Sunshine || l.h. {complete}

Nineteen

this picture was as close to sleepy luke that i could get i mean look at his hair isn't it adorable

comments/votes appreciated!! if you guys wanna make friends pretty please just message me, i'm not scary i promise!! happy reading :)

3:07 a.m.

Saturday, December 3rd, 2014

"Y-You what?"

Luke runs a hand through his hair and stands, "I fight. I beat people up for money. I punch and hit and kick and draw blood to make a living. I've given more black eyes than you can count on your fingers and toes. Not your average knight in shining armor, huh?"

He looks so disappointed with himself for admitting it to her, it's almost adorable. Belle wonders about how much it actually explains: the gash on his back, the bruises that sporadically show up after a weekend of being gone from school, the current situation with his whole face, and especially the way he carries himself into school on Mondays as if he got run over. Wow, she thinks, I'm so blind.

"I see," Belle taps her chin, taking it all in, "You know what?"

Luke looks down at the floor dejectedly, his chest heaving and his eyes are so sad, he looks like he's a wilting flower. "What?" he mumbles, but she can tell by his tone that he doesn't really want to hear the thing he thinks she's going to say. She giggles and makes a move to karate chop his belly, "I bet I could take you down, you're not so scary!"

A total lie.

Right now Luke looks like a big, bad villain from one of those hero movies. He's got cuts and scars and blood and bandages and it's all very surreal and she feels like she's in a dream, a very sick and violent dream. Belle also knows how acerbic Luke's glares can be, and that in itself can be something that could frighten off anyone.

Luke raises his eyes up so he's looking her directly in the face, his brow furrowed in confusion, "W-What?"

She giggles again, making a 'hiya!' noise and then pushes both of her palms as gently as possible against his shoulders, "I could kick your bum, Luke Hemmings, you're not too tough." He looks so utterly confused that she stands and laughs again purely at his cute expression of contorted facial features and wide blue eyes that scream: What the heck, woman? "Are you any good at fighting?" she questions, putting her hands on her hips.

"I win about eighty-five percent of the time," he shrugs, chewing on his lip, "but when I lose, I lose. And it's bad."

Taking his wrist, she leads him into her bedroom and shuts all the doors, "I wanna know all about it. When did you start?!" Luke glances over her shoulder as they sit on the bed in a criss-cross manner, and rubs the back of his neck as he throws his head back, "When I was nine I started taking lessons. I started fighting on the streets when I was twelve, and I started winning when I was fifteen."

She brushes his hair out of the way and runs her fingertips through his locks once to get them out of his face for good, and then gently traces the scar above his eye that isn't a bruised mess. "So," she mumbles quietly, in awe of it all, "that's how you got all the scars. I always thought they were ho—cool. Cool."

I almost said hot, her heartrate picks up, I almost told him he was hot. Oh God.

The truth is, she finds his fighting really hot. And the fact that it is a secret to everyone who isn't involved with that side of him makes it even hotter. She wonders to herself if that's an okay thing to admit, but waves it off with a smile and a swallow.