lust for life • james cook - skins

23 - eve

I stand with my arms folded, leaning against the door frame of our living room. Cook and Milo are bantering back and forth with each other, completely oblivious to the fact that I've been trying to talk to them for the past two minutes.

I grab a cushion off of the floor and throw it at Milo's face. This finally grabs their attention.

"Oi, bitch!" Milo exclaims, flinging the cushion back at me, narrowly missing the pile of cans on the coffee table.

"Mind, you bastard," I grumble, clumsily catching the cushion and placing it lightly back on the couch. "Ive been trying to talk to you two for ages now."

"About what?" Cook asks, chewing on a straw.

"Dinner," I sigh, fixing my hair. "What do yous want to eat?"

Cook has been spending the past week at our house, he's only actually slept over for two nights the past week, but he calls over every single day to spend time with Milo.

That's right, him and my brother are now best of buddies, a bond developed over the love of weed. He pretends he comes over to see me, but we all know he's actually here for Milo.

"You're not cooking, are you?" Milo asks, grunting as he adjusts himself on the couch.

"Obviously, unless you-"

"Fuck that," Cook interrupts, sitting up. "Too much hassle. Let's just get a bit of takeaway, yeah?"

Milo pats Cook's knee. "I like your brain."

"I don't," Cook laughs, sounding like a child. "It's all mushy now."

"We can tell," I sigh, biting back a smile. "Okay, what takeaway, so?"

"Chinese," Milo chimes in, and Cook nods in agreement.

"I'll go to collect it with you, Evie," Cook says, standing up. "I'll be the delivery man."

"Come on, so," I gesture at him. "What do you want, Milo?"

"Usual," Milo says, leaning out of his seat to feel around for an unopened can.

"Right," I nod. "Cook, will you go and ask Chaz what he wants? Milo, clean up that shit, it stinks."

"It's a lovely aroma," Milo protests, picking up and empty can and inhaling the smell, resulting in a grimace.

"I'd say so," I stare at him, exasperated. Cook stands beside me, looking lost.

"Go on, go ask Chaz what he wants," I prod him.

"Alright, mummy," Cook whines, jokingly, pushing past me into the kitchen.

"Your fella's got mummy issues," Milo chuckles, raising his eyebrows at me.

"Shut up, he was joking," I hiss at him, kicking the couch.

"Still true, though."

"We have them too, if that's the case," I frown, staring at my brother.

"Piss off," Milo laughs, sweeping his arm across the coffee table and shoving all the cans onto the ground.

"Pick those up!" I yell. "Idiot."

"What do you think I'm doing?" Milo asks sheepishly, getting on his hands and knees on the floor and attempting to gather all the cans in his arms, to no avail.

I shake my head and retreat into the kitchen, where Cook is sitting on the counter top, swinging his legs and banging against the cabinet doors as he does so.

"Stop, Cook," I mutter, rubbing my forehead. "You're all children."

"You're not my mum," Cook retorts, grinning.