alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

1.7 ➢ Mistake.

"The usual, Mr Hemmings?"

"Please." Luke says, his face expressionless and still. It's hard to believe that the man has a grasp of any other emotion whatsoever. In all honesty, you could put him right next to a mannequin and they'd look the exact damn same.

I stay close behind him, my eyes roaming around the extravagance of the place without making my shock too obvious. I'm probably the most underdressed person here; I'm guessing it's not just a coffee shop, for although it has booths and drinks menus and actually comfortable looking places to sit, most of the stuff in this place is high-end, high-class, and high-standard. Including the people; almost all of them are wearing suits and evening gowns.

"And the lady," the man behind the counter says, smirking a little. He nods his head in my direction and I give him an uncomfortable smile back, "What would you like, dear?"

"I'll-"

"She'll have a hot chocolate," Luke interrupts smoothly, looking at the man with a face that I can't quite read. Whatever it is, it makes the waiter turn away, and I avert my gaze to break the awkward tension.

The entire place screams extra, which says a lot considering that Chloe Marshall's one of my best friends- compared to the mini chandeliers and bookshelves accompanying more than half of the tables here, she looks like one of the most simple human beings I know.

"Is this a café, or a museum?" I murmur, and to my surprise, a tiny- but still present- smile pulls on Luke's lips.

All of a sudden I feel a tug on my sleeve, and my eyebrows raise as I'm pulled towards a booth at the back. I try to catch a glimpse of his face but am greeted with half of it, covered by the collar of his zipped up jacket; the red tip of his nose being the only thing on show.

And I hate to admit it, but it makes Luke look nothing less than adorable. If I didn't know him, I'd think he was a pretty nice lad— not that he isn't, but it's still a thought that I find myself battling against.

Stop staring, I scold myself, but it's too late.

"You want to take a picture?" Luke grumbles, groaning before sliding into the booth. I join him on the other side, the amusement on my present due to the sole fact that I find it oddly funny how cold he actually is, "It'll last longer,"

"Well, I mean, if you don't mind..." I note in semi-sarcasm, taking my phone out and playfully aiming it right at his face. It's unknown where I've gained this sudden burst of confidence from, but Luke doesn't seem to be complaining so I don't either.

He just rolls his eyes, digging his face further into his coat's collar. His bright blues contort into a glare, but unlike before, they don't look angry; just confused.

"What?" I frown, digging my hands into the pockets of my hoodie after placing my phone on the table.

"How are you not fuckin' freezing?" he asks grumpily, sinking further down into his side of the booth. I can already feel him eyeing down my pink hoodie; judging the pink drawstrings as well as the six, shiny letters imprinted on the front. "What the fuck is a growl parol?"

"That's not even close. It's girl power," I correct him, holding back a laugh at the way his eyes scan the shiny letters of GRL PWR in puzzlement, "And I'm not cold because I don't get cold easily,"

"What, getting cold's an inconvenience so you don't do it?" he rubs his hands together, the friction creating a warmth he blows a hot breath into.

"No, that's not-" I begin, only to stop once I see the weakest hint of a smile play on his lips, "-Oh. That was a joke. Nevermind,"

"Yeah," Luke coughs, a little awkwardly, "I'm not all bad,"