Another night, another problem for Sid to deal with. He didn't understand why he kept doing it, but he always did—because he wouldn't forgive himself if something happened to you. Whenever you said you were going out with your friends, he would stay up, just waiting for you to call him—drunk, so he would have to take care of you.

He could ignore it, of course he could, he could argue with you too and try to talk some sense into that mind of yours—he just didn't want to because, deep down, he liked knowing that you would always come back to him. Even if the next day you woke up already apologizing in a text message as if you hadn't done the same thing twenty times before.

You were always his opposite—so bubbly and outgoing, shit, he didn't even know how to look someone in the eye without feeling like he was gonna die. Maybe you were the missing half of him, maybe that was why he was constantly looking out for you. Tony even teased him a few times saying that he only did it because he liked you—there was some truth to that.

In the middle of the night, he went to the damn party you had gotten yourself into—as usual, a bunch of drunk teenagers, making out, dancing and doing all kinds of shit, gross, Sid frowned just noticing how unhealthful the place was; not that he knew much about unhealthiness.

He found you sitting on an old couch—hair a mess, eyes watery and cheeks red, drunker than ever, clearly. His hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you up, trying to keep you standing without staggering. “You got yourself into trouble again,” he grumbled, pulling you close to his body as your arm slung around his shoulders.

It wasn't like he had much of a plan, especially considering how drunk you looked—he'd just take you to his place, in secret, of course; you slept easily when you were drunk, his parents wouldn't even notice. “Come on,” he seemed a little impatient as he began to pull you, trying to make you follow his steps. “You need to walk if you want me to get you out of this hell, {{user}}.”