happened with Daddy and if any of that actually happened at all. A part of me doesn't believe so. Another little part of me wishes it was just a dream.

The part side, though, the part that I do actually listen to, wishes it had gone a little further than it did. Which is wrong, yes- there's no doubt about it- but a lot of things haven't necessarily been right lately so you can hardly blame me.

I wake up some time aorund 3am. I've noticed that I've been getting shorter hours of sleep and longer dazed, unproductive phases. I should really fix that but that's not the main thing chipping away at my mind right now.

Daddy's sitting on the couch of the bus opposite me and I don't notice him until I shift land a blanket falls to the floor. I'm pretty sure that it wasn't there a few hours ago, and my cheeks turn a slight shade of pink at the thought of Luke draping it over me whilst unconscious.

It shouldn't be leaving such an imprint on my mind but after the events of just earlier on, not thinking about it simply seems insane.

Daddy looks like he wants to say something to me but isn't quite sure what yet. He's sitting on the the seat, looking at me, fiddling with his fingers. I can't read his expression- the tourbus is too dark and my eyesight isn't the best- but I assume it's not the happiest.

I stay where I am, half off of the couch and the other half fully sunken into it. I'm afraid that if I move, he'll disappear, making my halfhearted wish of everything being a dream come true.

Even in the dim glow of the moonlight streaming in through the window, Daddy manages to look breathtaking. He's wearing an old flannel of his, buttoned halfway up, and ripped black skinny jeans that I'm assuming are new- they don't look too worn out. Then again, I'm judging by a squint and a shadow.

A beanie is what's keeping his hair down, tucked behind his head, barely touching the tops of his ears. A beer is in his hand. The slight sight of it makes my stomach flip.

Daddy doesn't drink any more around me because he knows how much it bothers me. It shouldn't, I know it shouldn't- he can take perfect care of  himself- but it does. Maybe it's just the psychological fear of him doing something stupid because of the intoxication, or maybe it's because of how much he used to drink before I indirectly forced him to cut down, but whatever the reason, I'm just happy he stopped for a little while.

He looks at me and that's when I realize how long I've allowed myself to stare at him. I probably look a mess, like I always do when I wake up, but he doesn't seem to care. There doesn't seem to be much emotion on his face other than the stoic one painted on since I woke up.

I move myself, deciding that a position in which I'm sitting up fully is much more comfortable than the awkward lean I have on the back of the couch. I can feel Daddy's eyes burn into me as I turn to the side, shuffling the rest of my body back onto the seat before tucking my knees up to my chest.

We're alone in the tourbus, I know this much. There's no faint sound of Michael playing Pokémon on whatever handheld device he's got, no echo of Ashton's little giggles, no screaming at them both to stop from Calum. That, and all of the bunk curtains are pulled back, exposing four empty beds.

I don't expect him to be, but Daddy's the first one to speak. He sets his beer bottle down on the floor, tearing his eyes away from me as his gaze locks onto his fumbling fingers. He looks tired, but he doesn't look drunk. It must be his first bottle or even his second; Luke's not a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.