arduous || l.r.h.

pt. 1

Luke's head hung low as he walked down the street, his feet kicking at the rocks beneath him. The thick, cold air brushed against is face and he puffed air through his cheeks. A strong shoulder bumped into his side, causing him to look up and frown. He turned to face forward and saw a fairly think girl with fairly white skin and big brown eyes. He frowned and watched as she walked closer. He thought she looked familiar.

"Luke?" The girl asked and he cocked up an eyebrow. The girl flung her arms around him and gave him a tight hug. "I can't believe it's you!"

"I-uh?" Luke mumbled.

"Do you remember me?" She smiled wildly.

"Uh-" He began to speak but she cut him off again.

"It's me, Camila!" She cheered and Luke felt his heart stop beating.

No no no, luke thought.

"Oh, hey, uh- Camila." He gave her his fake smile.

"It's been so long." She smiled and he nodded curtly.

"Yea..." Luke muttered.

"So..." Camila bit her lip, "how was your graduation?"

"Didn't go." Luke shrugged and she frowned.

"Oh..." She kicked the tip of her shoe across the ground and sighed.

"Well, I better get going." Luke wanted to leave, quickly. Surely she might be a better person, but, Luke didn't want to take any chances.

"Okay, bye Luke." She waved to him and began to walk off quickly.

"Uh- bye?" Luke huffed and walked towards his apartment (which he shared with Michael, Calum and Ashton).

Luke burst through the door to see Michael sprawled out on the couch, a bowl of popcorn on his chest. Calum walked out of the kitchen, an apron hanging off his torso, and Ashton must have been asleep.

"AY LUKE!" Michael smiled cockily and paused his movie.

"Hi Michael." Luke sighed and sat on the kitchen stool.

"Did you have a good breakfast? Because the breakfast Calum cooked was shit." Mike scoffed and sat up.

"That's because he's a shit chef." Luke muttered and Calum frowned.

Calum seemed to have a sudden fetish of cooking. It was as if he was a pregnant lady, cooking for another child. But, in this context, Michael was the child he was constantly trying to feed. He seemed to think it wouldn't waste money in buying take out all the time. He had a point. But, moral of the story, Calum was a terrible cook.

"Hey," Calum held up his hands in defence, "breakfast was good."

"No, no it wasn't." Michael shook his head and Calum huffed.

"What is that?" Luke frowned and pointed to a dish on the counter.

"Oh, this," Calum smiled cheekily and placed the dish in front of Luke, "this is lunch."

"What exactly is lunch?" Luke poked the dish and Calum slapped his hand away.

"Lunch is Boeuf bourguignon." Calum smiled, "it's french."

"I can tell." Luke frowned and continued to poke the food.

"Well," Calum spoke up and Luke looked up at him, raising an eyebrow, "are you gonna eat it?"

Luke swallowed loudly and Michael smirked at him. Luke nodded, cutting up the food and taking a bite. He screwed up his face and glared at Calum, who seemed to be proud of what he cooked. Ashton walked down the hallway and into the kitchen, in only boxers. Michael walked to the fridge, digging through it for better food. Either the French have terrible taste, or Calum is shit at cooking. Luke was going with the second option.

"Oh, hey Luk-" before Ashton could finished, Luke spat out the French dish and it flew into his eye. "AH! WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT!"

Ashton held his eye and screwed up his face.

"That," Calum smiled, his hands on his hips, "was Boeuf bourguignon. It's french."

"Fuck the French" Ashton groaned and walked towards Michael and the fridge. His hands gripped near the hinges of the fridge door. Without noticing, Michael slammed the fridge door shut, a piece of ham in his mouth, and squished Ashton's fingers.

"FUCK!" Ashton squealed. Michael spun around to see what happened and began to choke on his ham. Calum also spun around, his apron getting caught on the handle of a cupboard, causing the cupboard to come off it's hinges and land on Calum. Luke went to react but fell off the kitchen stool, grabbing the kitchen bench for support. However, instead of grabbing the bench, his hand smacked on the French dish. This made the whole dish spray around the kitchen and cover everyone in it with whatever it was.

Every Sunday morning was arduous.