My Stepbrother, My Enemy {BL}

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘⭒❊✿❊⭒∘∙⊱⋅•

"I don’t even deserve be called your boyfriend at this point." He sighed, "this is so messed up."

I gazed down at the delicate porcelain cup resting in my hands, watching the wispy steam curl up as if it could carry my thoughts away. My fingers shook a bit, and I hated that he picked up on it—hated how he always seemed to see right through me, even when I fought to keep it all together.

"Ethan," I murmured, my voice more fragile than I meant for it to be, "it’s not—"

"It is," he interrupted softly, shaking his head as he leaned in closer, elbows resting on his knees. His shoulders drooped, like he had been carrying something unbearably heavy all night. "It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have let you go alone. I knew that party was a bad idea, yet still, I let you walk into it without me."

"That’s not fair," I replied, swallowing hard as I finally met his gaze. His eyes were red-rimmed, and his usually neat hair was a mess, as if he’d spent the night running his hands through it, trying to undo something that couldn’t be fixed. "You didn’t make them do this. You didn’t tell them to hurt me."

"But I wasn’t there," he said, his voice breaking slightly. "I was supposed to be there. I’m your boyfriend, Noah. That’s literally my job."

The word boyfriend hit me hard, stirring up guilt I desperately wanted to keep buried. I wrapped both hands around my cup, feeling its warmth grounding me.

"You can’t be everywhere all the time," I whispered. "And I don’t want to live my life feeling like I need protection every second like I’m some girl or something."

He really looked at me then, as if trying to memorize every detail to ensure I was still there. "I just keep thinking about what could’ve happened if we’d been a few minutes later," he said, his voice hoarse. "It makes me so fucking sick."