Midnight ☆ L.H (au)

sixty three

???? - ANASTASIA BYNES

We stood frozen in the doorway of my apartment, the dim lightening was catching on the broken edge of my ripped thermal leggings and the glint of Calum's leather jacket cinched awkwardly around my waist.

My hair was still damp from the snow, cheeks flushed from the cold. Calum lingered just behind me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans, his breath puffing out in short breaths.

And then there was Luke.

He stood dead center in the kitchen like a storm made of bone and breath, blocking out everything else, his eyes fixed not on me but on Calum. His pupils were blown wide, bloodshot around the edges. His jaw twitched as if he was biting down on something sharp, almost as if it would snap or unhinge.

His posture was rigid, hands curled into fists at his sides like his body had already made the decision before his mind caught up. There was nothing calm in his stance. No confusion. No hesitation. Just pure, blind rage.

"Luke," I started, my voice already cracking with panic. "It's not what it looks like... We were ju—"

But I didn't even get the sentence out.

He moved with terrifying speed, shoving past me like I wasn't even there, and in the next breath he lunged straight for Calum.

The sound was brutal, the sickening thud of his shoulder slamming into Calum's chest, the jarring crack of Calum's back hitting the wall hard enough to rattle the drywall.

The sound was violent, sharp. The calendar Connie hung up flew off the hook and crashed to the floor, the little nail snapping free and clattering across the hardwood. The key rack followed next, smacking the tile as our spare keys scattered everywhere like broken glass.

I gasped, stumbling backward as Luke pinned Calum to the wall by the front of his hoodie. His arm was locked across Calum's chest, breathing fast, jaw clenched so tight the veins in his neck popped. His face was red, no, flushed, but not from shame. From fury. The kind of fury that comes when hurt mutates into something reckless.

"Luke, stop!" I shouted, reaching forward, grabbing at his arm.

Luke's fist came down hard. One clean punch to Calum's jaw that made a sickening crack echo through the room, and Calum's head snapped to the side, blood smearing along his bottom lip as he stumbled back against the wall. His hands didn't lift. He didn't fight back. He just winced, gritting his teeth as the weight of the blow settled into his bones.

"Luke, stop!" I cried, rushing forward, grabbing his arm, yanking at his hoodie with both hands, desperate to pull him back. But he barely felt me.

He was too far gone, locked inside something hot and ugly and weeks in the making. He lunged again, this time slamming his forearm across Calum's chest and pinning him harder into the wall. The back of Calum's head thudded against the paint with a dull sound, and more keys scattered across the floor at our feet.

"How could you?" Luke roared, his voice shaking with fury. "I fucking trusted you!"

Calum stayed against the wall, shoulders tense, lips parted like he was about to say something but couldn't find the words fast enough. His chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He didn't meet Luke's eyes, instead he met mine.

"You knew how I felt about her, you knew," Luke spat, grabbing the front of Calum's hoodie again, fist trembling where it bunched up the fabric. "And you still did this. You waited until I was gone, and you...Jesus Christ, you knew I was right next door."

"Luke, stop! Please, please just listen!" I begged, clawing at his arm, trying to wedge myself between them, but he was stronger. Too strong. All that muscle that had been used for fights in basements and alleyways, he wasn't pulling back anymore. He wasn't pretending to be in control. He was in control.