My Darling Bastard: Chapter 5

    Chapter 5: Beck

"Why are you so quiet?" Luke asks, wiping the paint off one of his brushes and surveying his canvas with a frown. I sigh from where I am sitting in one of his two threadbare, overstuffed arm chairs, which he got at a thrift store for twenty bucks.
"Moodiness is not the answer," Luke chides, carefully dipping his brush into a blue color. Paint is splattered all over his arms and his ratty t-shirt, but that's just usual for a Saturday.
"I'm not being moody!" I exclaim, before realizing that by doing this, I display a lot of moodiness. Luke raises an eyebrow at me, smirking with the opposite side of his face.  
I sigh again. "Okay, maybe just a bit…"
"And are you going to tell me why?" Luke prompts.
"Do I have a choice?" I ask wistfully. Luke shakes his head joyfully. "Nope."
"Rye broke up with me a few minutes ago," I say.
Luke looks puzzled. "So… that means she'll be back over here in a few hours. What's the problem?"
For the third time, I sigh. "I don't know." I sound irritated, but it doesn't offend Luke. He's used to my irritation by now.
"Well, no use crying over spilt milk," Luke shrugs, not entirely making sense. "Speaking of milk," I say, frowning, "I'm starving."
"We could go down to Fenton's?" Luke suggests, wiping the paint off of his brush onto a ragged towel and standing up. "They don't mind colorful arms." He grins, brandishing his paint-splattered arms in my direction. They definitely are colorful, to say the least.
"Alright, I could use a sandwich," I say. Luke nods fervently. "Yeah, and I could use a coffee without dried paint stains on the mug."
I smile at that, and Luke grabs his coat and slips it on before leading the way out into the hall.
It takes about fifteen minutes to walk from campus to Fenton's. When we get there, we are greeted by John Fenton, the owner himself. "Beck! Luke! Good to see you," he says. Luke and I nod back, "Hello."
"So," John says. "What'll it be?"
We tell him what we want before heading over to our usual table in the back corner. About five minutes later, he calls our names and we go back to the counter to get our stuff.
"Where's Rye?" John asks brightly. I try not to scowl, I really do.
"Fighting again?" John is smiling, very slightly, so where I almost can't see it. Luke nods for me. "Well," John says, looking at me. "Hope you sort it out."
We sit back down at our table, me considerably more moody, I'll admit. Though, not as moody as I am when Rye and Darla walk in.