alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

1.9 ➢ Wounds.

"Ow! Jesus," Chase winces, clutching his arm with a look of distaste on his face. Ashley just rolls her eyes, pressing the wet towel in her hand up against his sore skin before applying the tiniest amount of pressure, "Are you trying to kill me?!"

"Will you shut up?" she snaps for the fifth time tonight, possibly for the hundredth. I don't blame her; for somebody as tall and somewhat muscular like Chase, the boy's pain tolerance is the lowest I've ever encountered, and it's irritatingly evident in the way he yelps and screams whenever something comes into contact with his wounds.

"Ashley!" he shrieks, only to receive a slap on the other arm. He screams at that, too, and this frustrates the girl even more.

"If you don't fucking stop yell-"

"Alright, give it here," I sigh, standing up from my comfortable position on the kitchen island and making my way over.

Chase's shoulders relax ever so slightly, but it's not like I can promise him anything- Ashley's attempts at sorting his cuts and bruises out had already included some of the softest, most careful movements I'd ever seen. I doubt I can mimick them exactly, but I can try.

"How did it even get this bad?" I ask him, pulling out a stool and sitting a fair distance opposite him. Chase just sighs, looking down at the floor as I begin to precariously dab at the open cuts on his bicep, the towel in my hand suddenly feeling far too rough in contrast to the soft skin of his arm.

"Idiot doesn't know when to stop at initiation," Dylan calls, skirting around the island with a sandwich in his hand and a bottle of mayonnaise in the other. All three of us watch with a grimace as he squirts a dollop of the stuff on the edge and takes a large bite, repeating the process every time he does so. "Who knew bottle throwing could be so dangerous?"

"Everyone," I state, frowning at the boy. Dylan shrugs, holding the sandwich out to me with a suggestive eyebrow raise. Once I shake my head, he shrugs again, and I watch as he takes a seat on the island before returning my gaze back to Chase's arm, "Who did this to you?"

"I told you," Chase murmurs, his bottom lip jutting out in a way that proves he's sick of talking about the situation. Then again, he kind of has to; showing up at my door at 2am in the morning with a bloody face and an even bloodier arm isn't exactly the most self-explanatory thing on campus. "I didn't dodge properly,"

"Okay? That doesn't explain why you currently look like a fuckin' tampon, though, does it?" Ashley asks, surveying the bloodied cloth in my hand with a grimace. I stifle a laugh, mainly due to how mortified both boys look.

"Who was throwing them, mate?" Dylan asks, nudging him lightly. Chase's eyes squint at nothing in particular, showing us all that he's deep in thought, "It wasn't Irwin, was i-"

"Oh, no. No, Ashton wouldn't hurt a fly," Chase says, shaking his head. I try to ignore their conversation, for bottle-throwing and inflicting pain upon others isn't necessarily something I see Ashton Irwin doing- his best friend, however, far more plausible.

And normally I wouldn't care so much, and if this was any other day, I'd probably just be disgusted by how much of an evil person Luke Hemmings can actually be; but it's not. It's the day after he saved my ass back at the cafe with Bethany, and it's the day before I receive my second initiation task due to how he'd 'helped' me pass the first one.

I can't tell them this though, and I refuse to. Chase is terrified of him and Dylan has an undying vendetta against the man. Ashley has said numerous times in the past that she'd fight him (both to the death and to the ER), so I doubt that Luke's anywhere near her good books. I'd get judged for voicing an opinion that I haven't even fully decided yet.