A/N: This is just a short drabble I threw together courtesy of Tumblr. I reblogged what was basically a numbered list of one-line dialogues that said to put a number in the ask box for a drabble using that dialogue.

Lily (aka Enbied, who writes on Ao3!) gave me this one, where the line I have to work with is "It's not what it looks like". It seemed like the right piece to work on as it's 1am and I can't sleep. But my other long, drawn out fics I have been working on require more attention than I have to give right now.

"It's not what it looks like!"

"So, you're not rummaging through my makeup at 3 in the morning?"

Frankie's furrowed eyebrows lifted higher on her head with the question. Rummaging was a bit of an understatement, and it took until she was there pointing it out for Miles to how sizable of a mess he had actually made. His sister's usually tidy washroom had somehow taken on the appearance of a post-tornado disaster. Various tubes, jars, and brushes were in a scattered clutter on the counter-top, most unaccompanied by their matching lids. Some had even managed to make it from their assigned spots in their now opened drawers to the floor at her brother's feet.

He had tried to save himself, but if the crooked expression plastered across his sister's face told him anything - it was that he was royally screwed. Of course he probably hadn't helped his own suspicion when he nearly jumped four feet in the air upon her appearance. She stood at the doorway to her own washroom, arms crossed loosely across her chest as she settled into one hip, waiting for an explanation. The smirk that graced her thin lips and the oh-so-familiar gleam of mischief in her dark eyes that seemed to be a staple for all the Hollingsworth children showed him that he was not about to win this one. He kept his head turned, his gaze averted downward and focused on anything but her as she stared him down in a way that made his skin prickle with warm embarrassment. He tugged at the drawstrings to the cherry red jacket that clung to his frame, tightening the sides of the hood that was skeptically worn atop his head.

"Okay. It is what it looks like. But I can explain..."

He lifted his hands palms up in defeat, trying not to let his own stupidity cause him immediate frustration. He should have known he would get caught even at this ungodly hour in the night.

"It's cool brother. I just came to pee...didn't mean to interrupt."

She was giggling to herself, clearly amused by whatever the fuck she had just walked in on but wanting to seem accepting of whatever avant-garde fantasy or possible identity crisis she was observing. She quickly turned around to leave him be and through the corner of his eye he watched her leave. As ashamed and irked as he was that she showed up in the first place, he knew he needed her to stay. With a groan that so perfectly captured his reluctant loss he called after her.

"No, Frankie wait. I-I need your help."

"With what, exactly?"

She was facing him again, too curious for her own good and damn did it show. Frankie wasn't usually one to be judgey, but something about the way her eyes narrowed when she stared made him visibly nervous. His hands had fell to the pockets of his hoodie, fidgeting unusually between the fabric. His shoulders were slumped, such a change from his rigid posture when she had caught him no more than a few minutes before. Eventually the silence wore him thin and he turned to face her for the first time since their encounter, his hands reaching up to slowly pull the hood away from his head.

"What the hell?!"

Frankie's voice rose in honest shock as she immediately caught what was different about her brother. He appeared to have been the victim of some sort of neck-centered attack. But it didn't take a genius to know that what covered the usually pale, blemish free skin were a copious amount of hickeys. Some of the most wicked she had ever seen, at that. A collection of deep reds and purples so dark some nearly appeared to be tinted black against the few light slivers of his natural pigmentation peeking out between. Some still showed the slight indentations of teeth around them, protecting the marks they helped create with a lingering pride. They were scattered about nearly the entire space, making it difficult to believe there had ever been an uncovered neck there in the first place.

"Shhh! Would you keep your voice down please?!" Miles pleaded in a tone that was hushed, yet still held his rightful irritation. "If mum and dad see these, I'm screwed. They'll know I snuck out after curfew to go to Tristan's and..."

He let his voice trail off, knowing very well his sentence didn't need completing. Coming home with hickeys left from anybody was sure to stir up a disaster complete the typical screaming match about how he was always disgracing his family and likewise ruining his father's campaign. Coming home with hickeys from a boy...it was likely to start World War III.

"Tristan gave you love bites?"

Frankie scoffed in disbelief, examining the marks from afar. She wasn't sure what she was harder to believe. That Tristan had it in him to stir up something so insane, or that her brother of all people had let him.

"Look, I'm not discussing my sex life with my little sister okay? I thought I could cover them up. But clearly I have no idea what I'm doing. I don't even know what any of this crap is or how to use...this thing."

He picked up a tool from the counter-top, something that resembled a smaller, coarser version of an ancient torture device. He turned it over between his fingers, his complete and utter confusion as obvious as the intensity of the night he had just experienced before peering up at her again.

"Can you help me out, please?"

"First off, that is for your eyes." Frankie corrected his stupidity as she came forward to snatch the mascara wand out of his hand. "Second, I don't think there's any chance of hiding use those battle wounds."

She was teasing him, but the bothered whine that left his lips made her feel a bit sorry. She knew as well as he did how much trouble he would be in when his parents caught the evidence of his late night rendezvous. Not to mention how heavily he was bound to get teased at school alongside it. As he contemplated his fate she scanned the contents around them, lips pursed tightly as she thought. She reached out, sifting through the mess and eventually collecting certain items in her hands.

"But take these to your room and I'll see what I can do in the morning before school. You should probably put some ice on those vampire stamps too. Looks like you went a couple rounds with the creatures from Fortnight."

A relief filled smile tugged at his lips, giving a brief flash of his teeth before he leaned over to take his sister in a grateful embrace.

"Thanks Frankenstein. You're the best."

He took the selected containers and wide, fluffy brushes from his sister and shoved them in his pockets. After cleaning up the mess he caused he was quick to head out and give her sister back the privacy of her own washroom but her sudden grip on his arm stopped him in his tracks. She looked up at him with determination in her eyes, not faltering even as he stared back with just as much confidence. He should have known she wasn't going to let him get away that easy. He started going over the possible choices on her list of demands in his head - driving her and her stupid friends around for a week? Keeping mom away so she could have some alone time with Chewy? Doing her algebra homework? But apparently he wouldn't find out what she had in store for him any time soon, for all she said when she opened her mouth to speak again was:

"You owe me, brother. Big time."