It was silent and the night was young. Delilah and Luke were sitting at his dining table, Delilah attempted to clean up his home, because the Arizona Tea was starting to take over.
Luke smelled like mint and vanilla and the most wonderful things.
"The field?" She asked him, softly, because he already knew what she meant, she didn't need to say anymore.
"No. Let's do something else." He said to her. He was writing random things over hundreds of sheets of paper, and drawing and doodling and Delilah often wondered what they were all for.
Delilah was going to ask him what they were going to do, but he was never going to tell her, so she didn't bother to ask, and he beat her to it anyway.
"Don't ask. You'll never get it out of me." He said slyly, stealing a peek at her dark brown eyes, filled with curiosity.
He got up and walked to his bedroom, and soon came back with a black hoodie.
"Here you go, put it on," He said to her, and he did it because it was really cold out and he didn't want her to get pneumonia, because that could happen.
Delilah eyed the hoodie before grabbing it and putting it on.
Luke bent down and motioned for her to get on his back, so she did, and he was running into the halls and all the way down, ever so carefully, because he never ever wanted to drop her.
Delilah was ruffling his hair and touching his cheeks and holding his shoulders. It was like every touch was a drug, and she couldn't get enough.
He set her down on the pavement, in front of what seemed like a sea of motorcycles. He stared at her so intensely, like somehow someway she would disappear forever and never come back.
He shook her shoulders, "Listen to me, Delilah, listen good. I'm going to take you somewhere, OK? And you're gonna have to trust me. Don't let go, hold on for dear life, OK?."
Delilah nodded, and he took a grey helmet and put it on her small head. He thought she looked funny, but a pretty kind of funny, because then again Delilah was always pretty.
"Alright, come on, Delilah." He said to her, taking her small hand, and pulling her toward a black motorcycle.
He got onto it first, and put his helmet on, turning to look at her. She sucked in a breath and watched him.
He looked great, just great.
"Get on."
"Alright."
And so she got on, and did as she was told, she hung onto him for dear life, with her small arms wrapped around his waist. Her hair was flying behind her and she was laughing. She was laughing because New York was beautiful, because Luke was beautiful and because she felt alive.
"Oh God! This is beautiful!" She yelled. She wasn't sure if he could hear her, he probably couldn't, but she said it anyway.
"You're beautiful!" He yelled back, and it was very, very faint, but she heard him, and her stomach was bursting and her heart was soaring.
And it was all because of him.
