sometimesioverreact - Tumblr blog

sometimesioverreact · 9 years

Text

Luke Imagine: Seeing a Fan

Author: Rhine

“I’m telling you, I’m her favourite.”

“Calum, please. Haven’t you heard that drummers bang harder? Sorry mate, but she’d choose me.”

“Listen, everybody is a Michael girl. Just ask Luke.”

The boys turn expectantly turn to the tall blonde, but he’s too busy looking the other way.

“Hey Luke, who do you think – Luke? Hello? Anybody home?”

Michael raps the boy’s forehead with his knuckles, snapping him out of his trance.

“Wha – what, sorry?”

“You know what, just forget it. She’s totally a Michael girl.”

The other boys bicker about it all over again, not-so-hushed whispers and obvious side glances to the girl in the back booth of the store, head down in a book with the wire of earbuds trailing down her 5 Seconds of Summer shirt.

They didn’t notice until they were halfway through their meal on the opposite end of the store – isn’t that our shirt? – and they’ve been having this conversation ever since, trying to decide who would have the honor of talking to her first.

Of course, they saw fans daily – but this was a different twist, one where they’d come up to them first, having a little fun on their day off.

Besides, who wouldn’t want to be surprised by their favourite band member in public on what was supposed to be an uneventful day?

That was the problem – no we can’t all go up to her Ashton what if she faints Calum you don’t even know mouth-to-mouth for Pete’s sake Michael you are yelling shut up – and Luke would usually be one to interject with light side comments every now and then, but he’s too busy.

Staring at you, the girl across the store – but he’s not looking at your shirt with his band’s name across your chest, he’s looking at the way you bite your lip just before you turn the page to the book, he’s wondering what book you’re so engrossed in that you aren’t aware of the dysfunctional table with rising and sitting boys, he’s wondering what song you’re so engulfed in that you can’t even hear their loud whispers.

He’s wondering who you are – not the fan, not the girl in the merch – who you are as the individual sitting in that booth today, what you’re drinking out of the mug and why you draw circles on the table.

Luke isn’t going to lie – you’d catch his eye no matter what shirt you wore, no matter who you were.

But he’s not going to deny the small twinge of satisfaction that he and his music play a role in the person you are today, sitting just by the window, shining in the reflection of the summer sun.

And before he can stop himself – or before the other boys can stop him – Luke is standing up and walking across the store, sidestepping Calum’s lunges at his legs and Michael’s hissed Luke!

The boys are all groaning with their heads in their hands – five dollars he’ll trip before he even reaches her oh my god – but Luke’s set on you despite the tremors of nervousness that was coursing through his veins.

He stands awkwardly at the side of your table, hunching his shoulders in all the most painful ways to decrease his height, even though he’s still looming over your sitting figure.

You look up expectantly – probably your waiter asking you if you wanted a refill or the bill – but you stop short when you see none other than Luke Hemmings smiling down at you with that lip-ring wonky grin.

And the plotline of the novel you were so engrossed in is completely forgotten, the music leaving your head as you pull out your earbuds.

Is this for real?

You’re probably just hallucinating – you knew your drink tasted weird – or maybe you’ve just read too many fanfics before going to sleep, you’re probably sleeping and your head is recreating some sort of warped reality from the words you read before.

You’re looking up at him with your mouth popped open in a little o and Luke can hear the riffs of a guitar melody he was so familiar with coming from the small earbuds that were now dangling from your fingers.

“I love that song – I, well I kind of have to because you know, I sing it and all but I like it too – which is why I sing it. Because I love that song. It’s a good song. But I mean, not that good you know like it’s not the greatest song ever written we’ve still got a long way to go like it’s probably nothing in comparison to some other big bands and their platinum songs – wait, is that your favourite song because if it is then I didn’t mean to bash it oh my god I’m sorry I just – “

He thinks he can hear the other boys groaning from a few tables over.

“Can I have a seat?”

He smiles weakly at you, hoping for some kind of do-over or black vortex to swallow him whole.

You nod faintly, still dazed, and he slides into the seat across from you, thankful for the more even eye level.

“I’m Luke – “

“ – Hemmings.” You squeak out embarrassingly. “Oh my god. I just – I, wow – I can’t believe you’re here talking to me I… you’re my hero.”

He’s a bright shade of red, matching you.

“I-I’m glad you like my music. I, uh – what are you reading?”

You lift the cover of the book for him to see and it’s something he’s never heard of before – he just nods with a little oh that’s nice that trails off awkwardly and you’re left sitting in silence with words that you don’t know how to say.

Luke hears a repeated bang coming from a booth somewhere behind him and he’s fairly certain it’s Michael hitting his head on the table.

You’re biting your lip and avoiding his eyes and Luke doesn’t want to mess this up, he doesn’t want this to be the disaster that he’s so afraid of – long silences and distant eyes, moments where he’s not up to what his name portrays.

He doesn’t want that expectation, he doesn’t want that name, not now – it could buy your attention for a mere moment, but he wants more than that.

“You know, I think I want a job cleaning mirrors.”

The banging on the table gets louder from one of those back booths as you look at him in confusion in his strange comment.

“It’s something I can really see myself doing.”

You meet his eyes for a brief flicker before bashfully looking back at the wooden lines of the table in front of you, a small smile curling on your lips after a breathy giggle escapes your mouth.

A wide grin splits on his face when he sees the curve of your lips and hears the soft laughter from it, his eyes sparkling immediately.

“Did you get it? Because like mirrors and seeing, you know? Do you like it? All the guys told me it was stupid but I swore it was funny they’re just a bunch of pricks see I knew it just took someone with a good sense of humour to understand – “

He’s rambling and this time it’s you who’s looking at the way his shoulders drop without the tension, how animated his eyes are when they match his rushed words.

“Did you think of that yourself?”

“Yeah, while I was brushing my teeth actually – I told Michael right after and he hit me so I haven’t been telling him any of my jokes after that.”

You smile at that and Luke would say anything to keep that happiness on your face.

“Did you want to hear another one?”

He’s lost track of the time.

The other boys have come and left – in the middle of a joke, Luke would remind them, mildly irritated – clasping the blonde on the shoulder and telling him they had to leave, winking at him when they tell him not to be out too late, a side smile at you.

You’re stunned at the sight of them – the three Australians that loomed over you in all their ripped-clothes glory that you saw so often in videos and concerts and pictures that always seemed so far away – now right in front of you.

You manage an awkward little wave and a squeak of a goodbye, but you think the last boy who stays with his gleaming blue eyes is the one who takes your breath away the most.

The way he tilts his head when he laughs, the long fingers that wave to accent his points, the lilt of his words that seem to curve with his smile – he’s laughing at the sound of your own chuckles and he loves the way it sounds like a harmony together, like music he would always put on repeat.

He’s chock full of bad jokes – and even worse when he accidentally lets the punchline slip, but that only makes it better – and it’s mostly him doing the talking with your occasional who’s there or what did they say to lead up to his cheesy finale.

You’re still in awe at the fact that Luke Hemmings would talk to you – come up to you and talk to you – and you barely have the words to say to him, processing even after god knows how long.

There is one question, however, that you can’t let slip.

Did you only talk to me because… because of the shirt?

It was only because you were a fan, you were only a fan to him – not some girl that caught his eye because he wanted something else.

I would’ve come up to you even if you were in a potato sack.

Really?

Yeah, I love potatoes.

He’s laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world and you’re staring at him, amused, a few giggles escaping your lips at his carefree enjoyment.

But the store has to close and you have to leave and you’re certain he has someplace to be – he’s already killed an afternoon with you on a busy schedule and he can’t chance an evening too – and soon you’re standing in front of the doors, yet another silence falling between the two of you.

Not so much the where do we go from here that was in the first one, but more so of a when will we meet again.

He’s trying to catch your wandering eyes and when you finally get the courage to look up at him for the goodbye, the word dies on your lips.

You don’t want this dream to end, not yet.

You’re not ready to be just a fan again, not when you had a taste for something more.

And with shaking hands, you give him your phone, a bashful smile with shaky knees.

“You know, usually people give me papers to sign…”

He jokes, but he’s grateful for your momentary bravery because he wasn’t sure how to ask you himself.

He quickly keys his number into the bright screen, watching the contact save into your phone list as someone you knew, and the thought brings a goofy smile to his face.

And just as he was exiting the screen, he swears he sees a glimpse of himself on the background of the screen before you quickly fumble for the phone again.

“I, uh – thank you.”

You’re certain your cheeks are flames at this point and you can’t bring yourself to look into his eyes – god, he probably thought he just gave his number to some stalker creep – but his smile only widens when he looks down at you.

“Are you a Luke girl?”

He asks the question almost teasingly, finding your rosy cheeks adorable.

“I-um, I like all of you, I mean, I’m a big fan of all – all of… you.”

He’s silent, waiting for another moment with that smirk on his face.

“Yeah. I mean, a… a little.”

The words are so quiet and you pray that it doesn’t reach his ears.

But he throws his head back and lets out a bark of laughter that’s pure happiness and he doesn’t think anyone’s ever made him smile so much in a day.

“I knew it.”

You almost wish the day never happened just so you wouldn’t remember the embarrassment from this moment, but you wouldn’t exchange a minute with Luke for anything in the world.

“I’ll see you soon?”

He says it hopefully and it’s the words you’ve been echoing in your head to him all day long – I hope I can see you again I hope you’ll see me again – but today, reality was making all of your dreams solidified in the form of Luke Hemmings’ smile.

You nod at him, your grin too wide to squeeze any words through.

You chose him, back when you heard that very first song that you couldn’t get out of your head for days afterwards, back when you saw that very first interview and couldn’t keep your eyes off of the quiffed boy sitting at the very end with his shoulders slumped – you sang all of his lines and you wore this shirt thinking of him and all he’s helped you through; you chose him.

And today, he chose you.

more imagines here!

1K notes · View notes