31/08/12: This chapter has been edited.

Thanks to forget_me_not_97 for the banner on the side! :D

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Kill me now.

Those are the exact three words that cross my mind as I ascend the familiar carpeted stairs of our house, with an ill-tempered Connor in tow.

Because, courtesy of my clumsiness, my mother and the depressing October weather, I am now being forced to spend more time than necessary with Connor by finding him a shirt from my absent brother’s room. Did I mention we’re alone?

If this situation doesn’t turn out to be awkward and/or humiliating, then I’m a blue banana.

“Brandon’s room is just across here...” I say, as we reach the top of the staircase and start across the hall. I’m not sure why I’m pointing it out, really – it’s not as if Connor requires advanced navigational skills to follow me through a door – but I feel like I should be making at least some attempt to break the incredibly awkward silence that has settled between us.

“I know where it is.”

Alright, Mr. Touchy, I’m tempted to add. Needless to say, I lack the courage to actually say it out loud.

I hasten across the hall, keen to grab a shirt for Connor and return downstairs as quickly as possible. As far as I’m concerned, there’s really no need to prolong my discomfort. I push open the door, pausing for less than a second to inhale the musty scent that consumes Brandon’s old room. The place is empty, which isn’t surprising. I wouldn’t expect it to contain much after being vacant for over a year. Since my brother left for college in California, no one’s really paid much attention to this room. Apart from mom coming in occasionally to clean, it’s been practically untouched between Brandon’s infrequent visits. All that remains is a bed frame, harboring a stripped mattress and a pile of old clutter, alongside a bare desk and a dresser across the opposite wall.

However, I don’t really have time to soak in the details, because I’m all too aware of the grouchy teenage guy standing behind me.

And I kind of want to get out of here as quickly as possible.

“Um, there should be some shirts in here...”

I head over to the dresser quickly, hoping I’ll be able to retrieve a shirt and exit the room with the same speed. Unfortunately, it kind of slipped my mind that most of the furniture in Brandon’s room is either damaged or broken, and the drawer that contains his abandoned clothing also happens to be the drawer that’s near impossible to open.

And I almost break my wrist trying to yank it open.

Which is kind of embarrassing when someone’s right behind you, watching and waiting.

“Look, just move,” Connor says, after at least twenty seconds of watching my pitiful attempts to wrench it open. “I’ll do it, since you’re obviously incapable.”

Instead of retaliating, I step swiftly to the side, removing myself from his way. I would probably be a little more pissed off if I wasn’t so embarrassed at this moment in time. I swear I’m not usually this clumsy and awkward – or at least I wasn’t before Connor returned. Okay, okay, so maybe I wasn’t the epitome of elegance and class – and certainly guilty of my fair share of tripping incidents in the school cafeteria, which of course the rest of my classmates found hilarious – but I was certainly capable of opening a drawer without turning into a stuttering idiot.

After a second of struggling, which he will probably never admit to, Connor yanks it open. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Yeah, alright,” I mutter.

Seriously, what is his problem? Apart from kind of tackling him in the street yesterday – which, even so, doesn’t justify this type of treatment – I’ve never done anything to him. We haven’t had any contact for eight years, for crying out loud. Is this just what he’s like now? Does he randomly give the cold shoulder to anyone he comes across?

Or am I getting special treatment?

Whatever it is, the bottom line is clear: he’s a jerk, and I’d prefer to spend as little time as possible in his presence. Is that too much to ask?

I dig my hand into the drawer, pulling out the first thing it lands on that resembles a shirt. A faded blue print tee that I can vaguely remember Brandon wearing at some point in time. Turning round, I hold it in front of Connor’s face. “This okay?”

“Whatever,” he mutters, snatching it from my grasp. “It’ll do.”

“You don’t need to be so rude about it,” I snap, but immediately regret it when Connor’s cold eyes lock onto mine. Determined not shrink under their intensity like usual, I search for my inner boldness (which I wasn’t sure even existed) and hold the eye contact. “I’m doing you a favor, you know.”

“No, you’re not. I could’ve just gone next door and got my own shirt.”

“Just put it on,” I order, in what I hope is an authoritative tone. Knowing me, though, it’s probably not. I’m pretty sure a two-inch mouse could be more threatening than me if it tried. “So we can go back downstairs.”

After shooting me another icy glare, Connor turns his attention to his soggy shirt, grimacing as his fingers brush the wet fabric. Then, without warning, he’s tugging at it, pulling it speedily over his head before I even have time to comprehend what’s happening.

Uh… what the hell?! Did I tell him to strip off in front of me? Because I certainly don’t remember giving a command of the sort. My eyes are involuntarily drawn to his bare chest, causing a thought to scuttle across my mind before I have the chance to stop it.

With that six pack, he’s actually kind of hot.

Wait, no! I did not just think that! What am I doing? I don’t even–

“See something you like?”

When I snap out of my frantic thoughts, my eyes meet with an amused-looking Connor, whose features are adorned with a self-satisfied smirk. Trying to ignore the redness that’s spreading across my cheeks, I take a deep breath and try to compose myself.

“Uh, what are you doing?”

“Changing,” he responds, like he’s speaking to the world’s biggest idiot. In other words, me. “That’s why we’re up here, aren’t we?”

“B-but… but–” I force out, becoming increasingly aware of how much of an imbecile I sound. “There’s a bathroom over there!”

“Geez, I only took off my shirt. You don’t have to get so worked up about it.”

“I’m not!”

Okay, so I kind of am.

“Does me being shirtless make you uncomfortable?”

“No.”

Yes, it does.

“That’s good, then,” he responds, running the fabric of the navy t-shirt through his hands, making absolutely no attempt to re-dress himself. I have to concentrate intensely to keep my eyes fixed firmly on his pale face, just so they aren’t tempted to go wandering downwards. If there’s one thing I’m determined to do, it’s refrain from giving the jerk the satisfaction of knowing I think he’s… well, kind of attractive.

Note the heavily emphasized ‘kind of’, though. It’s not like he’s the next Taylor Lautner.

Shut up, brain. Focus on the matter in hand.

“Can you please hurry up and change?” I snap, stubbornly holding eye contact whilst trying not to get caught up in his amused chocolate brown irises. “I don’t want to stay up here all night.”

A flicker of unidentifiable emotion crosses his face, and for a moment we remain frozen to the spot. Neither of us want to be the first to transfer our gaze elsewhere and lose the mini staring contest we seem to have got ourselves into. And there’s no way it’s going to be me. Following the incidents of yesterday and tonight’s dinner, I don’t want to continue giving Connor the impression that I’m a feeble idiot he can walk all over.

I kind of am, but that’s not the point. I just don’t want him to think that.

“What’s your problem?!” I finally snap, growing irritated with the smirk that still hasn’t left his face. “I haven’t done anything to you, so why are you acting like this?”

Less than a second after the words have escaped my lips, the smug smile evaporates from Connor’s expression, replaced once again by his narrowed eyes. “I’m not acting like anything.”

“Oh, sure. You haven’t said one civil word to me since you arrived. You’re acting like you hate me.”

“I do hate you.”

My next comeback dries up in my throat, leaving me with an open mouth and probably resembling a goldfish. I’d predicted some smartass response, maybe accompanied by a smirk, but a statement like that? Obviously, he’s not exactly the world’s friendliest person, but does he really think I deserve to be hated?

Apparently Connor thinks so.

Before I can respond, he pulls the shirt over his head. “I’m going back downstairs,” he announces, and in a matter of seconds, he’s walked out of the room, heading for the stairs again.

And, as I stare after him, standing alone amongst Brandon’s musty furniture, I’m only capable of thinking one thing.

What the hell?

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So what did you think? I'm glad my little encouraging message helped bribe you guys to start commenting, lol. I love reading them! This chapter was short, but I couldn't think of anything else.

I'm actually surprised that you guys like Connor :P I tried to make him as jerkish as I could, but apparently it's not working. Or maybe you're swayed by the fact he's played by Logan Lerman (I am!)

Aaaaaand... that's it. School is going so slowly this week :( Remember to COMMENT for the chance of a dedication!