REQUESTED: Nope (I've just got dirty thoughts)
I hope you like this! Requests are open, don't be shy ❤️
~*~
You were sat on the couch watching Netflix in a baggy grey t-shirt and a very short pair of shorts. As your chosen movie played on the screen, your hand buried itself into the bowl of popcorn next to you, grabbing a handful and leading it to your mouth. Your parents were out for the evening–something about monthly date night.
On cue, your phone vibrated with a text, and you grabbed it, shifting on the couch. You unlocked it and giggled at the cute and loving message your boyfriend had sent you, quickly typing one back. He hadn't been able to spend time with you tonight; apparently there'd been some family thing going on. Setting your phone onto the couch beside you, you waited.
Your phone buzzed again, and you eagerly reached for it, your face falling somewhat when you saw that it hadn't been your boyfriend who'd texted you, but rather your friend Luke. Then you felt bad–Luke was a nice guy, and it wasn't fair to take him for granted.
"Can I come over?" The message read. You quickly typed back an affirmative and waited for the all-too-familiar ring of the doorbell–Luke only lived a few houses down the street.
You spent a few more minutes in front of the television, soaking up your movie, before you finally heard the frantic ringing, and you sighed. Two rings, followed by one, signalled that it was Luke. It had been a type of code you'd both devised at a younger age.
You opened the door, tightening your ponytail simultaneously. "Hey–," you began, and then your jaw slackened, eyes widening at the boy standing in front of you.
Luke's hair was a dishevelled mess atop his head. There were a few scrapes on his left cheek, his left eye blossoming into a dark purple. The area underneath his nose was a faint pink, as though there had been blood previously running down the skin, which you assumed was true.
"Lucas, what the fuck?" You practically shrieked, horrified at the sight. Luke just shook his head, pushing past you and kicking off his shoes, bolting upstairs as though he hadn't heard you.
"Do you have disinfectant? I'm all out at home," he called. You stood there for a moment before realizing that he was running up the stairs. Scrambling up after him, you responded, "Yeah, but Luke–!"
"Thanks," he said loudly. He ran into your washroom, rifling through the cupboards. You joined him, catching your breath in the doorway as you watched him search.
"Luke," you gasped, "What the hell happened to you?"
He didn't respond. You were about to repeat your question before he finally spoke up. "Nothing."
"Yeah," you said sarcastically, placing your hands on your hips. You gripped the hem of your shirt that went to mid-thigh, concealing the black shorts you wore. Luke was still searching through your cupboards messily, knocking over a few soaps and a can of hairspray.
You glanced at his face in the mirror, your heart aching at the sight of his black eye. Determined to weasel an answer out of him you stepped forward, reaching up to touch his broad shoulder, "Luke..."
He ignored you. You chewed on your lip. He finally found the disinfectant and a bag of cotton swabs. His hands were shaking you noticed, and you murmured out, "What happened?"
"Goddammit, I said nothing!" He snapped, slamming the bottle and the bag down onto the marble counter.
His head hung, refusing to look at you. You swallowed heavily–this had never happened before. Luke was quiet, always avoiding conflict, sometimes to the point where you had to stand up for him, whether it be at school or somewhere else. This situation was uncharted territory for the both of you, and neither of you were handling it well.
