I've been a bad boy and it's plain to see â 001
âNo, no, donâtâI mean, donât stop in front of my house. I canât wake my dad up.â Atticus coughed out a laugh, reaching over to smack his designated driver lightly on the arm; he was straddling the line between tipsy and drunk, and he was definitely three hours past his curfew, meaning he had to take all of the necessary precautions to ensure this night didnât end in his ass being grounded. He wasnât concerned, necessarily. This wasnât the first time Atticus was sneaking in late, illegal substances coursing through his veins, and it wouldnât be the last.Â
He wasnât a bad kid, not by any means. Sure, he neglected his academics in favor of his social life and he was kind of an asshole, but everything he did, he did with the best of intentions. It wasnât his fault that his judgement had the tendency to be so skewed.Â
As the vehicle pulled up to the curb, Atticus stumbled out with a happy âthanks, Buddy!â and took a moment to try and gain his sense of direction. The car drove away, leaving him quiet on the suburban street, nothing but the lamps lining the sidewalk and the cloud covered moon to light his way; in his drunken haze, it was only just enough.
Okay. Right. He needed to go right.
It took him a good three minutes to find his respective house and he hesitated. After a moment, he fished out his phone and opened his text thread with his brother.Â
âYou awake? Need you to sneak me in.â
Focusing on it, he confirmed the message was coherent before he hit send. He stepped back, antsy, hoping his brother was still awake.
Zachary had spent the night snacking and pampering while watching his favorite movies. Fridayâs had become one of the best nights to have his alone time during the weekend nights. His dad worked normal times, and as much as Zach loved him, Atticus was gone until right before or even after curfew. It was easier to focus on yourself when there wasnât anyone around to distract you other than a kitten.
He also didnât mind the cuddling he got once Tic was back home most nights. He wasnât a fan of alcohol, or drunkenness, but he still found humor in Atticus came home after his parties. Not to mention the times heâd get to paint his nails, or do things to his hair while he went on about something like what he had wanted to eat but didnât get to eat, or what had happened in math class. He always had a load of stories to tell his brother by the time Friday rolled around and Atticus was usually the one to get the ear full even if he didnât particularly care.Â
Though, for a boy who told on people for stealing pencils he did cover up for his twin a lot, and it wasnât owed all to the fact Atticus was his brother, or even that his brother let him talk for hours about completely useless things. Heâd admitted to himself a while ago he was so eager to sneak him in and never tell their dad on him was because of the crush on him.
So, naturally when he received the anticipated text from his brother he replied simply.
âKitchen door. Iâll bring you clothes.â
After grabbing pajamas from his brothers room so he could change in their half bathroom downstairs instead of risking Burt waking up and seeing him in the clothes he left in. As quietly as he could he made his way downstairs to open the backdoor so Atticus could come in.
