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.

As he says this, Milo enters the kitchen, staggering in an attempt to not drop the pile of cans he's carrying. He raises his eyebrows at me, a smug look on his face.

"Shut up," I glare at him, already knowing what he's about to say.

"Where's the bin bags, Chaz?" Milo yells as he stands at the back door, ignoring me.

"Did you ask Chaz what he's having?" I ask Cook, who's pulling his pouch of tobacco out of his back pocket.

"Not having any, he's going to see his mistress."

"Wish you wouldn't call her that," I mutter, lifting myself onto the counter beside him.

Cook snorts in response, holding the pouch between his teeth.

"Not in the house," I say to him, referring to the rollie he's about to make.

"Obviously," he mumbles. "It's for the journey."

"Right, will we get going, so?" I ask, sliding off the counter.

"Hold on, woman."

"Don't call me woman," I laugh.

"Woman," he repeats, jabbing my stomach with his toe.

"Ew, Cook, there's a hole in your sock," I giggle, backing away from his toes.

Cook wiggles his big toe that's poking out of his sock as he starts to construct his rollie.

Milo is still standing at the door, cans clinking as he looks around for the black bin bags.

"Just throw them all in the bin, Milo, you don't need a bag," I say to him.

"They'll leak everywhere," he responds, looking down at his clothes. "They're leaking right now."

I shake my head, sighing. "Your problem, not mine." I turn to Cook, who's finishing up the rollie. "Come on."

I nudge him.

"Ok, ready," he announces enthusiastically, jumping down from the counter, rollie balancing between his lips.

"See you, we won't be long," I say to Milo, heading out into the hallway, Cook following on my heels.

"Bye," Milo calls out after us.

I wait for Cook to put on his shoes, then we head out the front door together, and down the driveway.

"Enjoying your summer, so?" I ask Cook.

He finishes lighting his rollie and takes a long drag, before answering. "It's alright."

"What can make it better?"

"Me, Freds and JJ have a plan," he tells me, blowing smoke away from my face.

"Oh? What is it?" I ask.

"Secret," Cook taps the side of his nose.

"Okay, then," I mumble, averting my gaze and looking at the footpath.

Cook lazily flings his arm around my shoulders. We walk in silence down my street for a minute, before I turn to him.

"What are we?"

Cook blinks at me, taken aback. "Elaborate."

"Nothing to elaborate on. What are we?" I repeat, staring at him.

"Don't like labels," he mumbles, looking away.

"You called Effy your girlfriend," I state, still staring at him.

"Why are you bringing her up?" He asks me, now returning my stare.

"Just an observation," I shrug.

He takes his arm off of my shoulders. "I don't get you, Eve."

"How so?" I ask, suddenly becoming defensive.

"You're so weird. You don't talk about Eff all summer, now all of a sudden, when things are good, you want to bring her up?"

"Why does it bother you? I thought you were over her."

Cook takes a long drag of his rollie, ignoring me.

"Cook," I nudge him.

He stops in his tracks, staring at me. "It's only been a month, Eve," he says, smoke billowing out of his mouth as he speaks. "I don't want to talk about her."

"I wasn't even -" I trail off, not wanting to fight. "Look, never mind. Touchy subject, got it."

Cook nods, resuming his normal walking pace. I stand still for a brief moment, staring at the back of his head, before catching up with him.

"Sorry," I mumble.

"S'alright," he shrugs.

"You sure?"

"Positive," he replies, uncertainty lacing his tone.

For fuck's sake.

-

The rest of the walk to the Chinese was tense. My mind was plagued with doubt, the previous conversation replaying in my head the entire journey there.

Cook didn't speak much, either. I have a tight pain in my chest still.

Thoughts of he's not over her crawl and swirl around my brain, like a swarm of flies. I know there's no possible way he'd fully get over her in the space of a month, but I'd hoped that maybe I could've assisted in speeding up the process.

I dread the day she comes back, if she does. Will he leave me again for her? I can't keep doing this.

My head is racked with these thoughts the whole way home, the bag of food warm against my chest. Cook is making conversation but his voice is just a mere whisper compared to what's going on inside of my head.

I feel guilty for ruining his mood. Part of me knows that I was only mentioning Effy to be petty, just to jab at him, because I know deep down that he's still pining after her.

It hurts, always being the second choice, but you can argue that I'm just doing it to myself at this point.

-

Milo notices the tension as we eat our food in silence in front of the telly, Come Dine With Me blaring in the background. Cook looks gormless as he watches the show, while I'm huddled away from the two boys.

"Did youse have a little tiff, eh?" Milo asks, his mouth full. "Trouble in paradise?"

Cook blinks as his attention is brought back to the people inside of the room, and not on the screen. "Nah, I'm just watching this show, mate."

"Eve?" Milo pokes his head around Cook to look at me.

"I'm fine, I don't talk when I eat," I point out.

"Alright," Milo shrugs, leaning back into the sofa. "If you say so."

I look at Cook, but his eyes are glued back onto the television screen.

I swallow a lump in my throat.

Does he even want me? He must, if he's always calling over. If he wants me, though, why did it cause so much tension between us when I simply just mentioned Effy?

When will I ever be enough?

author's note

sorry for lack of updates! had completely forgotten, if I'm going to be honest with you. been busy with school and just life in general, and found I had a lack of inspiration, but I suddenly got some tonight when re-reading the story so I decided to give yous all an update :) enjoy!

sorry I keep fucking with ur heads with Ceve lmao that's just the beauty of Cook

btw, these are kind of filler chapters, nothing too major will happen in the summer, I just wanted to do a few summer chapters to add something in between the main events that happen in the show + my book.

love u xoxoxo