#w. atticus

          “how come we didn’t do a group matching costume like emilia and her sister?” cyrus mindlessly wonders in between taking a bite from his piece of pie, throwing a quick glance in his brother’s direction. he chews, swallows, and then continues. “i feel like we would’ve killed it — don’t you think?” he hums, shoving the rest of the pie into his mouth while trying not to smudge his black lipstick.

          cyrus was as different from his younger brother as he was close to him but there were still things that he couldn’t understand about ace — like his love for the supernatural. and despite having spent a good part of his teenage years in roswell, he was still quite the scaredy cat when it came to those things. yet, he could still be convinced to going out on those exploring trips to the woods with atticus. 

          a few knocks on his brother’s door make cyrus pull out the spare key, knowing that the younger usually slept in. even if it was nearing the sundown already. “atti?” he calls out as he steps into the living room, rolling his eyes when he finds his brother passed out on the couch. cyrus pulls out his phone, snapping a picture of atticus and forwarding it to his contacts list with a lewd phrase, something his brother would probably kill him for if he found out. “you asked for it.” he mumbles before he shakes the hell out of the other. “wake up, sleepin’ beauty. you texted me and i’m here so get your ass up.”