「 it's you // lrh 」(complete)

04 \\ ᴛʜᴇɴ

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To say that this essay was being a real pain in the ass would be an understatement. Firstly, the struggle was real: I was two seconds away from feeling like Spongebob when he tried to get his essay done for boating school—and I'm not even joking. I wish I was. Secondly, it was due the following day and the imminent all-nighter I was going to have to pull was already stressing me out.

The only thing that was managing to calm me down ―at least a little bit― was the sound of Luke's guitar. He was practising his latest song and damn if he wasn't talented: his fingers produced such flawless notes that could make any acclaimed guitarist ashamed.

This guy could ask me to make the soundtrack of my life and I would gladly let him.

As I have mentioned, Luke and I were friends. Best friends, actually. It was no surprise: Luke's upbeat attitude could conquer even the toughest of the people—and I wasn't going to be the exception, no matter how many walls I tried to build up.

After 'the incident' (that is how we liked to call it), I found myself seeing Luke way more in just one day than I had done in the previous two years I knew him. He looked for me and asked how I was doing after the pathetic show that Conrad put on. Obviously, by the time everything involving Conrad became irrelevant, Luke started to bring up even the silliest of the excuses to stay around. But I had already started to grow fond of him by then, it was hard not to―after all, behind all that gossiping that surrounded him, he was just a really laid-back guy that enjoyed playing the guitar and composing music.

Still, his popularity remained quite intimidating throughout the rest of high school.

Luke and I eventually reached the point in which we told each other everything: from our deepest and most embarrassing secrets, to what we had for breakfast―nothing was exempted. He was the first to know that I was admitted to college, and I was the first to know that he was choosing music as his major even though his parents didn't understand nor support his decision. We were like that. We were the firsts we would look for in need of advice or in need of a shoulder to cry on.

Suddenly, the music stopped and silence took over my room. Being too focused on Harper Lee's writing style, a few minutes (and Luke's voice calling me several times) passed until I realized that he wasn't playing the guitar anymore.

"Hey, Ali?" His voice sounded nothing like the usual. In fact, it felt tiny, almost shy; so unlike him that it made me turn in my chair and face him. Luke was sitting on the edge of the bed, fidgeting and staring at the floor. The instrument was lying forgotten next to him.

"I thought you were going to ask for my opinion on your new piece," I said, eyeing the guitar with a frown on my face.

"Um, yes, I kinda need your opinion... But it's not exactly about my new music."

"Yeah?" I raised an eyebrow. This was getting suspicious since he didn't mock my 'fancy' choice of words. He always did. "What's going on?"

"Remember Tiffany?"

"Tiffany, Tiffany..." There must have been at least forty girls called Tiffany in our campus, so recalling whosever face he was referring to was quite hard. Then, it clicked. "Ah, you're talking about the girl in my Literature class, right?" When he nodded in response, I asked: "What about her?"

"We've been seeing each other for a while..." Did he say a while? Why was I just finding out?! He finally dared to look at me. "And I was thinking to properly ask her out."

This came out as a surprise, I must admit. As much as I loved Luke, he was just in for... You know, flings. One night stands. Whatever they are called. A girl didn't linger around him for more than a week... Better, he didn't linger around one of them for more than a week.