alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

1.3 ➢ Fuckbuddy.

"That's your initiation task?" Chase is almost scoffing at me, his arms crossed and his eyebrows furrowed. I sigh, nodding my head yes.

"Yes, it is,"

"Well, don't complain!" he sounds like Chloe; only, with opposing views. Unlike her, he sees it as one of the easiest things to do; especially since one of his own frat activities include actual, physical pain and the threat of alcohol poisoning. Apparently, we got off lucky with ours. "You've practically passed initiation already!"

"I wouldn't go that far," I say, a little unsurely.

"Oh, please. You're like, Michael's best friend. If there's anyone on campus more than willing to help you out, it's him."

I keep quiet. Chase is right, and to some extent, I loathe that fact alone; I want to pass initiation, of course I do- it's kind of the reason why I'm here in the first place. It's just the act of doing so I'm not so sure about.

"What about you?" I ask, shifting the subject onto something far less awkward, "You've been complaining about your own so much that you've forgotten to tell me what it actually is,"

Chase lets out a groan, "You don't want to know," he says. Then he stops walking, and he places his books onto a metal table next to a food vendor before sliding into its matching chair. He waits for me to do the same, and I do so, "Hemmings wants us all dead, I swear,"

"What?"

"Mhm. Ashton's a lot easier on us, like he tells Luke to hold back a little because some of the shit he wants the pledges to do is too much," I nod, signalling the fact that I'm listening, "But it's not really him who gets to make the decision,"

"Only Luke,"

"Yep," Chase sighs, "Our first initiation task? Hell. Absolute hell. We'd kill to have yours,"

"What is it?" I question, genuinely intrigued.

"It's a lot of 'its'. A lot," he tells me, putting so much emphasis on the word that I raise an eyebrow, "Like, Luke has a party tonight at his penthouse. Delta and Epsilon exclusive, so I'm hoping to see you there," he pauses, giving me a hopeful look, "But he wants us to do things that could hurt us. Physically, Soph! As in, the man likes pain!"

"Maybe he's a sadist," I say, meaning for it to be a complete joke. Chase's face contorts into one of pure horror.

"Don't say that!"

"I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

"But you're not! Because it's real," he whines loudly, "The. Man. Likes. Pain!"

"Pain likes the man."

I almost jump, my hand flying up to rest on my chest as somebody takes out the third stool from underneath our table, causing an eery screech to scrape against the concrete floor.

When I look up, I'm surprised to see that it's Ashley; her hair a mess, eyes bloodshot and wild.

"Sophie, right? From the party?" she asks me without asking me, for her gaze is trained on the two small pills in her hand. She swallows them dry as I nod, slightly bewildered at her sporadic movement.

"Chill," she then assures me, "It's paracetamol."

"Oh."

It's only now that both Chase and I can actually see how rugged she looks, and it isn't the prettiest sight to see. It's as if someone had just dragged her through a sea of last night's make up and cheap, bottled alcohol— it's either a really bad hangover, or a case of waking up late and not having quite enough time to get herself together.