My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}

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Ethan carefully eased Noah into the back seat, treating him as if he were made of glass. The crumpled old blanket he had found on the floor smelled faintly of gasoline and wintergreen air freshener. He wrapped it around his shoulders and down over his bare legs, pulling the edges together until only his pale, tear-stained face was visible in the dim light. The bruises marring his throat and upper arms stood out starkly against the soft gray wool, and each time his fingers brushed against one, he felt his heart crack a little more.

He straightened up, jaw tight and aching, and glanced back at the house. Through the open front door, he could still hear the muffled thuds and sharp cries of Adrien’s fury echoing down the hallway—the raw, methodical sounds indicating that whatever punishment was happening inside was far from over. For a brief moment, Ethan wanted nothing more than to storm back inside, to unleash his own fists upon the perpetrators, to ensure that Patrick, Liam, and Jace felt every ounce of terror they had inflicted on Noah. His hands instinctively curled into fists, knuckles whitening, pulse roaring in his ears like an engine revving for action.

He had actually taken a step toward the curb when a small, broken sound halted him in his tracks.

"Ethan..."

Noah’s voice was barely audible, trembling and slurred, yet his fingers gripped the sleeve of his hoodie with surprising strength. Fresh tears streamed down his temples, blending into his hair, and his whole body shook with the effort to hold on. "Please... don’t go back in there. Don’t leave me alone."

His plea cut through the red haze in his mind. Ethan dropped to his knees beside the open door so quickly that the gravel bit into his jeans. "Hey, hey, I’m right here," he whispered, sliding his hand over his and gently prying his fingers free to lace them with his. "I’m not going anywhere, Noah. Not ever again."

He turned to him, his eyes glassy and unfocused, and seeing him like that—small and shaking, yet still trying to be brave—made guilt wash over him in waves. "I’m so sorry," he said again, the words scraping raw from his throat as if he were repeating them for the hundredth time that night. "I should’ve been paying more attention, should’ve answered my phone, should’ve pulled you out of that awful party the moment you looked uncomfortable. I let you down, and I hate myself for it."

A broken sob escaped him, and he weakly tugged at his hand, wanting him closer. Without hesitation, Ethan climbed into the back seat, shutting the door behind him so the dome light clicked off and darkness enveloped them like a fragile cocoon. He pulled him carefully against his chest, blanket and all, until his cheek was resting over his heartbeat. He was burning up and freezing cold at the same time, trembling with relentless shivers.

"I’ve got you," he murmured into his hair, pressing his lips to his damp temple, then to the bruised curve of his cheek—a kiss that tasted of salt and regret. "I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere. No one’s ever going to hurt you again, Noah. Not while I’m alive."