Luke finished clearing the last table in the diner, and moved to the counter. He picked up a dishcloth from a shelf opposite and began to wipe it down, starting from the left like he always did. It had been a long day. The usually quiet period from around 2 o'clock until four was not so quiet. Caesar had gone on holiday for a week, and now Jess had moved back with his mum, Luke had had to do most of the waitering himself. He was almost dead on his feet, but still he dreaded going upstairs to his apartment and bed. He had been feeling so lonely without Jess there. Sure, they barely even talked anyway, but that was not to say that Luke did not enjoy company. His company. Anyone's company. And then.then, there was Lorelai. Oh god, he hated the way she made him feel, especially when she wasn't around. Was it love? Who knows? Every time he saw her smile, or looked into her eyes, his heart jumped. All she needed to do was look at him, and he caved. Every time. It was bad enough she didn't feel the same way, didn't even know the way he felt, but he hated being this vulnerable. Knowing that she could hurt him so easily. That she had hurt him so easily. He supposed it was his own fault really. He had known it was dangerous to fall so deeply. This was Lorelai Gilmore. And whether or not him, herself, or anyone else wanted to admit it, the truth was that she did seem to hurt every man she got involved with. But he had figured long ago there was rarely anything he could do to stop it. But at the same time he had also figured that these feelings would have to die sometime, right? He had tried to repress them; he still was trying, in fact. And if the only way to get her out of his head was to stop seeing her, no matter how much it hurt, then that was what he would have to do. He understood that there was no chance between them, so did everything he could to prevent her from understanding the way he felt. He knew her. If she knew the way he felt, knowing that she could not reciprocate those feelings, she would blame herself, believing that she had hurt him. He would not let her suffer the way he had. So he had yelled at her. Appeared angry and mad, when all he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and make all her troubles disappear. It had worked. He had only seen her a few times in days. She had tried to apologise. He couldn't accept it. It touched him, that their friendship meant so much to her. He often thought to himself 'Being in love sucks, if you ask me.' He had imagined her breezing into the dinner many a time, wrapping her arms around his neck, smiling that incredible smile up at him and kissing him fiercely, before confessing her undying love for him. But he knew it wasn't going to happen. He was sick of the indecisions. The almost kisses, the secret smiles, the flirtatious banter. The way he saw it, it was all or nothing, as harsh as that may be.