The Stepbrother // Luke Hemmings

It's Kind of Our Thing

Gosh, I love this gif so mUCH!

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It's Kind of Our Thing

I have cramps. 

Like, seriously bad cramps. Which really, can only mean one of two things. One, somehow I've managed to contract food poisoning in my sleep, or two, it's that time of the month again and Mother Nature is not holding back on letting me feel her wrath.  

I roll my head to the side, exhausted. Outside, it's raining. Light, soft and misty, peeks through my rose-colored curtains; painting my walls a muted peach. 

Downstairs in the kitchen, someone's burning pancakes and across the hall, the bathroom faucet repeatedly splutters on and off. My eyes roll upwards. Luke is the only person I know that feels the need to rinse his mouth a million times when he's brushing his teeth! 

"Fcking hell." Being super mindful of my sprained arm, I twist over on my side and draw my knees up to my stomach. I should probably go use the bathroom and make sure everything's copacetic downstairs, but as long as Luke's in there, I can't. Thus, I attempt to focus back on watching the morning cartoons that are splayed across my bedroom television.  

Insanely enough, watching Curious George try to figure out how he can paint a picture on a billboard is the only thing that can keep my mind off of the steady throbbing in my pelvic area. It's a rerun, but it's cutesy and entertaining enough that I don't mind. That is, of course, if I was only able to hear it. The obnoxious clatter of pots and pans combined with Andrew's off-key singing carry upstairs, making actually hearing anything else impossible. 

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," I whine; my toes curling in pain. 

Something tugs sharply below my belly button and with another annoyed groan, I writhe beneath my covers. If this is the price I have to pay just to make sure that I'm going to be able to chase little, snotty nosed, brats around in my thirties, then I'd rather be a guy. Seriously. 

After another few minutes of watching George make an ass out of himself and trying to keep my mind off of my cramps, I realize that ... I can't. I will definitely be abusing some of Dr. Kingstons's specifically prescribed pills today. It's a pain reliever, I'm in pain. Need I say more?

I finger-comb my waves into decency and then, I slip out of bed and head out into the hallway. For the most part, everything feels fine and dry; just the symptoms, then. Walking across the hall to the bathroom, I knock on the door twice and then twist the knob; it's unlocked. But, then again, it's always unlocked. 

"Luke?" I call out, rapping against the door, again. "Can I come in? Do I need to shield my eyes?"

I give him a second to respond, we're still not exactly on good terms.  He doesn't say anything, I so I figure, it's okay, and I push the door completely open before, walking in. 

Luke is standing in the mirror with a toothbrush hanging out the corner of his mouth and neatly arranging the ends of his hair that peeks from underneath a backward hat. Immediately, my eyes are drawn to the Batman band-aid that surprisingly, he's still wearing. I want to laugh, hell -- I almost do. But, then, I catch sight of his hips and the slimming cotton-grey joggers that hang off them and it instantly catches in my throat.

Eyes glance over at me and he pulls his toothbrush from his mouth, "Oh, hey. Good morning."

I blink. Wait, he's actually talking to me? 

I literally ignored him for three days for practically ... nothing (if we're being honest), caused him to get a black eye and then, left him hanging to be with Ashton, and he's still talking to me?