You || luke hemmings - 5sos {au}

one

                  I remember watching him. Staring at his beautiful face and watching his skilled hands as he strummed his guitar. I remember falling in love with him; and I remember knowing that he and I would never be anything more than what we were. I remember it hurting, but I also remember staring into his captivating blue eyes and despite how much it hurt or would hurt me, I remember giving him my heart regardless of everything that I knew he would put me through.

                 I’m going to tell you a story of how a girl loved a boy much more than herself. How they fell in love and laughed and cried. How everything was beautiful… until at the snap of someone’s fingers… everything came c r a s h i n g  d o w n.

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               “And what is your name?” I asked the person on the other end of the line.  I was sipping on my tea and writing down information in my “everything” notebook. It was a mess, but I still brought it with me everywhere, wrote in it everywhere, drew in it even. It was a reflection of me and what goes through my mind and right now what was going through my mind was this chamomile tea and the not-so-familiar-Australian accent on the phone.

                   “Luke Hemmings,” he answered bluntly. The conversation from then on was very general and somewhat friendly. This “Luke Hemmings” had given me the information I needed and even referred me to a guitar shop for repairs and such. Afterword’s, I told him goodbye and quickly ended the call.

               The Martin guitar on the wall seemed to be calling my name. I carefully took it off of the plain white wall. You see, I knew nearly nothing about guitars or guitar in general. The only reason I knew that the guitar in my hand was a Martin is because I had read the tag connected to the head of the staff—or whatever it’s called. A thin layer of dust covered the wood since it had been in storage, but I trust that this unfamiliar instrument it still works.

                The only reason this guitar was even in my hands was because my step-father had been throwing out things after his son’s death. It was supposed to be his birthday present. Unfortunately he never received it.

                Positioning the guitar, I strummed down. A horrifying sound vibrated throughout me and my roommates little dorm room. I cringed and looked back at her bed, only—she was out—probably in her boyfriend’s room breaking up with him. Bay told me what she had planned to do and I didn’t blame her. Jay was a jerk and they had literally nothing in common. He was a jock and she was a—erm—free spirit?

                 Just as I had thought of her, Bay ever-so-confidently walked swiftly into our room slamming the door behind her. “How’d it go?” I asked.

                Bay had plopped down on her bed and released a massive sigh. She turned her head in my direction and met my green-blue orbs with her nearly purple ones. I say nearly purple because they were in fact, nearly purple. According to the country of Australia and also the U.S., her eyes are blue though.

               She flips her long periwinkle colored hair dramatically behind her shoulders. “Great, but I think it’s time for some change. Will you help me?” she tells me in her American accent.

            I place the guitar against the wall. “Of course,” I giggle, rolling my eyes.

           “I’m serious!” she gives me a playful slap on my arm. Bay holds up a pair of scissors and clips them together mischievously. “I was thinking about shoulder length and maybe some ‘tumblr bangs.’”

                “You are ridiculous. You’re like the fucking 21st century black widow!” I exclaim, beginning to chop off approximately six inches of hair.