"Ow, fuck!" My ears perk up at the obvious sound of my brother's discomfort.
"You okay in there?" I chuckle, raising my head from the sofa.
"Fine!" He exclaims, peaking my interest even more. He'd squirrelled himself away in the dining room about a half hour ago.
"What are you doing?" I prop my head up on my elbows to get a better look at the door he'd firmly closed behind him.
"Nothing!" He snaps and if I didn't know any better I'd swear we were back in the 90s and any second now he'll come bounding out dressed as a dalmatian or in mum's bra to put on a "show". But it isn't the 90s and my baby brother's performances are slightly larger scale these days.
In fact, just last night he'd played to another record breaking crowd and honestly I could've burst with pride watching him.
"Hey, shitebag!" I laugh as I remember his favourite sign from Edinburgh, "you need a hand?" I push myself up off the soft leather and make my way across the room to see what it is he's up to.
"Fuck off!" He laughs as my hand twists the handle and as soon as the door swings open he swivels to face me and stuffs some kind of fawn material under his leg. My eyebrows furrow as I take in the old cadbury roses tin that Mum keeps her sewing kit in, the contents sprawled over every surface of the wooden table.
"You didn't tear one of mum's favourite blouses or something, did you?"
"Course not." He scoffs but continues to try to hide whatever it is he's doing.
My eyebrow cocks of its own accord and I know it's a trait he also shares with me. Neither of us are particularly good at keeping our thoughts from showing on our faces. The older I get the more I see it as a positive though. Honesty is rarely the wrong choice in most circumstances.
"You know this'll go much faster if you let me help, right?" I smile as I hold out my hand for the item he's still uselessly trying to hide.
His eyes flick down to the table as I take the empty seat next to him.
"Don't laugh," he mumbles and I can't stop my eyes from widening as I take in what I can now see is a dressing gown. I bite my bottom lip to try and stop my grin from forming while I take in the wonky line that he's made with sewing thread. My fingers brush over the waffle fabric and my brows once again knit together as I can't find an obvious hole that he is trying to stitch.
"Uhm... what is it you're trying to do?"
"What do you mean?" He grabs the item of clothing back before adding, "it's a monogram, obviously."
I pinch my thigh to force the laugh, threatening to break free, back down into my chest.
"With sewing thread?"
"Is that wrong?" His cheeks turn pink and my heart swells as once again it feels like we're kids and he's asking for help with his homework.
"You need embroidery thread and needle. I sent Mum a kit for her birthday, stay there and I'll go find it," I grin.
"Thanks Gem." His wide grin is infectious and I'm sure I have a similar look as I rake the sideboard for the present I'd sent.
"You can tidy all that away," I point to the mess he's made of the table.
"So fucking bossy," he laughs but does as I ask. My fingers grip the item I'm looking for and I bring it to the table.
"Always so obedient," I pat him on the head and he takes the opportunity to tickle my ribs so we both end up in a fit of giggles.
"Whose initials?" I ask while I pull out tailor's chalk, an embroidery needle and three choices of thread. "Red, blue or green?" I list the limited choices of the kit.
"Red," He says and I raise my eyebrows as he picks up the needle and jabs his finger with it before declaring it "much less dangerous."
"Whose initials?" I repeat when I realise he didn't answer.
"Mine, obviously. See, that's the start of an H." His fingers point to his squiggle.
"Suuuure," I roll my eyes and he clutches his chest in mock hurt while I undo the stitches he's made.
"So why do you want a monogram on your robe?" I ask, feeling a little miffed that he didn't ask me for help in the first place. I mean this is a hobby I've become pretty decent at.
"A friend saw my robe in Edinburgh and really liked it so I got them one as a present but I - well, I want to make it more special - personal - so here we are," he sighs in resignation because he knows, pardon the pun, that I'm going to keep pulling on this little thread.
"A friend, huh?" I enquire while I show him how to thread the embroidery needle.
"Jude came to the show. I told you that," he mumbles while taking an exceptionally keen interest in the robe he now has in his hands.
"Jude?"
"Uh huh."
"The same Jude you've had a crush on since we were kids?"
"Have not!" He scoffs but the pink tinge on his cheeks and the way he avoids my gaze tells me otherwise.
"And you did not tell me they were in Edinburgh!"
"I'm sure I did," my brother says as he holds out the threaded needle so I can show him what to do.
"I'd remember that. And hang on, if this is a gift for Jude then why were you sewing your own initials?"
"Gem..." he sighs, wanting me to drop it but he knows me better than that. I won't stop now.
"Harry!" I repeat back and turn his head to look at me.
"Fine..." he lets out a puff of air before he continues, "because I want our robes to match, okay? Happy now?"
"Ecstatic!" I exclaim, "this is the sweetest idea, Harry. I love it and they'll love it too, you know that, right?" I elbow him as I demonstrate how to do a chain stitch.
"You think so?" He asks and I can't wipe the smile from my face because no matter how big and famous my little brother gets, I know the little boy who needs my help is still in there and bringing these two together is definitely something I can help with. Starting with these robes.
