ARI.

I usually don't work this late - strike that, I never work this late. But when Jasey Lopes bats her ridiculously long lashes and asks to trade shifts so she could go to her strikingly gorgeous boyfriend's party, you usually don't say no. Well, at least I didn't. Jasey, yes like the wondrous All Time Low song, and I were on pretty good terms. When our schedules matched up at work, I enjoyed working with her. I didn't have any other "girlfriends" and the tall, blonde-haired, green-eyed girl that every boy wanted to hook up with, unexpectedly became one of the only girls I could truly trust.

And that's how I ended up doing dishes and mopping floors on a glorious Saturday evening while the rest of my peers were engaging in actives that included alcohol, weed, and of course, unprotected fornication. I wasn't totally miserable though. It wasn't like I had anything better to do on a Saturday night. Crazy parties usually weren't my type of scene.

I lived in Percival Shores, California-- a small coastal town brimming with water bugs and fancy, rich folks. It was a predominately Caucasian community and in the midst of all the fair skin and blonde hair, there was me. I stood at a staggering 5 foot 3 with golden-beige skin, and not to mention my hip length deep red hair that stood out in a crowd.

"Hey Ari!"

"Jesus Christ!" I jumped out of my own skin, dropping the mop in my hand and whipping my body around to meet my boss Drea, who stood with her arms up in mock-defense.

"Sorry," she shrugged. "Didn't mean to scare you. You okay?"

I pulled out one bud from my ear, "I'm good. My heart only fell out of my butt hole, but other than that I'm great."

Drea sensed my sarcasm, "ha ha, funny. Can you take out the trash please? I'll finish mopping and then afterwards you can go get yourself into some shenanigans."

"By shenanigans if you mean a tub of salted caramel ice cream and the season DVD's of Pretty Little Liars, then I'm down for a crazy night. I might even throw in some soda - non-diet," I joked.

"Ooo, you're such a rebel," Drea mused and I let out a chuckle.

I wrapped the earbuds around my phone and slipped it into the back pocket of my skinny jeans. One of the reasons why I liked working at the Pier Pressure Shack were the uniforms - there were none. At least not ridiculous ones. We had official red tee shirts with the restaurant's logo on the front and on the back were a pair of numbers along with a name or nickname of our choice. It was like a player jersey, and Drea who was also the owner, really instilled the idea of teamwork into our systems.

The majority of my coworkers chose their last names to be printed on the back of their shirts, while the rest of us, myself included, wanted to be more expressive. That is why instead of my first name Ari, or my second name Quiorz, I decided to go with my nickname: Shutterbug.

If love at first sight exists, then I can safely say that my first shot at love was with a toy camera that my parents bought me for my 7th birthday. From that day forward, photography became my life. My paychecks went into camera lenses, lighting kits, editing softwares, whatever. When it came to capturing moments, I always felt the beauty in the ones worth remembering.

After gathering all the filled trash bags from around the restaurant, I plopped them all onto a long metal cart and pushed it out the back door. The back door led out to a small alleyway where the dumpsters were. Taking out the trash wasn't too big of a deal for me, but on this particular night, chucking guests' leftovers into smelly dumpsters become one hell of an adventure.

"Damn it! How can I be so freaking stupid!"

I stopped rolling the cart and dropped down, hiding behind the huge pile of overstuffed trash bags. I peeked my head to catch glimpse of a figure at the end of the alleyway kicking the dumpster. He was tall, and wore a bright shirt. He raised his fist and collided it with the wall. My eyes widened as he whimpered in pain.

"Ow! Fúck! That was an idiot move. Well I am an idiot! An idiot who--"

He barfed.

"Ugh, gross," I stuck out my tongue in disgust. It was clear to me that this dude was totally drunk, and slightly stupid.

Maybe he wasn't harmful?

I took my chances and stood up from my position. Slowly and with a higher-level of cautiousness, I pushed the cart forward. The sounds of rubber wheels to asphalt caught the guy's attention and he turned his head.

"Who's that?"

"No one in particular? I uh, am just taking out the trash," I answered. I continued forward, and as I got closer to the figure, the street light hit his face and I knew for sure that he was harmless. "Luke Hemmings?"

"How do you know me?" he asked.

"We go to the same school," I answered truthfully. I lifted up the heavy dumpster lid and pushed it with my might. The metal lid crashed against the adjacent wall with a loud, echoing thud. "So why the hell are you out here? Aren't you a few miles away from home?"

Luke shrugged, "I was at a party."

I threw the trash into the bin, "and you left? It's only like one in the morning. I didn't think thee Luke Hemmings left parties early."

"I just got tired okay! I wanted to go home!" he snapped.

"Sorry," I threw my hands up and I observed the boy before me.

Luke Hemmings was the poster child for popularity. He moved here during our Junior year of high school and immediately he was welcomed with open arms. I mean even I had to admit that he was good looking. Tall, blond hair, bright blue eyes, plus he had an awesome Aussie accent. He fit in well with the popular crowd and we rarely spoke, unless it was to borrow a pen or a simple 'excuse me.'

Once again, I pushed the dumpster lid and it plummeted back into its place. I grasped onto the cart handle, "are you going to be okay out here? Do you need me to call a ride for you?"

I waited for a moment till he answered. His mouth didn't open, but his actions spoke louder. He collapsed onto the ground, hiding his head into his knees. I ran after him, crouching down in front of his weakened body.

"Hey Luke, you're not okay. Come on, you need water," I grabbed his arms which hugged his legs and pulled.

He lifted his head, "what are you doing?"

"Taking you inside. You're obviously too drunk to function, and you're in major need of hydration. I can't leave you out here alone," I explained to him. I continued to pull his arms until he stood up. He draped his arm around my shoulder and slowly, I helped him walk back into the kitchen.

When I opened the back door, the sound cued Drea, "that took you a while. What took you so-- who's that?"

"His name is Luke. He's drunk and needs water and carbs to soak up alcohol," I explained quickly. I pulled out a wheelie-chair and pushed Luke into it, who immediately covered his eyes, blinded from the bright florescent lights. Drea grabbed a large bottle of water from the refrigerator along with some leftover garlic bread.

"Here," Drea handed me the supplies.

"Thanks," I said. "Luke drink up, and eat the bread."

"I don't wanna," he wined, and I groaned loudly in annoyance. I should not be babysitting.

"Luke listen to me. You're not going to feel any better unless you rehydrate your system,"

He sat there looking at the water and the plate of bread, as if contemplating whether or not he should take it. Suddenly, his head lifted up and the color drained from his face. He threw the palm of his hand to his mouth and catapulted himself off of the chair and out the back door. I grabbed the water and I followed suit.

I found him sitting against the wall, breathing very heavily, "Luke, you okay buddy?"

"I needed fresh air," Luke stated.

I cocked an eyebrow, "you're sitting in between a puddle of your own vomit and the dumpster."

"There's more air in this outer world,"

"More air in the outer world?" I repeated. This kid was way out of it, "come on, get up. I got an idea."

I held out my hand in front of Luke. He stared at it before looking up at me. Reluctantly, he took my hand and used it as a lever to stand up. When he did, he noticed his shirt, and I did too. Barf. All over his white Polo, collared shirt.

"Sorry," he said, guilt in his tone. I sighed, pulling my own shirt up and over my head. He was lucky that one, I was wearing a tank underneath and two, that I was wearing a size medium shirt that was conveniently unisex.

"Here," I handed Luke the shirt. He lifted his shirt over his body, but the derpball didn't unbutton the shirt and his head got stuck. As he struggled to get his shirt off, I couldn't help but to giggle, and take a peak at his toned chest. Once his shirt was off, he took mine and placed it over his own.

"What now?" he asked.

"Follow me," I said, and proceeded to walk out of the alley way and into the private parking lot. I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure he was still following me, and he was, but as his own pace. Once at my car, I unlocked it and opened the passenger seat. I gestured for him to get in.

"How do I know you're not some crazy killer?" Luke slurred, but sliding into the car anyway. I rolled my eyes and hopped into the driver's seat.

We drove up the road for almost 3 miles to a secret spot wedged in between the neighborhoods. It was an area at the top of the cliffs called Lookout Point where the most beautiful view of the ocean could be seen. Granted, it was very late in the night, so you couldn't see much of the ocean, but the stars - that was a different story. There was a solitary bench where Luke and I sat. I shoved the bottle of water into his hands and made him start drinking it.

"I don't understand why you do all this," I thought out loud.

"Do what?" Luke questioned.

"Drink so much that you feel like crap," I answered bluntly. We both kept our eyes at the view before us, "don't you know your limit?"

"I don't like drinking," Luke unexpectedly admitted and I was taken aback. With furrowed brows, I switched my attention from the crashing waves to him.

"Then why do you do it? It's not like you're being force fed vodka at these parties. You can always say no,"

"You have no idea,"

"No idea about what?"

Luke finally turned his head to face me. He let out a smirk and held up his water, "sorry, I have to drink my water."

I rolled my eyes with a smile, "oh now you want to drink water. I see how it is."

I playfully nudged him in the arm, very surprised that this interaction was even happening. To be frank, Luke could be the biggest jerk on the planet. If you weren't a part of his crew, he was very capable of making your life Hell - I've seen it happen. But in this moment, the Luke that I was currently sitting next to, was not the same Luke I grew to know. Maybe it was the alcohol coursing through his veins that made him nicer, more easier to talk to. If that were the case, too bad I couldn't keep him drunk 24/7.

"Sorry you were working instead of out having fun," Luke apologized. I smiled at him,

"Don't apologize. Parties aren't really my thing-- I am however, missing out on some ice cream and Pretty Little Liars," I informed, a slight snark to my tone.

"Pretty Little Liars?" Luke raised a brow, "seriously? It's all about Psych!"

"What? Psych isn't even that funny. The humor isn't all there," I exclaimed.

"The humor is so there! Shawn and Gus are an amazing duo!" Luke defended, "I wish I had a friendship like Shawn and Gus."

"Don't you have a best friend?" I asked with a raised brow. Luke was one of the most popular guys at Percival Shores High - he practically had 95% of the student body kissing the ground he walks on.

Luke shook his head, "no. Not really. I mean, I have friends, but I honestly can't trust them fully. Like if I start revealing things about myself, they might think I'm some weirdo freak show."

"Hey," I started, placing my hand on his arm, "if you can't be who you truly are in front of your friends, then they really aren't your friends in the first place."

He gazed at me for a moment, as if finding some kind of truth beneath my eyes. He turned his head back to the crashing waves, chugging his water at the same time.

"Can I tell you a secret?" Luke asked and exhaled, as if to banish any remaining anxiousness in him. I nodded in response and he revealed, "I like talking to you."

"You don't know what you're saying. You're drunk," I pointed out.

"Drunk words are sober thoughts," Luke stated confidently, innocently shrugging his shoulders. He continued to drink the last bit of his water. Once finished, he screwed the cap back on and threw it off to the side. I let out a gasp.

"Luke Hemmings! There will be no littering!" I stood up from the bench, walking to the plastic bottle. I bent over and picked it up, chucking it into the trash bin. When I turned around, Luke was cuddled in the fetal position on the bench. He looked peaceful, and kinda cute. I approached him, leaning over and shaking his body slightly, "hey, wake up. I'll drive you home."

He mumbled something, repositioning himself, but grabbing a hold of my legs and hugging my knees like a safety blanket. Almost keeling over, I stopped myself from falling by placing my hands on the back of the bench. I let out a sigh.

"Luke, lift your head," I whispered. I moved my legs and Luke loosened his clutch. I was able to sit back down on the bench, but with Luke's head resting on my lap. I looked down at the passed out, drunk boy who was sporting my tee shirt. Red was his color and I chuckled at the thought. I still couldn't believe this was freaking happening.

I gently caressed his hair, and watched as he fell into a peaceful slumber.

//

Yass! First chappie is up! I hope you all liked it. If you did please vote, comment, and add to your library. Thank you all so much!