alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

3.5 ➢ A Date.

SOPHIE HAYES

What an odd feeling it is to kiss somebody you'd never even thought about kissing; to feel their lips against yours, something so foreign yet so synced.

It's scary and daunting yet exciting all at the same time; it's heated and intimate and everything in between. This kiss holds billions of words we can't just say, because then they'll lose their meaning.

Luke pulls me onto his lap effortlessly, and for once in my life I don't care about anything else but this boy in front of me. I can't care about anything else. The way he holds me, touches me, kisses me— it leaves absolutely nothing for my imagination to run wild on.

When we finally pull away, I'm breathless, and Luke pulls me back in for more. I find myself craving his lips everytime he pulls away, and I assume he feels the same, because for a while our lips just clash against each other; hungry for more, practically insatiable.

He's great at kissing. Normally I'd be worried- that type of experience doesn't just come naturally. But at this moment in time, I couldn't care less.

Okay; maybe I do care. Just a tiny bit. Is that weird?

Luke's hands trail slowly down my sides, and although they're rough and slightly calloused, I love the feeling of them on my skin. I love how he pulls me in, places my knees on either sides of his legs to show me that I'm wanted and cared for; I love it all.

He pulls away and even though my head's spinning and I can't quite form proper sentences, I can mumble them.

"Woah," I breathe out, and Luke's chuckle is low- raspy because of the kiss, shakey because of the nerves.

"You..." he begins, resting his hands on my waist, "Have no idea how long I've been wanting to do that. No idea,"

That mere sentence sends a shiver up my spine, delicate and soft but there all the same. I say nothing, too stunned to ask all of the questions I have in mind.

"Y-You have?"

"Think I just needed to find the right time," Luke smiles. He leans his forehead against mine, upper teeth biting his bottom lip, "Guess I found it."

➢

Luke cooks us both lunch and we eat in front of the big glass wall, the city of New York acting as our entertainment for the day. He has a TV- a very big one, might I add- but looking out into Manhattan is so strangely comforting that we resort to that instead.

He makes really good food, albeit clumsy. And I've realised that he likes to cook with his shirt off- something that I questioned heavily when he did so.

"What?" he'd shrugged, tossing some things in a sizzling pan. I watched the oil flick upwards, some of it splashing onto his bare skin, but he didn't flinch. I don't even think he noticed. "I like it. I feel free."

I just grimaced, sitting on the stool with my legs dangling a good few inches off of the ground because I'm so small. We didn't speak for the duration of his cooking. Luke wanted to concentrate and I, for one, just wanted to watch him.

It's a little fascinating, watching him move. He's so laid back and reserved that when he does certain things, you never quite know if he's taking his time or if he's just being lazy. One thing that I do know however, is this: Luke Hemmings looks absolutely gorgeous in a cooking apron.

Shirtless, in a cooking apron.

We finish our food and lay on the couch, talking about this and that and finding stories to share, mutual friends to converse about. When I talk, he listens so profoundly and intensely that I find myself stumbling over my words and losing my place in the story.