art geek ⌽ hemmings

⌱ 0.8

Hallie

Friday nights were usually the worst. But not tonight, not to Hallie. Not with Luke. When she kissed him he tasted like Coca Cola and Jim Beam, pineapple cruisers and what she imagined kissing James Dean or Danny Zuko would taste like. Every time she thought about it, the more she thought about wanting to disappear through a trap door and have Luke not care at all. She probably wouldn't care, either. She was just thankful Ashton hadn't approached her yet.

"You're looking at me like I'm a fucking lighthouse, Hal." Luke laughed, fixating on the hem of her dress between his fingers. They had settled for laying in the midst of Jesse Pratt's backyard and abandoned the hammock since. Luke lazily reached for her hand every so often, though she didn't mind the slightest.

"Sorry." Hallie swallowed and looked back at the sky, where Luke was drunkenly pointing out constellations and naming them all after her, some after Calum or Michael. She just held his hand and closed her eyes, being completely enthralled as she listened to a muffled Arctic Monkeys song playing from inside. Nothing in the world could ruin this moment. Luke squeezed Hallie's hand, sending her to open her eyes and meet his of blue, in which struggled to sustain weight as he smiled at her. His eyes were never just blue, nor partially green, nor any colour, to Hallie. They were what beheld miles below an ocean trench, they were what Hallie could swim in forever.

"The moon looks really nice right now." Luke shifted his head to rest on Hallie's stomach, taking several sips from his beer. Hallie was surprised he could still structure a sentence after all he had drank, though he seemed pretty enthused on talking about the sky. With her hand that wasn't occupied with Luke's, she ran her fingers through his hair as he looked up at her for what felt like for the millionth time that night. She felt like she could die.

"You look really nice right now." Luke slurred. He lazily smile as Hallie tugged at her sleeves.

She really wanted to kiss him, again.

"Can I kiss you first, this time?" She bit on the innards of her lip. She moved out of Luke's hold -who sat up quicker than Hallie could even tell him to- to makeshift straddle his waist, his eyes shone, even in the dark. She could already smell the aftershave on his neck, the tropical shampoo in his hair, the beer that lingered from his lips (they were practically like tangerine). Fucking hell.

"Go for it baby girl." Those words falling out of Luke felt everything but real to Hallie, she attempted to shrug them off, something as she already leant into Luke's lips. And she didn't know if it was Luke's imposition, or the sudden grasp he had on her waist, but she felt like the numerous constellations Luke had pointed out to her earlier. She felt like she could die right now and she wouldn't care. With him, she didn't seem to care about anything, anyway.

"Jesus Christ." She mumbled against his lips, her hands venturing from his chest to cup his face, subconsciously making their way through his hair (which quite quickly became a go-to place for her hands). He moved his hold to her thighs, gripping her closer to his waist, creating friction between her velvet dress and his disheveled jeans. Fuck.

Since the last time they kissed, his tongue no longer tasted like Coca Cola and Jim Beam, nor pineapple cruisers, nor what she imagined kissing Danny Zuko would taste like. Instead he tasted like cheap beer. He tasted like the stars suspended above them. He tasted like Hallie's $2 peppermint lipgloss, though faintly like the pineapple infused spirits from before. He felt like the human embodiment of a 1975 song, alcoholic moans against her neck as he rambled on about nothing coherent.

Nothing could have dilapidated the effect Luke had on Hallie. She felt her heartbeat through every inch of her, as though it was beating at a million miles per hour. She felt the blood in her cheeks rise almost to the surface, feeling as aflame as Luke's lips that moved against her mouth and neck (she wanted him to kiss her all over) with rhythmicity. Fucking hell.