~perfect for pictures~ (luka couffaine x reader)

☆ chapter eleven ☆

(Y/N'S POV)

~a week later~

When I walked out of my meeting with my photography Professor, Isaac was waiting for me by the door.

"How'd the meeting go, French Fry?" Isaac said and pushed himself off the wall he was leaning on.

"French Fry?" I raised an eyebrow. "French fries aren't even French. And technically neither am I." We started walking towards the door.

"Yeah, but it's a cuter nickname than Bouillabaisse." He scrunched his nose up when he said bouillabaisse. He held up a cup of coffee for me.

"You're the best, holy shit!" I took the cup from him. I noticed he doodled on the sleeve– a little sharpie worm with an umbrella.

"I try." He shrugged. We made our way to the doors, letting in fresh air and the light of day. Isaac had been following me around all day to get a feel for the campus and the city in general. The meeting was my last commitment on campus and Isaac was due in Professor D'aureville's office in an hour, so we took the extra long route there. The air was warm and breezy, lacking the usual thick heat of summer. Definitely a win. We walked in comfortable silence interjected only by my attempts at being an effective tour guide for Isaac. He stayed quiet for most of the walk, which I knew meant he was intrigued. Isaac Lombardi is the type of person to shut the fuck up when he gets really awestruck. He likes to observe and absorb as much as possible– something about his detail-oriented artist mind that wants to soak it all in. I liked that. The silence. With Isaac, silence always meant he was listening.

Suddenly, Isaac cleared his throat and I looked over to him to find his camera pointing straight at me. I rolled my eyes.

"This is going to look like the video they always show of the main character's dead wife in like every movie ever." I said.

"So what if it does?" Isaac shrugged. "Not every dead movie wife is you."

After some walking, we found D'aureville's door.

"Well, looks like this is you." I turned to him. "Thanks for the coffee. And for trailing me like a dog all day." I laughed. Isaac rolled his eyes.

"I guess that makes me your bitch."

"I guess it does." We made eye contact. His hazel eyes were looking more like amber than usual, but it suited him very well. He opened his mouth to say something, but got cut off when the door to D'aureville's office opened and someone walked out.

"I guess I better go in now." Isaac said.

"I guess you better, yeah." I said. "I've got work tonight, so you're on your own for getting home."

"Ah yes. Wish me luck!"

"With the meeting or the walk back to the apartment?" I raised an eyebrow at him.

"Both."

(LUKA'S POV)

~three hours later~

Y/N worked at a store called Jeux et Merde (Translation: Games and Shit). Jeux et Merde was basically an everything-and-nothing-at-all store. If you wanted games, stuffed animals, puzzles, or porn calendars— Jeux et Merde would be the place for you. But otherwise, you're better off elsewhere. The store was almost always empty, so much so that I couldn't imagine how it managed to stay in business.

"Y/N! I've got some boxes for you, hun." Y/N's manager, Gladis, called from the back office. Gladis was a short American mid-western woman in her late 40s who always wore her hair in a ponytail. In the three years I had been visiting Y/N at her job, not once had I seen Gladis with her hair down. In addition to that, she always had her nails painted a shade of pink that could only be referred to as pepto bismol. "Luka, dear, why don't you help. If you're going to loiter, I might as well get some free labor out of it." Gladis said.

"Whatever you need, Gladis." I took a box from her.

"You could apply for a job, you know." She shouted over her shoulder as she walked back to the office.

"Pshh" I brushed her off.

"She's right." Y/N picked up a box and opened it with some boxcutters.

"But then I'd have to quit my job." I said.

"Which you would never do."

"Which I would never do, exactly." I clicked my tongue and ripped open the box I had grabbed.

"What'd you get? I got shark themed calendars." She reached into her box and pulled out a calendar with a giant hammerhead on the cover.

"Peter Griffin stuffed animals?" I pulled out the oddly specific toy.

"God dammit! We already have way too many of those in stock." Y/N threw a pen at the doll, but ended up hitting me. "Whoops."

"Whoops." I mimicked. After some silence, Y/N cleared her throat.

"Lu, should we be more worried that we haven't heard from Lila yet? It's been a whole week and– nothing." She sighed.

"I think it'll be okay. We decided as a group to be on the lookout and not do anything too risky. It's better if she's got nothing on us. Plus, this time around there are no high stakes like there were during Jagged's contest. She's probably just using the suspense to freak us out over nothing." At this, her expression softened and she seemed to relax a little.

"You're right. I just can't help but worry, you know?" Y/N shrugged.

"I know."

For the next hour or so, we unboxed various novelty puzzles and outwardly-discreet porn calendars. At some point, Y/N turned up the volume in the store to an audible level– something Gladis never really liked too much. But I can't blame her because– there's really no way to put it lightly– the music sucked ass. It was basically the same 20 songs on a loop, and everything sounded like it was either a disney channel artist promotion or a heavily autotuned tiktok audio. About halfway through a horrible butchering of Girls Just Wanna Have Fun (this version featured an extremely depressing male vocalist singing in a monotone voice with a busy instrumentation to back him up), Gladis finally came up from her office and turned the volume down herself.

"Aww, c'mon! I've only heard that song play 11 times today. I was hoping for a strong 12 run-throughs!" Y/N faked disappointment.

"Tough luck, honey." Gladis called as she walked away. Y/N fake pouted.

"Don't worry, I got this." I assured her. And then I began to sing. Horribly. And monotone. Possibly worse than the singer from the cover (if even possible). Y/N covered her ears and laughed.

"Nope! 11 times is good. I think I've heard enough Cyndi Lauper wannabes for today." She desperately tried to get me to stop, and I obliged.

"Impossible. I think I should call in to whoever runs the Jeux et Merde radio and request 10 more rounds of 'Girls Just Wanna Cut Their Own Ears Off'."

"Calm down Van Gogh."

"Never."

(A/N: Chapter eleven! About to post chapter twelve as well! Let me know your thoughts!)