The Stepbrother // Luke Hemmings

Pillows Are Falling from the Sky

14
Pillows Are Falling from the Sky

It's been almost an entire week since I've been grounded and I'm just about fed up with hiding out my room watching old reruns of Glee, and willing to set my pride aside to hang out with Luke.

I mean, it's not like I have any other option.

It's Saturday night and even though it's raining outside, my mom and Andrew have gone out. Which would be incredibly ideal if I knew Ashton's work schedule, and if it wasn't dark out. With a sigh, I swipe the Netflix app into oblivion, toss my iPad aside, and slip out of bed to head downstairs in search of the blonde haired boy.

"Luke?"

When he doesn't answer back, I figure that maybe he decided to go out as well. It's not a far-fetched thought, as he's not grounded and it's a perfectly fine Saturday night. No point in wasting it here in the house with me. Turning around, I start back upstairs, but then out of the corner of my eye, I see him. He's sitting cross-legged on the couch, engulfed in a large black sweatshirt, and staring down at the pile of papers that rest in his lap.

I head over to him and plop down on the couch. "Hey loser, are you hard of hearing or something? I was just calling you."

He continues to ignore me.

"Luke!" I shout, making him flinch.

Blue eyes slowly peel away from the paper to look over at me and he blinks, "What do you want Anastasia? I'm really busy right now."

"First off, can you stop with the whole Anastasia thing? It's really annoying." I huff, and reach up to tighten the knot of hair on top of my head, "Secondly, do you think you can put that aside for a minute?"

"Why?" Fingers click the pen he's holding, distracted.

"Because I'm bored," I whine. Shifting around, I put my feet up towards the top of the couch and lean back so that I'm looking at him upside down. "Plus, we're only ones here. It's only right that you talk to me."

He shakes his head, hair fanning out around his forehead, and goes back to reading. I can't help but pout, angrily. All week I've been forcing myself to ignore him, but now that I want to talk to him, he wants to ignore me?

Nope, not happening.

I scramble back up into regular sitting position before picking up a pillow from behind me. I don't think twice about launching it at him. It hits him in the head and drops down onto his papers and I quickly look down at my nails, like I have no clue what's going on. He doesn't say anything, and when I look up, he's back to writing; the pillow discarded on the floor beside him.

This makes me more irritated and so, I grab another one and launch it at his head again. Only this time it hits him in his hand, his fingers coming down hard; pen scrawling unexpectedly over his papers. I can literally hear the gasp that escapes from between his lips and I turn my head; cupping my hand over my mouth to stifle my laugh.

"What the fck, Annie," he growls.

For a minute I think he's just joking, but when I look up there's a hard, angry glare on his face. Well. At least he's not calling me Anastasia anymore? Despite myself, I feign confusion and innocence. "What?"

"Do you know what you just caused me to do!" Luke practically shouts.

I blink and he frowns.

"That pillow you just threw, caused me to get ink all over these forms."

Shaking my head, I say, "Pillow? I didn't throw any pillows."

"Annie, I fcking saw you. I'm not blind," he whispers.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Luke."

"So, pillows are falling from the sky?" He scoffs, annoyed.

"It would appear so."

He stares at me for a minute and then down at his papers. Maybe, I went too far? I start to sit up, preparing to apologize but then he sighs and tosses his stuff underneath the cushions. I watch as he grabs the discarded pillow and stands suddenly. I don't even have enough time to get up, before he's kneeling over me and playfully smacking me upside my head with it.

Laughing, I cross my arms over my face, and buck my hips to get him off of me, "Stop!"

"No," he breathes. One of his hands wraps gently around my wrists and he brings it up over my head, pinning it against the couch. Then in one swift, smooth movement, he's tossing the pillow aside and tickling me. I'm shrieking, squirming, possibly even crying from giggling so hard, and I thrash around trying to get him from off of me.

"No! Luke, stop, I'm sorry!" I scream.

"No, you're not." He says, letting go of my wrist so that he can continue to tickle me with both hands. Kicking my legs out, I try all I can to get him to let off, but he's relentless. His blue eyes are wide with blazing amusement, and he grins down at me; lip ring trapped between his teeth.

"Luke! Luke, stop!" I splutter, pleading him, and finally, he stops.

In a haste, he grabs both of my hands and intertwines them with his, his body hovering over me. I'm panting, hard and heavy, and he stares down at me; eyes dark and intense, but not at all angry.

One hand lets go and I wince, thinking he's gonna tickle me again. But, he gently pulls my banana clip from my hair, watching as my brown curls fall down back over my shoulders.

"A million times more gorgeous with it down," he whispers.

My heart hammers in my chest and I hope to God, he can't feel it's pulse. I swallow, "Thank you."

He doesn't say anything else, and I'm grateful when he climbs off of me and glances back at his papers. "Thanks to you, I have to do that all over again."

"What were you doing?" I whisper. He shakes his head and trying to swallow the lump in my throat, I hold my palms casually up to my red cheeks. "Sorry about that."

He shrugs, "It's whatever." He sifts through his hair and I pretend not to notice his dimple curve in his cheek when he smirks over at me, "Wanna use Andrew's card to order a pizza?"

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