mandarriin:

It’s cold in his bedroom. It always is when Peter comes over. It’s something that never changes.

Elias lies on his side, not sleeping, just keeping his eyes shut. For the most part, at least. He deliberately chooses not to look. Which is odd, but understandable.
Elias placed his palm over Peter’s. He wasn’t the one who had decided to intertwine their fingers. But it was Elias who had allowed it to happen.
But even after that touch, the distance between them didn’t lessen. Far from it. It was as if they had become even further apart. But that was always the case when Peter comes over.

His hand is cold, and it seems that the longer they stay like this, the colder Elias gets too. But he doesn’t move.
Elias feels Peter’s eyes on him. The sensation is far too familiar to him. But this time he doesn’t respond in the same way. And the man on the other side of the bed definitely finds something amusing about it.
But Elias doesn’t care. He doesn’t move an inch. Doesn’t look. Doesn’t let go of his hand. And the room is quiet. Like it always is when Peter comes over.

Elias feels movement on the other side of the bed. He feels something cold brush lightly against his side. Goosebumps run down his back. But he keeps his eyes shut.
Elias feels a hand almost gently stroking his cheek. Though it’s getting colder, he doesn’t pull away from the touch. He feels Peter gently remove a strand of hair from his face, tucking it behind his ear.
Peter stares at him. He can almost see the smirk on his face when Elias doesn’t resist the gesture in any way. Peter traces his thumb gently across his cheek. And Elias retreats. He rests his palm on Peter’s hand, admitting defeat. Elias squeezes his hand tightly, not saying a word. He gave in, but that doesn’t mean he’s lost his pride.
The silence is deafening.
Elias feels the cool wind run through his hair. The way it wraps around his neck. Not strangling, but the touch takes his breath away. He bites his tongue, forcing himself to keep his mouth shut. Elias hates admitting he still needs him. And he hates even more that Peter doesn’t need him to say anything at all.

Elias noticed that Peter moved closer. The smell of the ocean fills the air. He can almost taste the salt in his mouth. It’s always like this when Peter comes over.

He turns his head slightly to the side, pressing his lips to Peter’s wrist. A lump forms in his throat, and Elias bites his tongue harder. There’s so much he wants to say… But he’d rather die than let those words out. Feeling tears welling up in his eyes, he squints harder in a pathetic attempt not to let his emotions show. He would rather suffocate than let out another shuddering sigh… It’s all useless, for his actions are far more eloquent.
Elias doesn’t want to know how pathetic he looks right now.

Peter is a fraction of an inch away from him. But even so, the distance between them is only growing.
Peter’s hand moves to the back of his head. He runs his fingers through his hair, still holding his hand firmly. Elias feels his cold breath on his skin.

The kiss becomes a breaking point. Elias digs his nails into Peter’s hands in a way that would certainly leave a mark on them. He feels the cool wind and the smell of the ocean envelop him. Elias has finally given up.
When Peter pulls away, Elias involuntarily opens his eyes and- He sees the neatly made opposite side of the bed.
Fog seeps into the bedroom through the curtained window and the picture frames on the shelf. It oozes onto the floor from beneath the wardrobe doors. As his hand clutches the sheet tightly, the same fog swirls around him.
Alone. As it usually was when Peter came over.

The realization hit almost instantly. Elias rushed out of the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. He stopped only on the other side of the hallway. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the wall. His heart racing, his head was spinning.

He cursed Peter ceaselessly as soon as his voice returned to him. His voice treacherously shook making him sound even more pathetic. Elias hated the fact that he had fell for it, the way his legs shook. And the… That he was afraid to look back at the bedroom door.

Elias is so terribly cold, and alcohol doesn’t help to keep him warm. But it allows him to let his suppressed emotions out. And not notice the pale blanket of fog gliding weightlessly beneath his feet. Not to notice the smell of the ocean. And later, he’ll have something to blame for his breakdown. As was usually the case when…

Even in death, Peter Lucas was a bastard.