~Luke~

“Alright boys!” Ashton clapped, both of his hands leaving the handle of his luggage as he faced us with the biggest smile on his face, “Who’s ready for L.A?”

“I am,” Calum groaned, sitting on his suitcase, “I need a change of scenery.”

Michael snickered, “And within a month you’ll be homesick,” he stuck his bottom lip out in a pout, “I miss my mum, I miss my mum!”

“Piss off,” Calum groaned. The entire time, I was fighting a smirk.

“I’m just excited for the food,” Ashton said honestly. I laughed, “Of course you are.”

“I’m excited for the weather,” Michael said. I looked at him with raised eyebrows, “We live in Australia, Michael.”

“Shut up,” Michael made an exasperated sound. Just then, the intercom came on, signalling that flight 93 would be departing shortly. “Shit,” Ashton muttered, “We’ll miss it.”

“It’s our jet, Ash,” Calum reminded him, and Ash’s face immediately brightened once more, never losing his overjoyed smile, “Crap, I forgot about that. I still feel so—normal, I suppose.”

“Don’t we all,” I sighed dramatically. We made our way through the airport, dropping off our baggage and walking through security.

As Calum passed through the metal detector, it lit up like a siren, beginning a loud beeping, and his eyes went wide. His hands patted around his pockets and he pulled out a few coins, looking confused as to how they got there. Beside me, Michael snickered, and I couldn’t help but to laugh along at his prank.

“What are you most excited for, Lucas?” Calum nudged my shoulder later as we boarded onto our jet. Mikey and Ashton immediately plopped down on a recliner, both of them fighting for a spot.

Eventually, Ashton was pushed to the floor, and he stood, mumbling a few curse words. Michael just laced his fingers together and put his hands behind his head, smiling smugly.

“I don’t really know,” I lied, “I suppose the California sandwiches.”

Calum smirked and shook his head. I yawned, “I think I’m going to take a nap. Don’t bother me.”

“Yes sir,” Ashton saluted to me from his newfound spot on a recliner next to Mikey. I playfully returned the action before stretching my arms and making my way to the back of the jet, ducking into one of the small private rooms, a small cot being the only thing in there besides a tiny coffee table.

I collapsed onto the cot and turned onto my back, facing the ceiling and hearing the faint humming of the plane’s engines. I was, in fact, excited for something in L.A.

Someone.

I kept on trying to tear my hopes down myself, knowing that if someone else did that, the blow would hurt so much more. There was no way that I would see her—no way that I could possibly see her.

But this trip wasn’t a part of tour. It wasn’t jam-packed with interviews and radio sessions and concerts. We were in Los Angeles for eight fucking months, simply writing and recording songs for an album that we were going to release. Sure, there’d be a few late nights and early mornings at the studio, but otherwise, I felt as though this was almost like a vacation. The band would go sightseeing and hang out—almost like the normal people we used to be, leading the normal lives we used to live.

And I couldn’t help but to hope desperately that I would run into her. Even to just get a glimpse of her would be enough. I tried to play it off as though I’d forgotten all about her. In a way, I had.

But the boys were still careful whenever the topic came up, like they were trying to be cautious, debating which words to use. I appreciated it, but in all honesty, I wanted to have an open conversation about her, a conversation filled with sadness and maybe even a few tears.

I wanted to expose her to the press—not so that they could target her, just to get everything out in the open. Pushing it back and acting as though she didn’t exist made it all worse.

I wish I could’ve done something to make her stay. I wish I could’ve been better to her—maybe she wouldn’t have completely cut off contact with us. A small part of me wondered if she’d had her own reasons, but I’d tumbled into this pit, a much bigger part assuring me that it was my fault, that I’d done something.

And it was too late to change my opinions.

I couldn’t help but to look forward to going out in public, hoping that I wasn’t recognized, and maybe bump into her. I wanted to confront her, ask her why she’d ignored me and had basically pretended as though I was no longer a part of her life. I wanted to run my fingers through her hair, imagining that it was just as soft as ever, kiss her lips, tasting the berry-flavoured chapstick she always used to wear.

I wanted to show her how much I’d changed—swear to her that I was better now, that she didn’t have to pull away.

“You know,” I murmured against her skin as we cuddled up on the couch, watching reruns of Pretty Little Liars. I hated the show, but she’d insisted on it, claiming that it was her favourite, and I just couldn’t say no to her, “I’m thinking of getting a lip ring.”

Ava lifted her head from my chest, her eyebrows raised, looking at me quizzically, “A lip ring?”

“Yeah,” I shrugged, “I think it’d be cool.”

“I agree,” she smiled at me, “Definitely cool. And hot, too.” She winked at me, and I just smiled widely at her. I loved this girl so much.

“Where would you put it?” she asked me, sitting up.

She threw one leg over my lap and proceeded to lower herself down, her arms looping around my neck, fingers playing with the small hairs on the nape of it. I cleared my throat, my Adam’s apple jumping as I swallowed heavily, not used to her showing such great signs of affection like this. I wasn’t complaining—it was just new.

Her lush brown eyes stared into my blue ones, those wide eyes that I could never say no to. She was just so beautiful. I don’t know how I hadn’t realised it before the age of fifteen years old. Then, I’d always been chasing girls that had no interest in me, girls that I didn’t even genuinely like—I was only infatuated.

And that entire time, I’d been so blind; I hadn’t seen what was right in front of me.

Ava. My beautiful best friend.

"Right here,” I tapped the left side up my bottom lip. Ava’s right hand left the base of my neck and came up to my face, her thumb brushing across the spot. I stared at her, only to find that her eyes were trained on my lips.

“Can I just—?” she closed her eyes and sighed, “Can I do something?”

“Sure,” I bit my lip, and her eyes flashed open, staring at me intently.

“I just,” she began, “I want to take a moment. Just to—,” she didn’t finished her sentence. Rather, she began to run her hands through my blonde hair, her green-coated nails scratching along my scalp lightly. I watched her attentively, not wanting to miss how she bit her lip in concentration or how soft her eyes were as she looked at me tenderly.

Her brown globes never left mine as her hands slipped away from my hair, the tips of her fingers trailing along my sharp jawline. Her lips parted slightly—it almost looked like she was in awe.

Her forefinger ran down the bridge of my nose, and she leaned forward, pecking the tip of my nose lightly. I grinned at her and chuckled softly. Her fingers continued moving, brushing across my cheeks, my forehead, and I closed my eyes and they danced across my eyelids tenderly.

“Luke?” she asked me, and I opened my eyes, shocked that she used my name. She only ever did that when she was serious, or when something was important. When my eyes flashed open, she smiled softly at me, looking at me like I was the most valuable thing on Earth, “I think you’re beautiful.”

I was surprised at the sincerity in her voice, and for a long moment, I could only look at her with parted lips, wanting so badly to just kiss her and never tear my lips away.

So that’s what I did.

Our lips fit together in the most perfect of ways. Every time I kissed Ava, that jittery feeling that erupted in my stomach never failed to make itself known.

My hands swept up her sides to her face, cupping her cheeks lightly as we kissed softly. This was usually how it was like—sweet and slow, nothing frantic and needy. Sometimes I wished that it was, but this time definitely did not qualify—I loved being close to Ava, loved spending time with her. I loved the way she smelled, the way she’d sigh lightly in her sleep whenever I snuck into her room to hold her at night. I loved her tentative touches and her soft, playful kisses just as much as the sincere, long ones that we were currently both experiencing.

“No one is more beautiful than you, Aves,” I told her quietly after I pulled back.

Her cheeks turned red—I loved that I was the only one that could ever make her blush.

“You are, Luke,” she insisted, “You’re just—your hair, and your cheekbones. And the small bit of acne—you still manage to make that look so hot. And your eyes—don’t ever get me started on your eyes, Lucas.”

I laughed silently, my hands falling to her waist and pulling her closer. I buried my face into her left shoulder, my fingers snaking behind her back and doodling imaginary tattoos on her bare skin once I let them slip under her top. She relaxed into my touch and let out a long breath, her fingers beginning to run through my hair again. I closed my eyes and enjoyed the feeling.

“So…” I drew out the word, my head still burrowed in her shoulder, “Do you want to freeze the show and kiss some more, or…?”

She giggled, pulling back and shooting me a playful disapproving look, but reached over nonetheless and pressed a button on the remote. Immediately the screen immobilized and she threw the small device back into the couch before sighing dramatically, “What am I going to do with you, Lucas?”

“Kiss me, perhaps?” I suggested, wiggling my eyebrows and smiling cheekily at her. She laughed again, winding her arms around my neck and staring at me, the corners of her mouth tugging up.

And then she was kissing me. And I was kissing her back, my left hand caressing her cheek, my right cupped around her waist so that she wouldn’t be able to scoot more than a few centimeters away from me. She sighed against my lips, the vibrations ameliorating the sensation and making me crave more.

“Hey Luke—,” Jack suddenly walked in, and his eyes widened. Quicker than a lightning strike, he turned away, smacking his palms over his face and yelling, his voice muffled, “I didn’t see anything!”

I gritted my teeth and rolled my eyes, hating that he interrupted. Ava just giggled, not moving from the confines of my lap, her fingers still playing with the hairs on the nape of my neck, “No worries, Jack. Nothing to be afraid of.”

“Okay,” Jack said, but his palms stayed over his eyes, shielding him from our gazes—Ava’s was amused, but I was glaring at him, “Um, Lucas? Where’s your plaid shirt? You know...the red one?”

“Up your ass,” I spat at him, just wanting him to leave us alone so that we could get back to what we’d been doing.

“Blondie,” Ava hissed at me, and I just rolled my eyes again. Jack held up his hands, opting for the simple decision to keep his eyes tightly wedged closed.

“No need to get all PMSy on me, baby bro,” he joked, which caused Ava to chuckle. Jack then proceeded to feel his way out of the room, bumping into the side of the doorframe as he went.

“You’re so mean to him,” Ava pouted, sticking her bottom lip out in the most adorable way.

“He deserved it,” I returned the pout, “And you’re not supposed to laugh when he insults me.”

“But what if he’s right?” Ava giggled as I shot her a mock-glare. She sighed theatrically before pressing a quick peck on my lips, “Oh, quit it Lucas. You know I adore you.”

I couldn’t help but to wonder if she still adored me. If she still thought of me. Granted, I hadn’t dwelled that much on her—not because I didn’t want to, although that still played a part in it. The band was taking off, we were becoming very popular, and I knew that being moody about the situation would simply bring us all down.

I wish I could’ve thought about it more. But things were hectic, and there simply wasn’t enough time.

And a small part of me wanted to completely ignore Ava Summers. I kept trying to convince myself that there was no use in dwelling on the past. Some days, I would be successful, whereas others, all I wanted to do was curl up into a ball and cry, angry at her, angry at myself, angry at the fucking magazine company for taking her away from me.

I wished I could’ve simply forgotten about Ava Summers.

Just as she’d forgotten about me.

Notes

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