𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐖𝐄𝐑⁰¹ʰᵉᵐᵐⁱⁿᵍˢ✓

¹⁷stars

clementine

After he'd sung to me, we drew our chairs closer to each other and lied back, eyes staring straight up at the darkness above us.

As we talked, I didn't notice that I was frowning, and he took a moment to stop and ask why. He was concerned about the little things that I didn't really think mattered, which goes to say that he cares. Why for me, I don't know.

"Something's bothering you," He pointed out, facing me with two caring eyes. "D'you mind sharing?"

I shrug, looking back up at the starless sky. "There are no stars," I bit my lip back, remembering the many nights of my childhood in France when I would stick my head out of my bedroom window and see the tiny, shining dots like freckles on the sky. "I miss them,"

He didn't say anything, so I took it as a sign to continue.

"Back in France, where I was raised, I lived in the more peaceful part of Paris where there wasn't as much city lights and not a lot of tourists, sort of further away from the heart of the city, the main attraction," I closed my eyes and it was like I could feel the Paris breeze and its peaceful ambience. My heart ached at memories like this, it reminded me that I hadn't been home in a long time. "And from my bedroom window, when you'd look up, you'd immediately see the stars." I raised my hands up to the sky, palms wide open and trying to visualise a version of New York with such noticeable little lights in the sky. "I loved them so much,"

"Beautiful," Luke's voice brings me back down to Earth and I face him, meeting his blue eyes with my nostalgic gaze. There's something in them that tells me he's speaking more than just the stars but he continues on. "The stars, I mean," He clears his throat and looks up at the sky. "They must've been beautiful,"

I ignore the odd moment and nod in agreement. "They were,"

He hums, as if remembering something. "Back in my hometown, there were many, many stars." He smirks at the memory and my stomach lurches at the sight of the dimple on his cheek. Then he turns to me, eyes showing something playful. "I'd see the lot of them up there, just so casually like they weren't the most beautiful things,"

How does he think up something like that? I'm at absolute awe. "I've never thought of them like that. Your mind is exquisite," I say, his brows raising at the odd compliment. But he smiles and I completely want to become one of those stars he's talking about.

He hides away his face in embarrassment and I know that if there was enough light, I'd be able to see how flushed he must be. He's playfully pulling his shirt over his grinning face and I laugh at the scene he's playing. "Big words there, miss," He teases, poking his eyes out of his shirt to look at me.

I roll my eyes, reaching out and pulling his shirt off his face. "Big words, my ass. You're the writer between us,"

He laughs, sitting straight and wrapping his hand around mine, not letting me go. "Doesn't mean I'm good at it,"

I cock a brow. Does he really think that? "What are you talking about? Did you hear that song you sang to me? It's a lyrical masterpiece." I tell him but he shakes his head like he doesn't believe me. "You're mad if you don't know it,"

He chuckles, looking down at our hands and playing with my fingers. "Guess I'm mad then."

I have to pretend his touch doesn't do things to me. He's warm, gently holding my hand like I might break. The tips of his fingers are rough, calloused, having surrendered its softness for such beautiful songs.

"Do you really believe that?" I ask after a few seconds of silence between us. I want to know why he thinks like that when it isn't true at all. I pity all the gorgeous songs he doesn't think are that good.

He shrugs. "Some part of me does," He bites down on his bottom lip and I can tell something else is running through his mind. "I don't know. The songs I write just feel like this... mess of what I'm feeling," He scrunches his face at the thought.

"Is that so bad?" I ask and he looks up at me. "The mess of how you feel being what makes your songs." I take his hand, facing his palm towards me. "To me, I think it's raw..." I say, tracing the lines of his palm with a light finger.

I can feel his eyes burn through me but I don't dare to look up. "I think it's honest, it's true," I try to remember what the lines meant and how I could interpret them, but my mind came blank. "And that state is always better than some clean-cut version where it's no longer how you originally felt,"

I bring my eyes to him, giving a smile.

He hums, looking down at our hands and how I was tracing his palm lines. "I like the way you think," He says. He doesn't want to think about his opinions on his songs, I can tell, but I shouldn't push.

I let a few moments pass without saying anything, just to settle in the comfortable silence between us. It's something new I know I should treasure before it goes - before he goes.

Silence has never been easier between someone and I. With him, it's so effortless, like we don't really need some forever ongoing conversation just so we can be in each other's company. With him, staring up at a blank canvas of sky is enough.

I can't help but compare him to Aiden. The way he talks to me, the way he looks at me, ways Aiden never did or could. We talk like we've talked a thousand conversations before, but Aiden and I never did. Our year-long relationship consisted of sex, arguments, and occasional good days where he showered me in affection, which eventually lead to sex. Never once did we have a conversation about each other, about our hometowns, our family, it was always physical contact and arguments.

Looking back at it now, my heart breaks at how naïve I was, thinking he was the best I could do and that it was just how the first few relationships went. My time with Luke has already felt so much better than that entire, wretched year.

It's bad that my heart feels a pang of pain at the thought that he's soon going to be gone. His stay in New York is not permanent and we both know that sooner or later, he's going to have to face me and say goodbye.

He'll have to fly off to some faraway country, performing to thousands, hold other prettier, more put-together girls, and I'll be here hurting, knowing I couldn't ever be them. And it's so pathetic because he's not even mine to hurt over.

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welcome to my favourite chapter!
this is a treat for yall because wE HIT 20K READS ON PW!!!!! yall are so, so good to me and you support me so much and ily for it. i cant believe that literally 2 months ago i was even at 1 read but i'm so fucking grateful cuz now i get to thirst over luke and yall can sit back, read, and enjoy.