university | lrh

44 - mine

Elise Halder
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Luke Hemmings is absolutely infuriating to wake up next to.

For a couple reasons; the main one being the man looks like a goddamn angel. This isn't an exaggeration either—when I say he looks like an ethereal golden boy with fluffy curls and a nose so perfect it's screaming to be bopped; I mean that with my entire being.

Each time I wake up before he does—which happens quite often; he's a sleepy one—I instantly become equal parts awestruck and frustrated. Simply because the only thing I can think is how this man has no business being so pretty, especially in the early morning hours when the sun is barely peeking through to shine on him and he looks his absolute softest.

I have to fight the urge to scoff every time I'm woken up to the sight, because—quite frankly—I find it rude.

And another thing; the man knows how to hold someone like no other. This, of course, adds yet another devastating blow to my heart each morning, considering his grip doesn't cease no matter how deeply asleep he is. He's always so warm, and so comfortable; it's simply a miracle I ever get out of bed at all.

As for this morning, it's no exception. Last night we'd both collapsed in exhaustion the second we hit the bed, and it's clear to me that it's carried over into the day. But it's a different kind of tired; more relaxed, content, lazy. I could tell Luke would still be tired from the moment I woke up; fully pressed against his chest with my head in the crook of his neck. His own body was turned slightly on its side toward me, with one of my legs pushed between his and his arm wound tightly around my back to keep me in place.

I had to pull my head back to get a good look at him, lips slightly parted and face relaxed. I didn't necessarily want to wake him up, but it was already getting late and I was getting restless in his hold.

He was on the verge of waking. I could see the way his breathing changed into a more conscious pattern, but still he refused to open his eyes or acknowledge it.

"Luke," I whisper, the absolute quietest tone I could muster, hoping to get something out of him.

He made no sound of affirmation, no large movements—but what he did do, was fail to stop the subtle turning up of the corners of his lips. He was smiling.

"I saw that," I mumble.

Again, he made no move to open his eyes or respond. No, this time, he laid his palm flat against my back, pressing me further against his chest without a word. I let him do it, smiling a bit to myself against my will because his lips still remained curled up the tiniest amount and he looked adorable.

I let a good amount of time pass before I try again, voice still quiet. "I have to get up."

"No."

I can't explain why, but the deep, lazy tone of his first verbal response in this morning makes my heart leap.

I can't even say anything, all I can do is bite down on the smile that threatens to cross my lips as he remains in his sleepy, stubborn state. His lips barely even moved when he spoke, and his morning voice is simply something I'll never get used to.

I had though that would be it; all I would get out of him, but he surprises me once more. His hand that was rested flat on my back travels up, making its way to my neck as he fumbles blindly with his fingers to find my jaw. It's when his thumb finds its way to bottom lip that I don't dare move, watching as he taps it gently with the pad of his finger. And then—as if I wasn't melted enough already—Luke pouts his own lips, pursing them lazily and expectantly with his eyes still shut.