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Luke woke up feeling like he’d spent the night getting punched in the brain. His eyes were gritty, his mouth dry, and every part of him felt heavy. like gravity had just decided to triple overnight.
The happy dream still lingered somewhere in the back of his head, half-faded but sharp enough to sting. The version of him that had felt right, whole and effortless. It was all gone now, replaced by the usual ache sitting in his chest.
He groaned softly and rolled out of bed, shoving his legs into a pair of black sweatpants and pulling on the brightest hoodie he owned. It was blinding orange, the colour of traffic cones and bad moods. It didn’t make him feel better, but at least it made him harder to miss.
By the time he trudged downstairs, the smell of breakfast had already filled the kitchen. There was coffee, toast, and something frying in a pan. His parents moved around each other like they were in a commercial for a happy family, Mom flipping pancakes, Dad humming along to some old song on the radio. Luke dropped into a chair at the table like he did every Saturday, arms folded on the surface, chin sinking down until his cheek touched the wood. He felt like a zombie pretending to be human.
“Morning, sweetheart,” Mom said brightly.
“Mm,” Luke mumbled. It was the best he could do.
He stared blankly at the plate of pancakes she set down, but before he could even reach for the syrup, footsteps thundered down the stairs. Two sets. Loud ones. Annoying ones. He didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.
Gabe stumbled in first, hair a mess. And what the fuck? He was wearing sunglasses indoors. Right behind him was Young, looking just as bad. The boy was pale, his eyes half-shut and his expression lost somewhere between regret and nausea.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Luke muttered under his breath as they barrelled into the kitchen.
Mom turned with a smile that was way too chipper for the situation. “Rough night, boys?”
Gabe grinned sheepishly. “Just a little. Team party got… loud.”
Young groaned, rubbing his temples. “Loud is an understatement.”
Luke picked at his pancakes, refusing to look at either of them. He could still hear the echo of his deadname from last night, bouncing around his head like a bruise that wouldn’t fade. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t trust himself to. Fuck, Luke wished it was just him and the quiet again.
Gabe slumped into the chair across from Luke and immediately stole a pancake off his plate. Luke didn’t even bother stopping him. He just sighed and stabbed another one with his fork.
Young hesitated near the doorway for a second, clearly debating whether to sit down or collapse on the floor. In the end, he slid into the seat beside Gabe, looking every bit like he wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
Mom poured coffee into two mugs and set them down in front of the two older boys. “You both look awful,” she said.
“We feel awful,” Gabe replied.
“Serves you right for drinking so much,” she scolded, shaking her head and tutting. “Eat something before you go back to bed.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Davies,” Young muttered, taking a cautious sip that immediately made him wince.
Luke smirked under his breath. “Careful. It’s hot. Wouldn’t want to hurt that precious tongue.”
“Luke,” Dad warned quietly, not even looking up from his newspaper from where he was now sat at the breakfast table.
Luke shrugged. “What? Just trying to help.”
His dad ignored him.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were the clinking of forks and the hum of the radio.
From across the table, Luke saw Gabe nudge Young’s arm. Their eyes met and it seemed like they were having some sort of telepathic conversation because all Luke could see was their eyes staring into each other and their eyebrows moving in weird ways.
Luke kept his eyes glued to his plate, pretending the pancake crumbs were suddenly fascinating. But he could feel Young glancing at him now. They were quick, guilty looks that burned at the edge of his vision. Gabe gave his best friends arm one last harsh nudge.
Finally, Young winced and cleared his throat. “Hey, uh… about last night.”
Luke froze mid-bite, his jaw tightening. He slowly looked up and saw Young staring at him. The older boys brown eyes flickered away briefly. He was totally being awkward right now and Luke didn’t know whether to laugh at him or make him feel worse. He chose the option to stay quiet for now.
“I was drunk,” Young continued awkwardly. Both the parents in the room slowed their pace. Their mom slowly took a seat at the table and his dad lowered the newspaper just slightly to watch the scene in front of him. Young cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean anything by what I said. You know? The whole name thing. I didn’t realise it was…I mean…I just—”
Luke dropped his fork, the clatter loud enough to make both parents flinch. “You just what? Forgot my name? Thought it’d be funny to be an asshole after I basically mothered you and got you something to eat so you wouldn’t throw up?”
Young blinked, looking like he wanted to disappear into his coffee mug. “No, man, I just—”
“I’m not your ‘man,’ asshole,” Luke snapped. “And if you’re gonna apologise to me, maybe don’t make it sound like a dumb joke.”
Gabe rubbed his face, groaning softly. “Luke, can we not do this right now? He’s trying to say sorry.”
Luke laughed bitterly. “Sure. God forbid your best friend has to feel uncomfortable for five seconds. The great lacrosse star. He’s probably only apologising because you forced him to.”
“So what if he is?” Gabe said sassily. “It’s more than what anyone else does.”
The air went tense. Even the radio seemed quieter.
Mom placed a careful hand on Luke’s shoulder, voice soft. “Sweetheart, maybe give it a rest, okay? I’m sure whatever happened yesterday was an accident.”
Luke pushed his chair back, the legs scraping loud against the floor. “Yeah, sure. An accident. It’s always a fucking accident. Whatever. I’m not hungry anymore. I’ve lost my fucking appetite!”
Without another word, he stormed out the kitchen.
As he walked away, he heard Young murmur something that sounded like, “I’m sorry. Didn’t think it’d hit a nerve.”
And Gabe, quiet but firm: “It’s not a nerve, dude. It’s his name. It’s a big deal.”
Luke swallowed hard, throat burning. He didn’t stick around to hear the rest. He just went upstairs, slammed his door, and sat on the edge of his bed, pressing his palms into his eyes until all he could see were colours. He told himself he didn’t care. He told himself Young’s opinion didn’t matter. But the truth was, it did. Everyone’s opinion did. And that’s what made Luke’s life so much harder.
Luke didn’t leave his room for the rest of the day. He sat at his desk, half-heartedly working through his math homework, the numbers blurring together until he gave up and started doodling in the margins instead.
After that, he just scrolled. Through TikTok. Through Instagram. Through whatever app would distract him long enough to make the day move faster.
It didn’t work.
Everything he saw just made him feel worse.
Other kids posting selfies with their friends at the mall. Group photos from parties he hadn’t even known were happening. Even people from school he’d barely spoken to were out there living their lives like it was easy.
Luke tossed his phone onto the bed besides him, staring at the ceiling.
He used to have friends back when things were simpler, when everyone still called him Lola and he tried so hard to fit in with girls who talked about makeup and boys and prom. He’d spent years pretending to care about all that stuff, smiling through the exhaustion of it, just to feel like he belonged. Then he came out. And it was like someone flipped a switch and everyone suddenly decided he was too complicated to deal with. Some people were polite about it. Some weren’t.
But the end result was the same. Now he had empty weekends, a phone that barely buzzed, and a silence that stretched through every corner of his life.
He glanced over at the framed photo on his desk: Gabe holding a trophy, grinning with his arm around him. It was back when Luke still had long blond hair and a fake smile. Their parents had insisted on taking that picture after Gabe’s first big lacrosse win last year. It had been everywhere: on the fridge, in the living room, even posted online.
“Gabe Davies, the future all-star!” everyone had said.
And Luke had just been the sister in the background. Even now, nothing had changed. Gabe was still the golden boy, the captain, the guy everyone liked, the one who could get away with anything because he had that stupid charming grin that made teachers forgive him and girls giggle.
And Luke? Well, he was the opposite of all that.
He sighed, rubbing his eyes and trying to shake the bitterness out of his chest.
It was already getting dark when he heard a soft knock on his door.
“Go away,” he called automatically.
“Too bad,” came Gabe’s annoying voice through the wood. “I’m coming in.”
The door creaked open slowly and Gabe leaned against the door frame, his arms crossed. He was still wearing that same dumb smug grin, but there was a flicker of guilt underneath it this time.
“Hey,” he said. “You’ve been hiding in here all day.”
“Wow, you noticed,” Luke muttered.
Gabe rolled his eyes and stepped inside, sitting on the edge of Luke’s bed. “It smells like shit in here.”
“I’ve been rotting away,” Luke mumbled, still staring at the ceiling. “Can’t you tell?”
“Yeah, I can. You need to go out and feel the sun on your face once in a while.”
“What would be the fun in that?”
“I don’t know, maybe you won’t feel so depressed all the time,” Gabe said with a careless shrug.
Luke frowned and finally looked at his brother. “What? I’m not depressed,” he said in a sharp tone, however even he didn’t fully believe his words.
“Whatever,” Gabe said. “Look, about this morning…”
“Don’t.” Luke said, looking back up at the ceiling so he didn’t need to look at his brothers face. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“I know,” Gabe said, rubbing the back of his neck. “But Young didn’t mean it, you know? He just…he’s kind of an idiot sometimes.”
Luke narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Well, tell your idiot friend to stay out of my face.”
Gabe sighed. “He actually felt bad, you know. He told me after you went upstairs.”
Luke scoffed. “Right. I’ll send him a thank-you card.”
There was a beat of silence. Gabe glanced around the room—the empty desk, the phone screen not lighting up with notifications, the general lack of teenage chaos. “You ever think about maybe hanging out with people again?” he asked carefully.
“What?” Luke frowned.
“Like… I dunno, joining something? The art club? Debate? Anything?” Gabe said happily.
Luke glared at him. “What, so I can give everyone something new to whisper about?”
Gabe frowned. “That’s not what I meant.”
“I know what you meant,” Luke said flatly. “But it’s what would happen, wouldn’t it?”
“You don’t know that,” Gabe said.
“Yes I do.”
“No, you really don’t. What happened to those chicks you used to hang out with?” Gabe asked.
“They don’t wanna hang out with a guy who used to be a girl,” Luke said monotonously.
“Don’t all girls want a gay dude at their sleepover?” Gabe laughed.
Luke knew his brother was just trying to lighten the mood. God, he really really did. He knew Gabe wasn’t an asshole. Not really. If anything, his older brother had been nothing but supportive in his own way throughout Luke’s entire journey.
But sometimes his brother was just pure stupid.
“Who the hell says i’m gay?” Luke asked.
Gabe’s smile flew off his face so quick, it was comical. “Uh, I just assumed that you’re—”
“What?” Luke asked flatly. “Now that i’m a dude, I just have to be into other dudes?”
“What? No! No, I didn’t—”
“What if i’m straight? What if I like girls?”
“But that…I mean, yeah. Sure, if that’s what—”
“I’m kidding, asshole,” Luke’s lips twitched upwards. “Yes, I still like boys. Changing my gender didn’t change that. Unfortunately.”
“Fuck, you scared me,” Gabe heaved a large, dramatic sigh. “Don’t do that!”
“Sorry. Couldn’t resist making you feel uncomfortable.”
“Mission a fucking success.”
Luke grinned. Then his smile slowly slipped off his face and he looked at his brother with a serious expression on his face.
“Gabe,” Luke sighed, “you’re a lacrosse star and everyone loves you. People think i’m a freak. We’re complete opposites. I’m sorry but your optimism isn’t really on par with my life right now. Our current situations don’t align at all, so please don’t tell me to put myself out there when you have no idea what’s in store for me. You don’t know what it’s like to be the loser brother, alright? Compared to you, i’m nothing but a laughing stock. I’m just your shadow and people hate me for simply existing. So please, forgive me if me being a dick to your dumb jock friend hurts his feelings. But him calling me a name I hate also hurts my feelings.”
The air went quiet again, heavy and familiar.
Neither of them said anything for a good few minutes. Gabe didn’t really know what to say to be honest and Luke kinda felt bad for springing all that on him so suddenly, but it had to be said.
“I’m sorry,” Gabe said eventually. “You’re right. I don’t know what it’s like to be in your shoes so I shouldn’t assume it’s easy for you to put yourself out that.”
“Right,” Luke said awkwardly, surprised by how honest and easily these words were coming from his brother who barely spoke about feelings at all.
“I’m sorry people are shit and small minded,” Gabe added.
“Not your fault.”
“I’m still sorry.”
“Thanks,” Luke said softly.
Gabe finally stood up, walking to the door. “I’ll leave you alone. But for what it’s worth, Luke…you’re not in my shadow, okay?”
Luke didn’t respond. He just stared at the ceiling again until Gabe’s footsteps faded down the hall.
Only then did he whisper, almost to himself, “Yeah. Keep telling yourself that.”
𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 ⋆.˚ 𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 ⋆.˚ 𓇼
Mondays sucked…but if there was one thing that made them slightly less unbearable, it was double art first thing.
Luke didn’t love it, but it was quiet. No whistles, no shouting, no forced group projects with people who didn’t know how to shut up. Just pencils scratching against paper and the smell of paint that clung to your clothes for the rest of the day.
He wasn’t the best artist in the room and he knew that. Some kids drew like it was easy, like the shapes just fell out of their heads perfectly formed. Luke’s lines were always a bit shaky, his shading too heavy-handed, but he didn’t mind. It was one of the few things that made him forget where he was for a bit.
Unfortunately, the second he walked into the art room that morning, he remembered exactly where he was. People looked up. Not everyone, but enough.
A couple of girls sitting near the window went quiet mid-conversation, their gazes flicking toward him before they leaned in to whisper. The guy at the back with the messy blond hair snickered under his breath, like it was still funny somehow.
Luke ignored them. Or tried to. He dropped his bag by his usual table near the corner, where the light hit the desk just right, and started pulling out his sketchbook.
He could feel it, though…the stares. The little smirks. The judgment that never seemed to fade, even though it had been almost a year since he came out.
Before, he used to sit with them. Used to laugh at their jokes and join their group projects. Now, they barely said his name unless it was to make some kind of point. He didn’t understand it. He was still him. Still Luke. Just finally honest about it. But apparently that was enough for people to rewrite who he was in their heads, like being trans made him some kind of stranger.
He slouched deeper into his chair, flicking his pencil between his fingers.
The teacher, Mrs. Farrow, started talking about some new project. They were focusing on portraits, something about expression and identity, which made Luke want to laugh at the irony.
Identity. Yeah, great topic.
He turned a page in his sketchbook and stared at the blank paper, trying to think of what to draw. His brain was empty. Just a low buzz of exhaustion that never really went away. He could still feel eyes on him and wished he could disappear into the paper.
Mrs. Farrow clapped her hands together, snapping Luke out of his thoughts.
“Alright, everyone! For this project, you’ll be working in pairs. You’ll be drawing portraits of each other. Please make sure you focusing on emotion, detail, and honesty.”
Luke’s stomach sank. Pairs. Of course.
Around the room, chairs scraped and voices rose as everyone scrambled to sit next to their friends. Luke stayed where he was, pretending to look busy flipping through his sketchbook.
“Luke,” Mrs. Farrow said, scanning the room. “You can work with… hmm.” Her gaze landed on the blond-haired guy at the back. “Alex, you’re with Luke.”
Alex groaned audibly. “Seriously?”
“Seriously,” Mrs. Farrow replied with a tight smile. “You two can use the table by the window.”
Luke gritted his teeth and gathered his stuff. Great. Just great.
He dropped into the seat across from Alex, who was already slouched so far back in his chair it looked like he was trying to escape the room entirely.
“Guess we’re stuck together,” Luke muttered, opening his pencil case.
“Guess so,” Alex said flatly, spinning his pencil between his fingers. “Let’s just get it over with.”
They didn’t talk much after that, which was fine by Luke. Silence was better than whatever fake small talk Alex would’ve tried.
Luke started sketching first, eyes flicking up occasionally to study Alex’s face. Sharp jaw, tired eyes, blond hair that looked like it hadn’t met a comb in weeks. He worked carefully and quietly, trying to focus on the curve of his features instead of the noise in his head.
For a while, it almost felt okay. Peaceful, even.
But every time Luke looked up, he caught Alex staring at him with this weird, half-smirk like he was thinking something he wasn’t saying.
When the bell finally rang at the end of second period, Mrs. Farrow called out, “Before you pack up, let’s share what we’ve been working on! It doesn’t have to be finished yet, just a progress check.”
Luke’s heart skipped. He wasn’t thrilled about showing his, but his wasn’t bad…he’d caught Alex’s likeness pretty well, even if it looked kind of miserable. He turned his sketchbook around. “Here.”
Alex glanced down, eyes widening a little. “Oh. Huh. That’s…actually not bad.”
“Thanks,” Luke said warily. “Let’s see yours.”
Alex hesitated, which should’ve been Luke’s first warning sign. Then, with a casual shrug, he flipped his page around. And Luke’s stomach dropped straight through the floor. It wasn’t him. Not the him he was now, anyway. Alex had drawn him with long flowing hair, soft features, and a pink cardigan that looked ripped straight from yearbook photos of Lola Davies.
For a second, Luke couldn’t breathe.
The room went quiet…then someone snorted. Then another. And then, laughter spread like wildfire.
“Oh my God,” one of the girls whispered loudly. “That’s so accurate.”
Luke’s throat burned. He could hear a dozen different versions of his old name ricocheting around his skull.
Mrs. Farrow frowned, stepping forward. “Alex, that’s completely inappropriate—”
But Luke was already standing, his chair scraping across the floor. “You’re a fucking asshole,” he said, voice shaking.
The laughter didn’t stop.
He grabbed his sketchbook, shoved it into his bag, and stormed out before anyone could see the tears stinging his eyes. The hallway outside was quiet, the kind of quiet that makes your chest hurt. Luke pressed his back against the lockers, gripping the strap of his bag so tight his knuckles went white.
He hated this.
Hated the school.
Hated the looks.
Hated that he still cared.
But most of all, he hated that no matter what he did, people still saw her.
He didn’t go back to class. He didn’t even know where he was going. He just walked. Fast. Past the lockers, past the vending machines, down the back corridor that smelled like dust and floor cleaner. He ended up near the stairwell behind the art room. The one no one ever used because it led to the old storage wing. He pushed open the heavy door and sank onto the bottom step. The air was cold and faintly damp, the kind of place where sound didn’t travel far. Perfect. He dropped his bag next to him and buried his face in his hands.
His chest hurt. His throat hurt. Everything hurt.
He wanted to scream. Or cry. Or punch something until the ache in his chest turned into something physical, something he could control.
Instead, he just sat there, trying to breathe through the shaking.
He told himself it didn’t matter. That they were just idiots. That it was just a drawing.
But it did matter. Because for one tiny moment, when everyone was laughing, it felt like the whole world had decided he wasn’t real.
The door creaked open.
Luke froze. He didn’t move, didn’t even look up.
“Hey,” someone said quietly.
It wasn’t Mrs. Farrow. The voice was deeper and slower. Almost uncertain.
Luke looked up and saw a shadow at the top of the stairs. When the person stepped into the light, he realised it was Eli, another sophomore from his art class. Tall, skinny, with brown hair that always stuck out under his beanie. Luke barely ever talked to him, but they’d been in group projects before. Eli was… fine. Quiet. Kind of awkward.
“I, uh…” Eli rubbed the back of his neck. “Saw what happened in art.”
Luke snorted. “Yeah? You here to laugh too?”
Eli shook his head quickly. “No! No, I just… thought it was messed up.”
Luke stared at him for a second, trying to figure out if he was serious. “You don’t have to pity me,” he said finally.
“It’s not pity,” Eli said. “It’s just… people suck sometimes.”
Luke wanted to believe that. He wanted to think it was that simple. But the lump in his throat was too big, the anger too sharp. “I hate it here,” Luke muttered. “I hate that everyone still sees me as—” He stopped himself, words catching halfway out.
Eli didn’t push. He just nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get it.”
“You don’t,” Luke said, voice cracking. “You don’t get it.”
Eli’s expression softened. “Maybe not completely. But I know what it’s like to feel like everyone decided who you are before you got to say anything.”
Luke blinked, caught off guard by that.
Eli looked down at his hands and then back at Luke. “I, uh, came out. As gay. A few months ago.”
“Oh?” Luke was surprised because he hadn’t heard the news. Maybe he was too caught up in his own shit to realise he wasnt the only LGBT kid here.
“Lost a few friends,” Eli said. “Guys mostly.”
“Right,” Luke murmured. “I’m sorry.”
“Not your fault,” Eli shrugged. “But for what it’s worth, I do kinda know what you’re going through and I just wanted to say that I’m sorry Alex was such a dick. Believe it or not, he was my best friend.”
“Is he one of the guys that dropped you?” Luke asked hesitantly.
“He sure is,” Eli pursed his lips. “Not that I care. He’s a dick anyway.”
“I know.”
For a while, neither of them said anything. The silence wasn’t as heavy as before, just quiet and still, like a truce. Eli shifted awkwardly, then held out a folded napkin. “Here. I stole this from the cafeteria just now. It’s got a cookie in it.”
Luke frowned. “What?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” Eli said, shrugging. “You looked like you needed something that wasn’t terrible.”
Luke hesitated, then took it. The cookie was slightly crushed, but warm. He stared at it for a second before muttering, “Thanks.”
Eli gave him a small smile. “Anytime. Us freaks have gotta stick together, ya know?”
Luke’s lips quirked upwards.
“I gotta head to class, but maybe I’ll see you around?” Eli asked hopefully.
“Uh, yeah. Yeah, sure,” Luke said quickly. When Eli eventually left, the stairwell was quiet again, but somehow, it didn’t feel as empty as before. Luke leaned his head back against the wall, the cookie still in his hand, and whispered under his breath, “Maybe not everyone sucks.”
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
By the time the final bell rang, Luke couldn’t get out of school fast enough. He stuffed his books into his bag without even looking at them and practically bolted for the exit, ignoring the chatter and laughter echoing through the halls.
The air outside was cold and damp, the kind of late afternoon that already felt like evening. His shoulders ached from holding himself so tense all day. He just wanted to go home, shower, and pretend this whole day hadn’t happened.
But the second he stepped into the parking lot, he heard it—the obnoxious laughter that always cut through every other sound.
Gabe’s laugh.
Luke spotted him instantly, leaning against his car with that easy, golden-boy posture, lacrosse jacket slung over one shoulder. The rest of the team was clustered around, throwing a ball back and forth, shouting jokes that didn’t sound half as funny as they thought.
“Hey, Squirt!” Gabe called out when he noticed Luke walking by. “Need a ride home?”
Luke froze. Every single one of Gabe’s friends turned to look at him, their grins lazy and curious, a little too interested. He could feel their eyes dragging over him, the silent whispers that never quite stayed silent.
He forced a shrug, pretending it didn’t bother him. “Nah, I’m good. I’ll walk.”
“You sure?” Gabe asked. “It’s a long walk.”
“I said I’m fine,” Luke said in a bored tone, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.
The laughter started again, softer this time. It wasn’t at him, but it didn’t matter. It still burned. He didn’t have people to laugh like that with anymore.
He turned and walked off before anyone could say anything else. His sneakers scuffed against the pavement, his breath fogging in the cold October air. He kept his eyes on the ground until the school disappeared behind him.
By the time he reached home, the sky had darkened and the streetlight’s flickered to life. Gabe’s car was already in the driveway, but that wasn’t all. There were a few more familiar cars parked along the street and Luke’s stomach sank. He should’ve known. The moment he opened the front door, the noise hit him.
“Yo, grab me another soda!” someone shouted from the living room.
“Make it a beer,” somebody else said.
Then there was a whole bunch of hollering.
Luke frowned, kicking off his shoes by the entrance. The scent of pizza, sweat and cheap cologne filled the air. He peeked into the living room and groaned internally. Half the lacrosse team was sprawled across the couches, tossing chips at each other and shouting over the music. Gabe was in the center of it all, looking perfectly at home, one arm slung over the back of the sofa.
Young sat next to Gabe, his head tilted back in laughter, hoodie halfway unzipped, holding a soda like it was a trophy.
Luke lingered in the doorway, hoping no one would notice him. He could already feel the tension crawling up his neck. This house didn’t feel like his when Gabe’s friends were here. It felt like background noise. Like he was the one trespassing.
Then Gabe noticed him. “Hey! Luke! You’re home.”
Ten pairs of eyes flicked toward him.
Luke forced a nod. “Yeah.”
One of the players grinned and nudged Gabe and Young. “Is that the guy who saved your ass when you were drunk as fuck after the party?”
“Yeah,” Young said, voice low. His brown eyes sliced over to Luke. “The one who threatened to break my skull with a bat for something I didn’t even do.”
A few guys laughed.
Luke’s stomach twisted. Young remembered that? He was sure Young was drunk when he threatened Gabe with smashing his head in with a bat for saying something dumb about his ‘titty fund’. Fuck. Luke didn’t say anything, just turned and walked straight upstairs before anyone could add to it. He could still hear the laughter echoing behind him as he slammed his bedroom door.
Luke stayed in his room for as long as he could. He lay on his bed, phone in hand, staring blankly at the screen while the laughter and bass from downstairs thudded through the floor. It felt like the walls were vibrating with how loud they were being.
He tried turning up his own music, but even that couldn’t drown it out. Every cheer, every shout of “Bro!” and “Pass me that!” grated on his nerves until his stomach growled loud enough to embarrass him, even though no one could hear.
He hadn’t eaten since lunch. His parents always cooked enough for leftovers, and if he was quiet enough, he could probably sneak downstairs, grab something, and get back to his room without being seen. At least, that was the plan.
He waited until the music got louder, then cracked open his door. The hallway light was off, but the faint orange glow from downstairs spilled up the stairs. Luke tiptoed down, heart pounding like he was trying to rob his own house.
The living room was still full of noise. Gabe and his friends were yelling over a video game now. Luke could see the back of the couch and Gabe’s messy hair from the corner of his eye, but no one was looking his way.
He slipped into the kitchen as quietly as possible, opened the fridge, and grabbed the Tupperware of leftover pasta. The microwave door creaked when he opened it, and he froze, holding his breath. When nothing happened, he hit start and waited, tapping his fingers against the counter.
He’d almost made it.
Almost.
“Couldn’t stay away from us, huh?”
The voice came from behind him—teasing, lazy, and all too familiar. Luke turned slowly, frowning in annoyance when he saw that it was Young leaning against the doorframe, a half-empty beer can in his hand. His brown hair was pushed back, his cheeks slightly flushed from laughing or drinking too much. or both.
Luke rolled his eyes. “I’m just getting food.”
Young shrugged. “Didn’t say you weren’t.”
The microwave beeped, and Luke pulled the pasta out, grabbing a fork from the drawer. “Cool. So you can stop talking now.”
Young chuckled softly. “You really hate me, huh?”
Luke didn’t look up. “You really have to ask?”
“Look, about before…”
“If you’re about to apologise again, don’t bother,” Luke said flatly. “You said what you said.”
“I told you, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, I know. You were drunk. That’s supposed to make it okay, right?”
Young hesitated, setting his beer down on the counter. “No. But I’m trying, alright?”
Luke finally looked up at him then, eyes sharp. “Trying to what? To make yourself feel better?”
That shut him up for a second. The tension in the room thickened, humming like static. “I just…” Young started, scratching the back of his neck. “You’re different from how I remember.”
Luke narrowed his eyes. “You mean since I stopped being your best friend’s little sister?”
Young winced a little. “That’s not what I meant.”
Luke gave a short laugh. “Sure it isn’t.” He turned back to his food, stabbing the pasta hard enough to make the fork scrape the bowl. “Just leave me alone, okay?”
Before Young could respond, another voice filled the kitchen. “Luke?” Gabe walked in, eyebrows raised, looking surprised to see him standing there. “Didn’t know you were still awake.”
Luke turned, leaning against the counter with his bowl. “Yeah, I got hungry.”
Gabe eyed the two of them. “Everything okay?”
“Peachy,” Luke said.
Young cleared his throat. “Just talking.”
Gabe raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.” He looked back at Luke. “Mom and Dad went out for dinner. Said they’ll be back later. You want me to make you something?”
Luke gestured to his bowl. “Already handled.”
“And you?” Gabe asked Young. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting another beer,” Young replied.
“Alright. Get me one too, And quick because we’re starting a new game,” Gabe said, clearly sensing the tension between the two, but too tired to bother with it. “Try not to bite each other’s heads off, yeah?”
He walked back out, and the moment his footsteps faded, the silence settled heavy again.
Luke grabbed his bowl and started toward the stairs. “Thanks for the chat,” he said dryly. “Can’t wait to never do that again.”
Young gave a faint, almost amused smile. “You’ve got a smart mouth for someone whose only 5 foot tall.”
Luke stopped at the doorway, turned his head just enough to glare at him. “Yeah? Well, you’ve got a big mouth for someone who doesn’t know when to shut the fuck up. And I’m not 5 foot. I’m 5’6, thank you very much. Not all of us want to be giants.”
He left before Young could say anything else.
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