02. who's daddy?

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Between waking up at 6am the next morning and getting ready for school at exactly 6:05, I virtually had no time to check my phone. I just shut my alarm off, trudged my way down the stairs, ate breakfast, and slowly made my way back up again.

The clock read 6:30, giving me plenty enough time to procrastinate my life away until I had to start getting dressed. This was a normal routine for me. This 'routine' usually started off with me waking up on time, but procrastinating so much to the point that I may as well have stayed in bed for another half hour and it still wouldn't have made any difference.

"Did you wake up late?" Ashley asks me now, unlocking the passenger's side of the truck labelled Puzzywagon. What was once a drunken carpool mistake, she ended up keeping; much to the dismay of her super-strict parents.

I shake my head, climbing in and doing a double take to wave at the two other girls in the backseat. "Nah," I say. I then turn to look back, my eyes landing on both Chloe and Bailey; the other half of our little group. "Hey, you guys."

"Hi, Mrs Hemmings." Chloe says chirpily, staring down at her phone in amusement.

I roll my eyes, clicking my seatbelt on. "You too?"

"Can't help it. It's all they've been talking about," she tells me, gesturing between both Ashley and Bailey. As the pick-up speeds down the neighbourhood, she smiles at me. "Have you done the literature homework?"

"Oh, fuck." I sigh, leaning my head against the seat. I glance out of the window, not even attempting to think about all of the missed work I have to catch up on due to how I'm both incompetent and extraordinarily lazy. "No, I haven't."

"Wanna borrow mine?" she already has it out of her bag and as I release a small sigh of relief, I take it from her with a grateful smile.

"I owe you one."

The drive to school is quick and painless; painless because I have one less thing to worry about, and quick because Ashley is colourblind and can't tell a red stoplight from a green one. That's her excuse, at least. It almost always fails when she tries to explain it to a cop, though, main point being her unruly head of multicoloured hair.

"So, explain this to me," Bailey says, hands in her pockets as we walk down the hallway and to the library. The best thing about Tuesdays is that I have a free period first thing in the morning; again, one less thing to worry about. "The Luke thing."

"Oh, god," I sigh, as we take our seats furthest away from the counter at the front. "Can we not go five minutes without talking about that?"

"No, we can't. Because we still haven't talked about it," she tells me, poking my arm.

"What is there to talk about?"

"Ashley told us you were going to delete your account last night," Bailey says, her voice a hushed tone once the woman at the desk raises her eyebrow at us.

I just shrug, taking the paperback book of Death of a Salesman out of my bag so it looks like I'm doing work. "So what if I was?"

"Have years of reading and crying over Fanfiction taught you nothing?" she asks me, in a scolding tone as she folds her arms. "This is a golden oppurtunity, Soph! Take it."

"What's so golden about it? So he spoke in a chat, big deal. I bet he didn't even mean to reply to that. He probably opened the DM, thought we were someone else-"

"Are you done?" Bailey interrupts me blankly, looking just about ready to fall asleep. "Please tell me you are."

Again, I roll my eyes. "My point still stands."

"And I still believe that your point is stupid."

"Shh!" the librarian hisses, and it's all I can do not to scowl in her direction.

For a Tuesday, the day goes by surprisingly fast. Second period is spent daydreaming over Ashton Irwin and his abnormally long fingers, as well as the third, and even a bit of the forth before I start thinking of Calum's basslines. Fifth period is when I wordlessly begin to shift into Michael's lane, and Chloe has to nudge me several times in the lesson just so I don't fall asleep because of it. Again, it's like a routine.

Normally, I'd be thinking about the blonde with the guitar and the microphone and the hole in his lip where his lip ring should be (in which I, a proud Luke girl and devoted fan of his 2014 phase, an still waiting for a comeback). But everytime I try to, I find my mind wandering to what happened just the night before, and I shiver at the thought of him laying eyes on my Instagram account.

Long story short, it's easier to push Luke Hemmings to the back of my mind for now unless I want to go absolutely insane.

I crash through the front door, tossing my bag onto the floor before rubbing my eyes. You don't have to be a genius to see just how unbelievably exhausted I am. I have no doubts that I currently look more dead than I do alive.

"What happened to you?" a voice asks, amusement coating their tone, and I look up; one eye blocked by my fingers, the other on Dylan Hadley.

Propped up on my kitchen stool, a hot dog halfway into his mouth and a messy island surrounding him, he sends a wide, cheeky grin my way. I can't say I'm surprised to see him here. Being a close family friend and our next door neighbour, Dylan has a spare key to every single door in the house; giving him unspoken permission to come and go whenever he pleases.

Unfortunately enough for me, I had no say whatsoever when my parents decided it would be a good idea to trust him with the keys, so I'm stuck with Dylan for as long as he feels like pissing me off. Which he can do for a very long time- it's happened before.

"What are you doing here?" I ask him. I question him with the same thing every single day and I almost always get the same reply;

"Chillin'."

"Can you not chill in your own house?" I ask him again, walking around the kitchen island to grimace at the mess. Discarded crisp packets and the odd empty candy bar wrapper crowds the marble, making me sigh at the thought of cleaning it up.

"I could, but Chase has been having these really freaky vegan lifestyle kicks lately, and it's freaking me out," - Chase Berkley, his boyfriend and the other half of the house next to us- "All there is to eat at home is like, the odd cucumber. And you know how much I hate cucumbers."

"Would it be horribly insensitive of me to make a gay joke right about now?" I ask him, somewhat playfully, and he narrows his eyes.

"Ha-ha, very funny," Dylan says, folding his arms. "I should like cucumbers because I'm a homosexual male and I like it up the butt. Jeez, Soph, where's your originality?"

I laugh, shaking my head slightly before crumpling up a few of the empty wrappers, dropping them in the bin on my way out. Dylan follows close behind me, texting busily on his phone.

"You wanna know what I find hilarious?" he asks me, as I take a seat on the piano stool. Out of all the pieces of furniture I begged my parents to get, this has to be my favourite one. Hands down.

"What?" I ask him, spinning around to tap the keys. I've been meaning to learn how to play properly for quite some time now- I've just never gotten around to it. Procrastination at it's finest.

"Your followers know practically nothing about you," Dylan says, throwing his head back and placing his phone face-flat on the armrest of the couch. I raise an eyebrow, looking back over my shoulder at him.

"What do you mean?"

"They probably all think you're some fuck-crazed nympho who works at some super-secret-spy sex club," he starts, and I crack a small smile. "When in reality, you're just an exhausted English Literature student who has never touched a dick in her life."

"Excuse me, but-"

"Dildos don't count."

I smirk, looking away from Dylan with another simple shrug. "I never outright said I'm not a virgin."

"Your captions say otherwise," he scoffs lightly, spinning his phone around so that it faces me. I purse my lips together to prevent myself from laughing; it's a picture that Dylan himself helped me take a while back, of a very short black skirt and a tight green jumper. "'Can Daddy choke me, please'?" Dylan reads, rather slowly. He then raises an eyebrow at me. "Who's Daddy, Sophie?"

"Luke Hemmings."

"You're vile," he notes, making me laugh as I turn back around to face him. "Honestly, though. What the hell would you do if- one day- he saw all of this?" I watch as Dylan scrolls down my entire feed, the upper corner of his lip twitching.

Once again, I heave my shoulders up and again, the appropriae thing to say not seeming to make an appearance in my mind. "Probably die."

"Literally, internally, or..?"

"Both. I'd probably jump off that terrace," I say, pointing to the window. Although Dylan laughs, I can tell he thinks I'm being serious, for the sound of it fades into reluctance. "Dyl, don't you have anything better to do other than to stalk my social media accounts?"

"Not really. I find it amusing,"

"You might find it amusing. I find it very creepy." I say.

"Says the girl who cums over Luke Hemmings' jawline," Dylan retorts sassily, flipping the phone over once again to show me a picture that Luke posted not too long ago.

I'm not even ashamed to admit that, 1. his jawline makes me feel a certain type of way, 2. his face makes me feel a certain type of way, and 3. knowing that Luke Hemmings alive, and breathing, and on this earth, combines all of those feelings together in a really weird, oddly satisfying and very sexually frustrating 'way'.

"Ew. Are you drooling?" Dylan asks me, and I gasp in shock before reaching a hand up to cover my mouth. When I feel nothing there, I glare at him as he laughs. "I was kidding! Jesus, Soph, you should have seen the look on your face."

"That's not funny, Dylan." I frown, wiping at nothing in particular on my mouth anyway. He just shrugs.

"Well, it made me laugh."

"Right. And is that all you came here to do? To laugh at me?" I ask him, resorting only now to taking my own phone out. Dylan's answer doesn't even have the chance to register properly in my mind, for my Instagram notifications prevent me from paying full attention to whatever he has to say.

Furrowing my eyebrows, I watch as each notification becomes old news, only to be replaced by a new one each time. A new follower, a new comment, a new like on one of my pictures. Never has my feed been this busy before.

"Sophie?" Dylan pauses, cutting his rambling short once he realises my stunned silence. I flicker my gaze back up at him, confused out of my goddamn mind until I let my eyes fall onto a few random comments.

Omg, why is he following her?

YOU KINKY BOY @lukehemmings

This is why you stay in Calum's lane

LUKE HEMMINGS' DADDY KINK: cumfirmed

"Soph, what's going on?" Dylan asks me, craning his neck to take a quick look at my phone. I ignore him, for I'm in a sense of stunned silence as I switch to my Followers list; internally alarmed at how quickly my rates are going up. I haven't even posted today.

I'm about to look up again, to tell Dylan that I have no fucking idea, and that I have no clue as to how my account has suddenly blown up out of nowhere- when, right at the bottom of my feed, two notifications away from disappearing altogether, I see it. And to say that my heart stops would be an understatement; it falls, flips, and sinks to the very pit of my stomach.

started following you.

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