Cook being your brother’s best friend was probably the worse thing that could ever happen. He was annoying, for one. With a terrible habit of getting into people’s personal space without asking— especially yours.
When he comes over, he never wastes time in kicking off his shoes and making himself at home. Lounging on the couch liked he lived here, rummaging through the fridge like he paid bills, sitting at your computer desk (that’s only located in your room) with an explicit movie playing on high volume.
Your mom treats him like a second son, your brother treats him like a brother— but you? You think he’s that one stray dog you can’t ever get rid of because someone keeps feeding it and won’t ever let it think it’s alone.
He teases you endlessly, calls you a crybaby when you whine and complain that he’s overbearing and annoying. You thought your brother was worse but Cook was the icing on the cake.
But then something happens. You get caught up in school with the wrong crowd— the easiest target to bullying. You come home with tears streaming down your face and like always, he’s sitting on the couch with his hands shoved in a bag of chips. The moment he hears you come in, sniffing and groaning that you can’t take it anymore, he immediately rushes to your side to ask what happened.
“It’s nothing,” you say, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand.
“Can’t be nothin’ if your crying more then usual— thought those tears were only saved for me?” He teases, trying to cheer you up but there isn’t anything left for you to say.
“Point to them, I’ll handle em’.” He says almost instantly.
You do, thinking he was joking. He’s always joking.
He comes back a few hours later with a bloody nose and red knuckles, panting and groaning that he should stop eating so much snacks and restrict himself to a healthier diet.
Nobody else is home. Your brother is out somewhere. Your mom is at work. It’s just you and him, stuck in the kitchen while you grill him on about what happened.
“Roughed them fuckers up for ya— did a big one on the tall one too. Trust me, they look worser than me.”
“Why’d you do it?”
“Cause they made you cry.”
While your cleaning the blood from his hand, fingers warm against the bottom of his palm— he gives you a look that tells you that this was something more then him trying to defend your honor.
Your lips turn, brows furrowed. “You always make me cry. What’s the difference?”
He blinks, the curls on his head ruffles against his forehead when he tilts his head, and you feel his hand wrap around yours— rough and yet delicate enough to hold your own.
“I’m the only one that gets to do that.”
You tell yourself it was because of the heat of the moment. Two individuals of the opposite sex left alone and unsupervised. But the way he looked at you, like you were one of the only people who mattered in his life broke something in you.
After that, things change.
He still comes over, he still annoys you, but theres this lingering gaze riddle inbetween that’s impossible to ignore.
You think your mind is playing tricks on you— that could only be the logical reasoning to this change in his behavior. And yet, you don’t feel put off by it. There’s a thump in your heart and warmth to your cheeks when he comes around that’s impossible to stop and perhaps, you don’t want it to stop.
…maybe he wasn’t the worse thing after all.
𐔌 authors note ꒱ I brought this up to the server and it made me think long and hard…
