๐ท๐๐๐๐ ๐บ๐๐๐๐๐๐... ๐ด๐๐๐ ๐บ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
Warnings: Underage ๐๐ซ๐ข๐ง๐ค๐ข๐ง๐ , swearing, mentions of ๐๐ซ๐ฎ๐ ๐ฌ, and a little bit of ๐๐ง๐ ๐ฌ๐ญ if you squint really hard!!
๐๐ฎ๐ฆ๐ฆ๐๐ซ๐ฒ.. ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐-๐๐๐
๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐. ๐ฉ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐, ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐
๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐. ๐ด๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐.
The house is loud- too loud. The bass of the music vibrates through the floorboards, and you're sure you can feel it in your chest. The smell of cheap alcohol and even cheaper perfume hangs heavy in the air, along with the scent of the nose-scrunching pot that's way too overpowering.
And you? You've also had too much to drink. After one too many drinks, and way too many shots, it's definitely time to call it a night.
But here's the thing. You barely know anyone at this party.
You, deciding to be brave, went to a party when you knew Nick and Chris were busy- them being literally your only friends. Sure, you had people you vaguely knew, but they were either too drunk or too high off their ass to drive you home.
So now, you find yourself on the dingy - slightly sketchy - porch steps, the one guy who's been taking care of you all night sat by your side- Mason. He has been friends with the triplets for a while, so he's the one person here you know the most. His arm is slung around your waist, keeping you from falling ass over tit off of these steps, and quite possibly the only thing stopping you from passing out.
The fresh air is a nice contrast to what you've been feeling inside, the summer breeze eliciting a welcomed shiver down your spine, the heavy music now muffled somewhere behind the door as you giggle mindlessly- that is, until, Mason tells you he's called the one person you just can't stand.
Of course that's who he's called. You're always with him, thanks to being best friends with his brothers, so poor Mason over here thinks you two are just smitten. Oh how wrong he is.
You don't have much time to react though, as a car pulls into the driveway, headlights beaming as if you've been caught- and in a way, you have.
You scrunch your nose softly, trying to block out as much light as possible until the engine dies, and the lights go out. You're relieved, but at the same time, you're not. Because you know what's coming next.
Matt gets out of the car, all clenched jaw and sharp eyes as he spots you. Its one in the morning, and he's at a house party picking up a girl he barely tolerates, you could practically hear his blood boiling.
But you don't let it intimidate you, not even when he's walking over, arms crossed over his chest like he's about to give you a lecture your dad usually does. But you? You're still grinning like the drunk idiot you are.
"Matt! Whattt.. I thought you hated parties!" You tease, knowing the real reason he's here. And it's not to party.
"Really? You're drunk off your ass right now, you barely know anyone here, and that's all you have to say? You're lucky I even came, or god knows what would've happened to you." He shoots back, his expression far from amused, and his jaw so tight you're sure his teeth would break.
You just giggle, completely unaware of his mood, and as he said, drunk off your ass.
"I didn't call you, actually. Mason did." You correct, your tone smug, as if you've just won something. You haven't. The only thing you've won, is being on Matt's blocked contact list from now on.
He just rolls his eyes, scoffs, and looks at you like you've personally offended him. "Don't matter, I'm here for you, aren't I?" He's right. He is here for you. And maybe that makes you a little more smug, knowing he left his house at one in the morning just to get you.
"Okay, Mr. grumpy.. just take me home." You mutter, your words interrupted by a drunken hiccup at some point down the line. You try to stand-keyword: Try.
But as soon as your ass leaves the step, you're thrown off balance, stumbling a little as you just continue to giggle like this is pure comedy. Matt's far from laughing.
Instead, his hands reach out, gripping your waist as he stops you from toppling over. Your hands land on his forearms steadying yourself as you look up at him with glossy eyes, the drunken haze clear in your expression and the goofy grin you're wearing.
"Are you flirting with me?" You tease again, referring to the way his hands are planted on your waist, and the way he's standing a little too close.
"No, dumbass, I'm stopping you from accidently killing yourself."
"Fair enough." You shrug, still grinning, still smelling like a distillery, and still swaying a little.
He rolls his eyes, again, something he's gotten quite used to doing in your presence. No surprise there. "Can you even walk, or am I gonna have to carry you like a baby?" He asks, and maybe it's the alcohol, or the fact your eyes can barely focus, but you swear you can see something akin to amusement in his expression.
You don't think about it too much, you just laugh again, shaking your head as you take a step forward "I can walk-"
You stumble just two steps into your journey to the car, and Matt just wishes he's stayed at home. Not really. Not when you're actually quite amusing to watch. He shakes his head, tightens his grip on your waist and maybe even chuckles. You're not quit sure.
"C'mon, drunky, let's get you home." He mutters, still acting annoyed, still a little tense, but definitely amused.
You nod, smiling a littler softer now as he helps you to the car, his arm looped around your waist, almost like a quiet promise-that he's not as pissed off as he pretends.
"C'mon," he mutters, pulling open the car door. "Try not to puke in the seat, alright?"
You flop into the passenger seat with the grace of a baby deer. "No promises."
He sighs, shuts your door, and you hear him mutter something under his breath. Maybe it's why do I even care. Or maybe it's just a string of curse words. You can't tell, and you're not sure you want to.
He settles into the drivers seat, starts the engine, and for a moment, you're glad he came. The soft hum of the radio- a song you don't quite recognise buzzes in the air between you, and he rolls your window down, just a little. Maybe he's scared of you actually puking in his seat, or maybe it's because he knows how much you like the fresh air against you skin. Either way, you appreciate it.
The first half of the car ride is relatively quiet, you're tucked into the passenger, still reeking of tequila and bad decisions, and fresh air through the window is sobering just enough to make your stomach twist, not from nausea, but from the quiet shame crawling in. You don't want Matt to have to clean up your mess. Especially not him. Especially not when you've spent so long pretending you don't care what he thinks.
You glance at him- once, twice, and for a third time, but longer. You really look at him, the passing lights casting shadows across his face, accentuating his annoyingly perfect jawline, his blue eyes, and the way your heart flutters- No. You hate him. Your heart is being stupid.
You rest your head against the window, eyes now drawn to the quiet road ahead, barely any cars passing. But the words crawl up your throat before you can stop them, the syllables tumbling off your tongue without consent.
Your words are quiet, a whisper almost lost beneath the music, the hum of the engine.
But he hears them. Loud and clear, and he can feel his mouth go dry.
He looks at you for a moment, seeing you tucked up in the passenger seat of his car, your guard down, your hair a little messy-he can't say yes. He should. He should laugh at you for even asking. But he doesn't. He just sighs, clicks his tongue, and looks back to the road.
That's all he says. And maybe that's all you need. That one word, said with confidence, is enough.
You don't ask more questions, don't push for further detail. You don't need too, and the small, but genuine smile on your lips shows that.
"Good.. I don't think I hate you either." You mutter, your words just as quiet as before, but filled with something sweeter.
He doesn't say anything else, just lets his eyes drift towards you again, and his lips twitch into probably the smallest smile he could offer. Something in him stirs, and his eyes are softer now, no hostility, no regret for coming to get you. No. It's warmth in his gaze now, something he hasn't felt in a long time.
By the end of the drive home, you've drifted off to sleep, your head still against the window, lips parted, and breaths even.
He doesn't wake you. Doesn't need to.. nor does he want to.
He just unbuckles your belt for you, picks you up with steady, but gentle arms, your head falling against his chest as he carries you bridal-style to your house.
The door's unlocked. It always is. And he mentally curses you for it every time, for being so reckless. But this time, he's a little thankful.
He carries you up the stairs silently, his grip on you still firm, still steady, but filled with gentleness even he's not used too. And as he makes it to your room, he sighs, looks down at you sleeping, a small smudge of drool on the corner of your mouth. He can't help but chuckle, not when he knows you'd be more than embarrassed if you knew he'd seen you like this. That just makes it better.
He lowers you onto your bed, takes off your shoes for you, and even tucks you into your blankets. All softness and warmth, trying his best not to wake you. It's different, it's a little weird, and it's oddly tender.
He turns to leave, steps light, but not light enough.
You stir, feel the empty, cold sheets, the loss of him- his scent and warmth, and something in your stomach drops. You peak and eye open, watching as he nears your bedroom door, and you reach out like you could physically stop him.
"Stay.." You blurt out, your voice a little slurred from sleep, but your request is clearer than day.
He stops dead in his tracks. Turns. Slowly. Lips parted in what looked like shock.
"Stay with me.. just.. just for a little?" You ask again, your voice softer, your eyes pleading, and your bottom lip jutted out into a pout he can't resist.
He should say no. He should leave, never look back on this night. But he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that, like you might fall apart if he doesn't hold you.
So he nods. He glances around your room for a second, eyes always landing back on you.
"Uhm.. sure, yeah.. okay, I'll stay." He stutters quietly, clearing his throat softly as he makes his way back over to your bed. He kicks off his own shoes, and slips onto the mattress beside you.
You waste no time. In seconds, you're under his arm, cheeks smushed against his chest, arm draped over his middle like a plea, silently begging him not to leave.
He freezes, just for a moment- not quite sure what to do with your affection. Then he melts right along with you, arm around your waist, fingers in your hair like they were always meant to be there. And maybe they were.
You don't say anything else, not as your breathing evens out and your eyes slide shut again. Not as you snuggle closer and relish in his warmth.
He doesn't sleep that night. He can't.
And for a moment, he realizes he's never really hated you.
ยฉ ๐๐ญ๐ฎ๐ซ๐ง๐ข๐ฅ๐ข๐ฅ๐ข๐จ
๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ก ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐ ๐ก๐๐๐๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ข ๐ ๐ ๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐!! ๐ป๐๐๐ ๐ฆ๐๐ข ๐๐๐๐๐ฆ๐๐ ๐๐ก ๐๐ ๐๐ข๐๐ ๐๐ ๐ผ ๐๐๐๐๐ฆ๐๐ ๐ค๐๐๐ก๐๐๐!!!
๐น๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐ก๐ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐ก ๐๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐ฃ๐๐๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ฆ ๐๐๐๐๐๐๐๐.. ๐๐ข๐ ๐ก ๐๐๐๐๐ ๐ ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐ก ๐๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐ ๐๐๐๐ก๐๐ข๐ โกยด๏ฝฅแด๏ฝฅ`โก
๐ฟ๐๐ก๐ ๐๐ ๐๐๐ฃ๐... ๐ฟ๐๐๐ฆ ๐ฅ๐๐ฅ๐
