ten years. [lrh]

nineteen.

Unacceptable Things Luke Should Never Do For Any Given Reason:
1) Drink ketchup sauce from the bottle.
2) Make an omelette in the microwave, because it didn't work so well last time.
3) Wear crocs with jeans.
4) Ignore Clara for more than three hours.
5) Use sharpie instead of liquid eyeliner.
6) Spontaneously board a flight to his home country just to follow a girl he shouldn't be following because, a) he broke her heart time and time again and b) he has a wife.

Unacceptable Things Luke Did Anyway:
1) Spontaneously board a flight to his home country just to follow a girl he shouldn't be following because, a) he broke her heart time and time again and b) he has a wife.
2) Drink ketchup sauce from the bottle.

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When Luke first left Australia, he never gave it any more attention. It was no longer his home. Honestly, when Luke first left Australia, he knew he didn't want to come back.

Which is why, ten years later, he surprised himself greatly as he weaved through Sydney in a rental car some company gave to him for free upon arrival. Everything was, more or less, the same. At every traffic light, Luke could see his school friends running across the road, followed by a fifteen year old version of himself. Every left turn would hold a trail of hidden footprints embedded on the pavement. Every bar was a gig his old band would try to book.

Twenty minutes after he left the airport, Luke found himself outside a house he couldn't recognise. Weirdly, it was his own. In the midst of his life, of everything that had happened after leaving, it felt out of place.

Tapping his fingers against the grubby wheel, Luke soaked up the appearance of the renovated building. It was dark, and every window was glowing through the closed blinds-

they were awake.

Taking the keys out of the ignition, Luke sunk into his seat, ignoring the tattered seat covers. This was exactly why no one allowed him to make decisions on his own. Being spontaneous,  following Amanda across countries just to get her back was supposed to be romantic and all, but along the way Luke realised she was only the little trigger in the end.

Luke was lonely. Sure, Australia wasn't home, but his family was. He missed his family. Now, sitting in an old car outside his old house, he didn't know whether they missed him.

Hemmings.

Luke repeated the words over and over under his breath. 'Hemmings. Hemmings. Hem-mings. He-mmings. Hemmings.'

He used to be so sick of the name, so bored of seeing it across billboards and flyers and buses. But Jesus, it looked so different now. He didn't know if it was the blue colour and unfamiliar letting that was plastered over a newly painted mailbox, or if he just took it ten years ago and turned it into something it wasn't. Either way, it sent an overload of nerves running through his arms and stomach.

They don't hate you. They can't hate you. Open the door, it's okay.

Before he could stop himself, Luke stepped out from the car, shutting the door quietly. Before the other half of his brain told him to go back to the airport, he ignored the mailbox and opened the gate. Before the next string of calls from Clara began to ring, he speed-walked up to the door.

About to knock, Luke tried to steady his breathing. The fact that he couldn't hear himself didn't help. The sounds of wordless conversations and laughter on the other side of the door were too loud. A warm yellow light shone through the blurred glass, reflecting on his nose.

Just knock.

Luke knocked.

———————

Luke knocked, and the house grew quiet. He knocked again, and a faint "I'll get it" made him step back hesitantly.

That voice.

A figure loomed closer and closer, and straight away, Luke knew who it was. He looked down, shielding his eyes from a view they didn't deserve to see.

"Luke?"

As he inspected the loosened ties on his shoes, Luke could see the shadow beside them. Bad idea. This was such a bad idea.

"Luke, is that you?"

He looked up, making immediate eye contact with his father. A bundle of overdue feelings made their way to his throat, and he wanted to cry.

"Uh, yea- yeah, it's me." He swallowed, trying to smile. Who says that? Fucking hell, Luke.

Andy's eyes widened, but he stood still. Luke didn't know what to do. Something wet trailed down his cheek and he let it, too afraid to move. Bad idea.

"Are you gonna hug your old man, or what?" Andy asked, and Luke choked as his body collided with his father's. He shook relentlessly as a mixture of laughter and sobs surrounded them. Luke was small again, untroubled, safe, in his dad's arms. They gripped each other tight, afraid of letting go. It had been so long.

"I- I'm so sorry," Luke whispered with broken up words. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so-"

Andy cut him off. "You're here," he said. "You're all here."

They stood together for a few more moments, before Luke decided to let go. Letting go meant being ripped apart again, and Luke was left feeling empty. But his father, God, his father was a sight for sore eyes, standing right in front of him.

"Andrew? Who's at the door?"

A new wave of tears found their way down Luke's face as his head jerked at the sound of her voice. He looked at his father, shaking his head.

"No," He said. "I can't see her yet. I can't-"

"You have no idea what you've put your mother through." Andy put a hand on Luke's shoulder. "It's good of you to come, but it's too late to turn back."

"Dad, she hates me."

"It's been years." A stern look replaced the kind one as Andy peered into his eyes without blinking. "The... the, uh, situation has been cleared. Things have changed."

No, they haven't. Clearly, the Hemmings family hadn't been reading the tabloids that came in monthly with another scandal involving Luke. He didn't know whether he was relieved or let down.

Instead of saying anything else, Luke simply nodded, wiping his eyes hard enough to see spots when he opened them. His father was still looking at him as if Luke was going to bolt.

"Andrew? Who's at the-"

Luke whipped around, heart beating at a rate too fast to follow. Excluding the wisps of white hair that crowned her face, she had not aged. Not physically, at least.

But heck, Luke thought, did she look tired.

"-door." Liz finished her sentence, staring at Luke like he wasn't human.

"It's Luke, dear," said Andy, cautiously
bringing his son to his side. "Our Luke."

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i didn't know when to end the chapter bUT heyooOo i'm ending it here! things r gonna be intense soon, thank u sm for reading x

i know i've waited nineteen chapters before deciding to really reveal shit, but it's (hopefully) gonna fall into place soon!

don't forget to vote and comment xxx
- epihphany