alumni ➢ luke hemmings [DISCONTINUED]

0.2 ➢ Michael's Tour.

Alumni ➢ 0.2
When I'm walking with Michael, I'm suddenly not under fire anymore. The judging stares have stopped. People look away; or they look at him, with friendly smiles on their faces and bright eyes that greet his own.

It's obvious I'm a freshman, that's not hard to see. I'm stumbling slightly and it proves difficult to keep up with the guy, yet Michael keeps his strides calm and long; unlike me, he has no impression to make. Unlike me, he's familiar with everything and everyone, a certain boost to his confidence that he can gladly confide in.

I figure out that Michael's well-liked once we reach a little stand, a portable stall of a guy selling cold drinks to help us eager newbies cope in the hot summer weather. The guy flashes Michael a smile, hands him three cans (one just in case, apparently) and tells him that he doesn't have to pay- purely because he's Michael Clifford, and everybody likes Michael Clifford.

"Ah, mate," Michael shakes his head, carefully passing one of the cans to me as he begins to dig in the pockets of his skinny jeans, "I can't let you do that,"

"It's fine, honestly," the guy grins, his expression so wide that it stretches from ear to ear, "It's on the house. From one musician to another. Think nothing of it."

So Michael doesn't. He just hesitates, eyebrows furrowing slightly at determination of this guy. Then he shakes his head, a tiny, suppressed laugh falling from his lips.

"Well, alright then," Michael says, "But I owe you one,"

"It's alright. Have a good day, you two,"

"You too, Chase."

The guy sends the same kind grin towards me, and I hesitantly return it before Michael and I begin to walk away again.

He resumes his leisurely strides, long legs following one after the other as he re-adjusts his snapback and cracks one of the metal cans open. I try to do the same with my own walk, though my pace isn't nearly as efficient as his.

"Hi, Mikey!" a girl says, holding her hand up to wave at him. I have barely enough time to register her face before she walks straight past us, the short greeting earning a small laugh from the redhead beside me.

"Hi, Kae."

"Michael, my man!" another voice. It's a guy this time, and I hold back awkwardly as he entraps Michael in a sidehug, "Where have you been?"

He has short, scruffy black hair, every strand of it tamed by a black beanie and a fluffy white pom-pom. His eyes are a calming, dark brown that fit quite nicely with his tanned skin, and I swear, his jawline is the sharpest thing I have ever seen in my entire life- no exaggeration.

Michael catches me staring, and a small laugh leaves his mouth as he locks our fingers and pulls me into the conversation.

"Calum Hood," he says, proudly gesturing towards me like a prideful father at his son's baseball game, "Meet Sophie, Sophie Hayes. The girl I was telling you about,"

"Soph-" for a split second, Calum's eyebrows furrow, some sort of realisation dawning on his face not too long after, "Oh, Sophie!" he says.

I can already feel my face growing red, "Hi," I greet him shyly, hoping to God that my usually bashful self can keep herself contained.

"The little legacy. Alice's daughter, right?" I cringe a little, though I can't act on my distaste for the title as he extends a hand out for me to shake, "I'm Calum, though you already knew that. It's nice to meet you,"

"Nice to meet you, too," I say politely back, my cold hand feeling out of place in his own warm one.

"Woah," he chuckles, surprise furrowing his features as he turns to Michael, "You never told me she was a Louis,"