Star Crossed

Chapter 52: A Late Night

Mason

"Shhh," I whisper, throwing Brandon's arm over my shoulder to support him. I quietly open the front door, cringing slightly when it squeaks. I practically have to drag Brandon inside, his legs barely being able to function.

I peer around the house. It's empty, and all of the lights are off, so that's a good sign. It's around two in the morning, and Brandon and I are just getting home from a party. Brandon had originally planned to go to his own home afterwards, but now he's drunk off his ass and I know that there's no one there to take care of him.

"Move your feet," I state, my voice hushed as I try to maneuver Brandon upstairs. He stumbles over almost every step, and would've fallen over if I wasn't holding onto him so tightly.

I manage to get him upstairs, with only minimal protest from Brandon. I open the door to my bedroom, then set Brandon down on my bed. I make my way over to my dresser and begin rummaging through it. I pull out a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt that should fit him.

"Here," I say, tossing the clothes at him. He gives me a confused look for a moment, then starts to take his shirt off. I stare -in annoyance- at him when he struggles to get the material over his head. I groan.

"Let me," I mutter, smacking his hands away from the fabric. I easily slide the shirt off of him, throwing it haphazardly onto the floor beside my bed. I hesitate when I get to his belt and jeans, gulping a little. Brandon -even in his drunken state- seems to notice my pause.

"It's fine," he mumbles, his words slurred. He attempts to undo his belt buckle, but fails miserably. I almost laugh at how stupid he looks, but just undo the leather from around his waist.

I struggle slightly to get his jeans off, but manage to slide the thick material down his legs, and pull them off of his feet. I help Brandon into the T-shirt and pants, then throw on a pair of pyjamas for myself.

"Stay here," I instruct. "I'll get you some water." Brandon gives me a small nod, and I leave my room to go down to the kitchen. I pull a glass out of the cupboard and fill it with water from the tap. I turn off the water, and set the glass down on the counter when I hear the door to the backyard open.

I ditch the cup, and go see what's happening. The door isn't very far from the kitchen, so it doesn't take me long to reach it. And when I'm able to get a good look at who it is, I gape.

"Carter?" I question, attempting to keep my voice at a whisper. His eyes widen when he sees me, and he starts stuttering.

"I was j-just," he tries. I cross my arms over my chest, cocking an eyebrow at him.

"Since when do you sneak out?" I ask, and he rolls his eyes.

"Why do you care? I've seen you sneak around plenty of times," he states, walking over to the kitchen. He opens the fridge and grabs a rootbeer, popping it open.

"What's up with you? You're acting like a fucking asshole," I whisper-yell to Carter, and he just shrugs. He takes a large sip of the rootbeer, then sets it down -aggressively- on the counter.

"What about you? Why are you awake now?" He counters, raising a brow at me. I scoff.

"You're fifteen!" I exclaim. "You should be upstairs. In bed. Besides, Mom and Dad knew that I was going out tonight." Carter glares at me, clenching his jaw slightly.

"I'm going to bed," he states simply, walking away from me. I grasp onto his arm, but he jerks it away, sending me a death glare.

I stand there for a few moments, entirely confused by how Carter was acting. I shake off the odd interaction, and grab the glass of water off of the counter.