sugar, please ♥ lashton

chapter one.

i know everyone is gonna laugh at my cover but idc. i made it myself, it's authentic.

also, lowercase intended.

- - -

luke's p.o.v

''one espresso, lukey dear.''

i scribble down ms. trammells order in the palm of my hand, seeing as my memory is quite shit and i can never make it to the coffee machine without forgetting my assigned order.

i then proceed to tap my finger at the cashier register, completely oblivious to how it works. felix, the cashier who usually takes the orders around here, bailed on me today. i know he faked that cold, he didn't sound sick over the phone, just hangover.

even though it's snowing outside and a cold would be relatively belieavable- i know he's laying on his couch playing video games. perhaps call of duty or gta, not that i would know, i've only been to his house once.

it was weird don't ask.

''ms. trammells, do you have any idea how these things work?'' i ask, desperation clear on my face.

laughing lowly she shakes her head and digs out her pink, adorable little wallet out of her pink, adorable little purse.

''i am an old human being, lucas.. i pay with what's left in my wallet. would you just do it for me?'' she asks, handing over her tiny old lady wallet that i coo at.

yes, i just cooed at a wallet

''of course, that'll be $3.45.'' i mumble, mostly to myself, as i pick up what feels like a hundred quarters, dimes and pennies. i'm not even sure if you can pay with these anymore but i'll take the blame if someone finds out.

''here you go luke, oh thank you luke, i'll just put these in the register now,'' i speak to myself as i pour the coins into the machine and hand ms. trammells her wallet pack.

smiling brightly at me she nods and lifts her hand to pat my cheek. ''such a silly young boy, i love it.''

trying to prevent my thoughts of pedophilia to occur, i respond to her with an awkward smile before turning and sprinting to the coffee machine.

''what the fuck did she order again,'' i ask myself, having to look down into my sweaty palm to find out.

as i go to praise myself for actually writing it down i end up smacking myself in the forehead when seeing how the words have smudged everywhere.

and it doesn't make it better that those smudged words are now in my forehead.

why did i hit myself with the wrong hand?

''screw it,'' i sigh, walking back to the register, about to hop over it so that i can find the old lady and ask for her order again. (though i would be surprised if she even remembered it herself)

but as i'm about to jump i hear the bell ring, alerting me that there is a new customer who has arrived.

in walks a strange male, strange in the way that he falls through the front door and drops about fifteen sugar packets out of his hoodie.

i always wondered why there were no sugar left for my coffees.