boxer ⋆ luke hemmings ✔️

10. The Bruises.

When Luke woke up the next morning, he never expected the quiet voices of both Spongebob and Patrick to greet him as his eyes fluttered open.

Along with that was the gentle clinking of a metal spoon against a porcelain bowl, and as the man slowly sat up, a groan fell from his lips.

He was obviously still quite sore from the fight the night before, only now the pain had developed and he felt as if he was ready to collapse and fall into yet another sleepless slumber.

His mind had been plagued for the majority of the time he spent with shut eyes. Luke never had many dreams, and when he did they were most likely nightmares, but last night was different.

For one, it was a nightmare because it wasn't. That was the best way for him to put it. He wasn't used to dreams, or the things that happened in them, because as fucked up as it sounded, Luke had practically conditioned himself to a different type of norm. And that 'norm' strayed very far away from what he'd experienced during his most recent night.

He got to see Corey again, even if it was just a part of his subconscious recreating the current image of his son. Luke got to give him his present. He got to take him out for a meal, like all Dads do with their kids, and he got to wink at him playfully as the pretty waiter walked away after having asked them both what they wanted.

He also got to take Corey to the fair in his dream-state, which was what made Luke smile ever so slightly as he sat up, eyeing the TV. He even won him something on the ring toss.

But flash back to the present, and he couldn't help but feel disappointed. He wished he never woke up.

"Did I wake you again?"

He looked up, a little alarmed that somebody had been there the entire time he was reminiscing the dream with the son he never got to see. Luke was a little worried that- although it was unlikely- the person could hear his thoughts, and that was the last thing he wanted.

Not that he was ashamed of them, or anything. Quite the opposite. He just wanted to keep them to himself.

Like memories, Luke thought. Only not memories, because they never happened. He hoped they would someday.

"No," he shook his head, scratching the back of his neck before squinting at the clock on the wall, "What time is it?"

"Eight-thirty," Sophie answered, sounding unbelievably chirpy for someone who was up at the same time.

Then again, as Luke's eyes fell on the bowl of colourful cereal resting on her lap and the program being displayed on the TV, he assumed that she had voluntarily woken up just to catch the morning cartoons.

Which was odd, according to him. Nothing was worth waking up that early on a summer morning. Not unless it was to train, and right now it didn't seem as if Sophie was particularly training for anything.

"How's your face?" she asked him, looking behind her shoulder. Patrick wasn't doing anything too dire on the screen, anyway. She could afford to look away.

"It's alright," Luke replied, although that was a downright lie. He felt as if his head was a ball and someone had played soccer with it wearing spikey, steel-toed boots.

However, he lied, mainly because he still felt a little bad about how he'd snapped at Sophie in the car the day before. Saying that he was in pain would no doubt cause her to fuss over him like Ashley did, only worse because from what Luke could tell, she was a worrier. Ashley did it because she didn't want a dead best friend. Sophie would do it because she was just kind hearted.