Coming Up For Air

6.1

"Breathing gets harder when you're stuck all by yourself
And your heart it beat frantically for someone else."

⚑ Luke ⚐

As soon as the plane touched down in the Sydney airport, Luke was ablaze with movement, pulling his backpack from the overhead compartment and shuffling through his pockets for his customs papers and his passport. He broke every airplane etiquette rule he'd ever been taught when he maneuvered around people gently but firmly and forced himself to the front of the plane. The flight attendant glared daggers at him, and he wished he had enough time to tell her why he needed to get off in such a hurry, but he didn't, so he just grimaced an apology.

The doors opened, and he used his long legs to his advantage, power-walking off the flight deck to customs, were he was processed quickly, since he had dual citizenship, and then he was in the arrivals bay, and everybody was hugging and crying but not Luke--no. He kept moving, out the gates to the front of the airport, to the transportation station where a long line of taxis were waiting to be filled. He hopped in the nearest one.

"This address, please." Luke said, unfurling the crumpled piece of paper he'd had lodged in his fist since Michael's mum had given it to him the day before. It was Ashton's home--or at least, where London Uni'd been sending the bills. In other words, Luke's only hope.

The cabby nodded and peeled out. Luke was tempted to ask if he could go faster, but they were already traveling at a rather hurtling pace, so he decided to stay silent.

The ride went both more quickly and more slowly than Luke imagined it would, and when they pulled up in front of a shockingly average one-story suburban home, all the anti-climatic-ness of the situation came crashing down around his shoulders in waves. He'd been imagining Ashton on the front porch, waiting to be swept off his feet while two innocent children played in the yard and an aged yet kindly grandmother observed from the background.

This house didn't have a front porch, and the only thing in the yard was a pink bicycle with tassels hanging off the handlebars. Luke swallowed his mild indignation at the universe for not sticking to his plan.

"Can you, um...wait here? Just for a second? Keep the meter running if you want. I just have to..." Luke trailed off as he nudged his door open. "I'll be back."

"Better." The cabby muttered.

Luke walked up the front steps and rang the doorbell and felt on fire.

He waited for seven seconds before the door was pulled open by who Luke could only assume was Ashton's grandmother. And she was the absolute opposite of what he had imagined the kindly old woman to look like in his vision.

She was skinny, and small, and all frizzy grey hair that was as big as she was. She had the exact same color eyes as Ashton, except sharper, somehow, like if she looked at you too hard, it might actually start to hurt. Luke gaped and swallowed air, lost for words.

The tiny woman raised her eyebrows.

"Well?" She said, her voice rough and full of rust. "Who are you, then? Why're you at my house?"

Luke swallowed and tried to gather himself.

"Um, I'm looking for Ashton. Is he home?" He asked, attempting to keep his voice even. The woman narrowed her eyes at him.

"Ashton's out. Why do you want to see Ashton?"

"He's, um--he's an old friend. I heard he was back in town." Luke decided lying through his teeth was better than telling the truth, if what Ashton had told him about his grandmother was true.