It seemed that Hunter would always fail at being good -- a good person, a good son, a good brother, and now, a good friend. He hadn’t been very encouraging or supportive when Wyatt had texted him the night of the party distraught and since then, the blog posts hadn’t stopped coming. He should have checked up on him since. He could use any excuse he wanted, work keeping him busy, hiding out for the fear of being spotted, not feeling like leaving his apartment more than necessary, it didn’t matter, no excuse was good enough. He had stopped by Mirage a few days earlier in hopes to find him there, he could have texted or called but he would have no way of knowing how honest he was being from the other side of a phone. As much as he hated to admit it, Hunter felt guilty. If positions were swapped, Wyatt would make sure that he was doing okay. There was even a small part of him that wished he would have his own named dragged through the mud, just so it would take some of the spotlight off of one of the few people that he actually cared about, someone that had never done anything (as far as he knew) to deserve it.
Standing outside of his place, he rang the doorbell twice, not giving him nearly enough time to answer before he knocked five times, the wood rough against his knuckles, making the situation sound far more urgent than it was. He wasn’t feeling very cheerful himself but he could pretend for a few hours, it wouldn’t be that hard to offer the man some sort of distraction. He had no plan, he was sure something would come to him randomly and if it didn’t, driving around was still better than sulking inside. (Not that anyone would be able to convince him of that.) “Get off your lazy ass, Cowboy,” he shouted, realizing in that moment that he had no idea if he was even home or not, “we’re going out tonight.”
[ @thataintwy ]
