just a stupid kid

Never at a shortage of attributes to boast about, and somehow yet, the bloke never claimed to be the sharpest tool in the shed. His saving grace -a Google search, when Rue went all taunting-glances-lets-play-class-pet. Like she did. Which Cook found to be a tantilizing sort of challenge; thumbs twiddling away by the shield of his pocket while he proudly declared the correct answer to her popquiz and that. Even so, it didn’t take a genius to detect the girl’s stiff posture. The way her eyes couldn’t find a comfortable target. And right, he wasn’t so thick not to notice the slight jabs regarding the way he chose to keep warm on his expedition, or what have you. At the least, Rue hadn’t lost her sense of humor. So why ruin a good thing, right? Keep the good times rolling, right? Cook sniffed at his underarm at the mention, heels backing up to his beater. “ Oy, I’m clean! In all takes, babes. I mean, I’m like, fairly certain. Anyway. That’s just the scent of man. You’ll learn to love it. Speaking of.. ” A drumroll on the hood preceded the lad’s grand reveal. “ Ta-da! Word of advice, maybe hold off on the snort before ya hit the shops, ‘less yer burnin’ a hole in yer pocket, like I was, but man I was piss bored, mate, weren’t I? All yours, babes. Take a look-see! ” He insisted, pointing gleefully at the haul that crowded the better part of his boot. “ Got some local distillery gin. That’s some top tier shit, right there. Listen. Couple groovy sweaters, innit, so you can quit nabbin’ mine? Oh yah! Might 'member these..,” he lauded, a steady stream of thought before pulling a pair of classic doc martens from their box. “ Sterling, right? Got a proper deal on those. Go on! Well shit, I’ll grab a few bags and- I’m comin’ up, right? You can throw me a l'il fashion show and tell us all about it. ”

@redemptioninterlude

A sliver of her tongue makes an appearance, slicing between her lips as if to help disrupt any formation of a smile. It’s hard not to when he’s around, and she knows he RIDES THAT WAVE to live his own live, as he wants, without consequence. Feels the way their words are already overlapping, ready, eager, to roll back into the sense of normalcy, even if she’s feeling a bit pricked over the Welsh girl he’d casually taken up with, as if they hadn’t hooked up the week before. It feels so much, too much, like Jules, only he’s still here, isn’t he, smiling at her the same way and acting like nothing were different, just, him plus another plus her, right? And it’s meant to all be super duper gravy, so long as she doesn’t say anything to fucking wreck it, right?

                                                       Breathe slow.

                          Count the cracks on the sidewalk.

“Here I thought, like, Manchester was supposed to be ALL FUCKIN’ THAT.” even the bag of chips, though if he had that, she thinks he’d have fucking scarfed it all in the ride back down; did he even sleep? The part of her she wishes would shut the fuck up wants to ask him if he needs a nap, even when he’s handing her like, whole things into her arms, peering into the back between the squint of mascara (wait - when did she start wearing that?) to the sweaters inside, and even the shoes. And god damn it, there she is again, unable to help the grin that’s gone and popped up in its place, she wants to be mad because, buying stuff doesn’t equal that things making sudden sense between them but, it’s hard not to tell from the look on his face that he did it just to make her happy. “Yeah yeah yeah, a whole ass show? Maybe if you’re lucky. Thanks Cookie… seriously. Let’s get this shit upstairs, yeah? You look like you’re about to pass the fuck out where you’re standing.”

That was where little Rue came in, hadn't she? Delighted in her own distractions, the veiled glamour of glitter and dusted planes. And he could tell himself, don't sweat it, like. There's something there that might resonate. Right?

" Ah, don' sweat it, peachy. My pleasure. "

That much was true. That shopping spree was multi-purposeful, right, a line drawn for miss Riley, that little Welsh number. Like I don't only think of you, to be sure. But look, Ruester. I had done. Happy as a clam too, wasn't she? And Cook could get out of that hotel, out of his head. See what Manchester offered aside from that horrible taste left in his mouth.

Cook was a tailspin up the curb at her out, Rue's invitation upstairs. If he just spoke, moved fast enough, he could stay ahead of it all. Sort of worked too, didn't it, with that head of tumbling coils leading him up, up, up, right back to her joint. " Who, me? Aah. Sprightly as the day is young, babes, " he assured right behind. Those irises tracing the length of her curls and down, down.. " Could do fer a l'il pick-me-up, though, if that's wot you mean. Besides - s'been a minute, hasn't it? "

Had to wonder what it was that gave him away. Just the hospitality of a good mate, or the girl was more perceptive than he realized. Really, hadn't she proven that already? " Sure you've got, like, a full length features' worth of gab since we've left off and I want the tell-all, woman. That new club 'n that? " He grunted, setting down the haul at the foot of her twin-size.

                                 it’s always YOU and ME .

❛  no  one  made  me  .  i  made  me  .  ❜

vehement pintrest meme ( accepting ) + @joc-cook // cook

He’s on one, isn’t he, standing outside her place, pacing, sweating, WHAT’S THAT HUH, maybe cocaine? Either way, he’s on some aggressive shit, sweating out, ruddied cheeks. Rue thinks he’s been in a fucking fight too, from the way his eye looks bruised, but isn’t that just par for the course on a Tuesday out in London? And while she would usually be the first that’s out, she’s got her glasses on tonight, got shorts and a t-shirt that’s hanging out to her knees, she’s tired and studying and her mom’s facetimed her before she heard his yelling from outside, telling her mom that she needed to take a shower, before taking a bit of a rush outside to see what in the fuck was going on.

The yard’s a mess when he’s done with it. Someone’s gotten him good, Rue pushing forwards to grab at his hands from where he’s about to topple over a chair, there are, voices, sparking all about. People WAKING UP from midnight’s embrace, discontent a song that rings through the air that he’s brought here in the middle of a rush. “Hey hey hey!” Rue’s voice is horse, a shouted whisper in the night as she tries to get him to focus on her, palm framing his face, that shake, shiver, and reminder that she’s here: brown eyes wide and pleading, he’s always had a temper hasn’t he, but this is new.

He talks about how people are trying to take from him. Talks about his mom, his brother, and it’s all on a strained voice, a cut tongue, they’ve collapsed on the grass out front of her place, knees staining in the damp evening, feeling a chill that brings goosebumps to the surface of her flesh. “You’re right, you’re right.” everything repeated, a reminder that it was GENUINE. Through his hair, that bloodied fingerprints that press against his clothes that she notes, and she ignores,  his head presses up against her bony shoulders, as if totally spent and exhausted.

𝐸𝐹𝐹𝑌 𝑆𝑇𝑂𝑁𝐸𝑀 𝐴𝑁𝐷 𝐽𝐴𝑀𝐸𝑆 𝐶𝑂𝑂𝐾 𝐴𝐸𝑆𝑇𝐻𝐸𝑇𝐼𝐶                                                                                                       𝐹𝑇.   @joc-cook