Souvenir [Complete]

Three. The Painting

The dread Luke had been expecting to surface by this confirmation, surprisingly didn't.

For the first time Ashton's eyes were taking in his surroundings, actually looking at people. Actually looking in his direction. He didn't know what to do. Cower away, or sit up straighter.

Instead he decided not to draw any attention to Ashton. What was behind Luke's group of six didn't want to be noticed, and Luke wasn't gonna provoke someone. He kept playing the song, but he sang more shyly now.

By the time he'd finished the melody, Ashton had made his way inside the room, and Luke kept glancing at him nervously, especially now that people started to notice him. There was chatter already before he'd finished playing entirely.

"I think that's good enough for today, you guys sounded really good." Luke announced, as most of the six looked back at Ashton, not even paying attention to what he was saying. "Tomorrow we'll work on it some more."

The group broke away and one of the teenagers decided to walk up beside Ashton. Luke heard her speak, but he didn't hear his response. There probably was none. Outside a horn honked—already—and the teen girl smiled dreamily at Ashton as she walked away.

Outside he heard the commotion, "god, mom, you never let me talk to any boys!"

"Well he's too old for you anyway, get in."

And then somehow in all that Luke found himself alone with Ashton. Again.

Luke didn't know what to say to him. He was still wearing his leather jacket in the house, what could Luke say to someone like that?

"Nice room," Ashton hummed, filling the silence between them.

"Thanks," Luke furrowed his brows.

"So what's that? Like a glee club, or something?"

"Oh, no. I'm a singing instructor." Luke shook his head. He was nervous again. His stomach tied in knots. "Unprofessional of course, but...theres not much competition this close to home."

Ashton did the most familiar thing Luke had seen him do, and just stayed quiet.

"I—uh...I have some cookies left over, if you want some," Luke cooed and stared at his feet. Ashton kept walking in slow steps as if he were an inspector. Luke's noticed Ashton still had his shoes on, and he bit his lip. "Well uh, I'm sure my dad will be here soon. He'll set up an air mattress for you, and I'll just get out of your ha—."

"This is a nice painting," Ashton cut him off, drawing Luke's eyes to where he was pointing. It was the ocean one. Dead center. The one he loved to look at.

"It's my favorite."

"Hmm," Ashton smirked.

Luke tensed. "What?"

"Nothing. I just wonder what it says about you."

That hit Luke in the gut for some reason. "I got it in New York," he hummed trying not to show his reaction. "Someone told me you came from New York."

"Heresay," Ashton shrugged.

"If I lived in the city, I'd never leave."

"Then move," Ashton raised his brows looking at Luke for the first time. His eyes might be dreamy, if they didn't look so harsh. They gave Luke a once over, and he blushed under it—but not in a good way.

"I don't like shoes on my carpet," Luke told him, and before anything else could be said, he went to pick up his tray of cookies. Planning to ignore him every time they ever came into contact for the rest of their lives.