#'he wakes up to sunlight and to pete and is no longer afraid'

[kissporsche]

I cannot stop thinking about vegas expecting pete to leave.

everything he loves leaves, except for pete, and except for macau. but macau is the same as him, trapped under the weight of the minor family, the weight of their father even though he's now dead. pete is not trapped in any way he can't escape from. pete could leave, and vegas would let him. pete chooses to stay again and again and again.

vegas wakes up every morning and feels a thrill of shock and awe that pete is still beside him. how long does it take for his first thought to be about what he's going to make for breakfast, or driving macau to school, or the best way to have pete shaking and begging beneath him? for him to simply enjoy everything he has, rather than questioning why he still has it, expecting it to have stolen away in the dark while he slept.

is it months after waking in the hospital to pete letting the sunlight in? a year? five years? ten?

on that morning does vegas awake and greet the ache of long-healed wounds in his chest like an old friend. does he marvel at the way light from the window picks out the cluster of white hairs starting to gather at pete's temple. does he gentle his fingers, used so often for violence, to trace at the now permanent laugh lines gracing pete's eyes.

does it jolt like missing a step on the stairs when he realises. the brief confusion about what he's missing before he grasps that it isn't something he's lost but something he's gained, or rather something he's had for the longest time but is only now believing he has it.

pete has chosen him again and again, day after day, morning after morning, and the longest-held truth of his life has been eroded away until it is no longer a truth. he wakes reverent, awed, thankful, filled with all-consuming love, but no longer surprised.

he wakes up to sunlight, and to pete, and is no longer afraid.

[sweetdreamhellofanight]

Home

Oney Lorcan x Reader x Pete Dunne Warnings: Brief mention of cigarettes; angst, but mostly fluff Word Count: 2,790 Summary: You shared the space, shared the work, and the world with each other. But you two couldn’t be further away from one another. 

“You sure you’re okay?” you asked him, one arm still around his waist, helping him to the trainer’s office. 

He nodded but still grimaced with each step, 

“I’m fine,” Pete said through gritted teeth. 

On the other side of Pete, Oney was doing more of the muscle work than you in holding him up. 

“It just sounds like a sprain,” Oney offered. Pete nodded again, but said nothing else as one of the trainers motioned for him to come in. 

You made sure he was sitting steady on the bed before stepping away, 

“You both can leave,” the trainer said, walking past you and Oney to get to Pete. 

You looked at Oney, and he nodded. 

“We’ll wait outside,” Oney assured him. Pete nodded as he laid down with the trainer’s help, and you could feel Oney’s arm hovering beside you, giving you room to leave first. 

Outside, you leaned back against the wall and sighed, 

“He’ll be fine,” Oney said. 

You nodded, 

“I know.” 

“A little banged up but he’ll make it through.” 

You nodded again. 

“What about you?” you asked, looking up at him. 

He shrugged, 

“Nothing serious. Arm’s a little sore but I don’t expect anything less from Barthel.” He smiled wryly, but still you worried. 

“You sure?” you asked. 

He looked at you, longer than he needed to before responding. 

“I’ll be fine, darling,” he said. 

And maybe you both had stayed there a little too long and a little too close, but you didn’t know how to move away from him. 

But as usual, Oney spoke first, 

“I’m gonna go change. I’ll see you later?” he asked. 

You nodded.  

“I’m gonna stay,” you said, though it was already obvious. 

He nodded, 

“Need anything?” he asked. 

You shook your head, 

“I’m fine.” 

He lingered, just for a moment, as if to say something else, to reach out for you and pull you close once more. 

But he didn’t. 

Instead, he turned and walked away, rubbing the back of his neck. 

You almost called out for him. 

Almost ran up to him and made him turn around to look at you, one more time, the way he always did when he thought you wouldn’t notice. 

But the door beside you opened just as Oney disappeared into the locker room, and Pete returned, an ice pack strapped to his thigh, looking a little less annoyed than he had been not too long ago. 

“I’m good,” he mumbled, standing beside you. 

“You sure?” you asked. 

He smiled softly, and nodded, pressing a kiss to your forehead, 

“You?” he asked. 

You feigned a smile as best you could and nodded. 

“I’m fine.” 

“Let’s go home,” he said, putting an arm around you, leading you down the other way

But your mind stayed on Oney, wanting to stop Pete and tell him to wait for Oney, to at least let him know that you two were leaving. 

But you did nothing, and walked slowly with one arm around his waist, ready to get out of here. 

***

You shared the same space with him, but it no longer felt like living together. 

Every day passed with a routine you two had come to perfect with one another. Your schedules had fallen into perfect rhythm, just like the two of you. 

He worked through the minor sprain, a full week to recover, and you stayed by his side and took care of him, just like you always had. Just like he’d done for you, before. 

He took care of himself and took care of you. You took care of the house, and took care of everything else. 

An unspoken agreement, a sense of ease and familiarity that had taken years to build together. 

You shared the space, shared the work, and the world with each other. 

But you two couldn’t be further away from one another. 

Now, lying beside him, watching as he fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillows, you smiled. 

Moments like these were what made you love him, in the first place. His reserved manner, the boyish charm when he smiled at you, just as he fell asleep, the soft sound of his breathing, almost in rhythm with yours.

He slept with one pillow tucked under his arms, hand laying open, fingers slightly curled, waiting for your hand to join him. 

But you hesitated, tonight, watching him instead. 

“Where are we going?” you asked, softly, words falling into empty air. 

It was easier like this. Easier to talk to him when he was asleep. 

You were afraid of the real answer he would give, afraid that he would tell you what you wanted to hear. 

What you weren’t ready to hear. 

So you spoke quietly, to nothing around you, and knew the answer in your heart would some day bubble up to the surface. 

But for now, you gently laced your fingers with his, and tried to go to sleep, watching his calm and quiet breathing, and the way his lips curled into the tiniest smile when your hand met his. 

And you thought maybe…

Maybe everything could be okay. 

***

Pete was not affectionate in public. 

He never had been, and it had never bothered you. When others were in the room with you, he kept one hand laced with yours, holding you beside him, but nothing more. 

You didn’t mind it, not at first, at least. It was just the way he was. 

But now there was less of it. 

You pulled your hand back sooner, inched away from him as the night went on, only holding onto him when it was time to leave. 

And all the while, you could feel Oney’s eyes on you, watching as you pulled back, retreating into yourself. 

Pete never noticed. For him, it was the natural progression of an evening around friends. 

But to you, it was a shift in everything around you. 

A late lunch with some friends had gone longer than you had wanted, and you found yourself floundering, looking for any moment to excuse yourself and get some air, finally finding one as the waiter cleared the table of dishes. 

You left quietly, while the others talked loudly, and hoped no one would notice. 

A cigarette in hand, digging for your lighter, you stood outside the restaurant and breathed in the chilly air that stung your nose. 

“That’s never a good sign,” you heard behind you. 

You jumped, turning to find Oney pulling his coat over himself, joining you out front. 

“Just one,” you said, holding it up. 

“And how many does that one make for this week?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

You looked down, slightly embarrassed. 

“Five,” you said. 

“What’s wrong?” he asked. 

You shook your head, 

“Nothing.” 

You found your lighter and made quick work of lighting up your cigarette. 

“Is it Pete?” he asked, finally. 

Your slow drag turned into a long exhale, puffing out the rotten smoke away from him, but still you said nothing. 

“You look tired. Around him.” 

He came up, now, to stand across from you, watching as you took another long, deep drag. 

“You’re not happy anymore. I can tell.” 

You closed your eyes. 

You hated that he knew you like that. You hated that he was right. 

You hated that you both knew it but were both too scared to act on it. 

“I’ll be fine,” you said, finally. 

From the corner of your eye, you could see Pete walking towards the doors. Quickly, you dropped your cigarette and crushed it underneath your sneaker and blew the last of the smoke away, still not answering Oney. 

“Ready to go?” Pete asked as he joined you two. You nodded, pulling your coat closer over yourself. 

“Let’s go,” you said. He smiled at you, saying goodbye to Oney as he took your hand in his, leading you back to the car. 

But still, his words rattled around your head for the rest of the day, and for the rest of the week afterward. 

You were tired. 

You were tired of the routine with Pete, tired of looking at him and wondering where that love went. Tired of wondering if he felt the same or was completely oblivious to it. 

You were tired of where you were and you wanted out. 

But each time Pete held your hand, and each time you felt his lips on your neck, it pulled you right back in, if only for a moment. 

***

Everything with Pete had started small. Everything with him had, at the beginning, been unintentional. 

Your first trip together had been the unfortunate car ride when the only car left at the airport rental was the SUV neither of you should’ve been driving. 

Your first date had been seeing each other in the same coffee shop, sitting nearby at lunch time, moving closer and closer until you both finally ended up at the same table. 

Your first kiss had been during an argument about something neither of you remembered. 

Everything with Pete was unintentional. 

But everything with Pete was also happy. 

And that stopped you every time. 

You were happy. 

You weren’t unhappy with him. He loved you, made sure you were okay, held you close and took care of you like you wanted. 

But still, something nagged at you around him. Something about the way his arm wrapped around you felt too tight. The way he looked at you made you look away. The way he existed around you suffocated you. 

Like you needed to push him away just to breathe. 

But you tried to push it out of your mind and take his hand in yours, hoping you could hold onto it for more than a few minutes. 

You tried to sit next to him and find comfort in his body beside yours, but nothing happened. 

Something had changed along the way and you weren’t sure when. 

But it was the early morning, a new day waking up with you when it all clicked. 

Under warm sunlight and harsh winter air clawing at the windows, under freshly washed sheets and ruffled pillow cases, under the t-shirt that belonged to him that you wore to bed, it was as if everything finally made sense. 

And you realized, nothing about you and Pete made sense. 

“We should talk.” 

He had only looked at you for a second before he understood. 

That was the other thing about Pete. 

He always knew what you were thinking. 

Just one look at your face and he knew. 

He nodded and pulled himself out of bed, slower than usual. 

For the first time in a year, you were both on the same page again. 

***

You and Pete both found yourselves in the same spaces, still. 

It was hard when your friend groups overlapped as much as they did, but still, you both remained polite and distant. Even a few weeks after it all, you couldn’t look at him. 

The suffocated feeling was gone, now, but you didn’t want to wait for it to return. 

So you moved in opposite directions as him, politely averting questions about him, about yourself, until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

The birthday party was too loud and too formal and too much for your taste, so you found yourself sitting outside in the hotel lounge, tapping your heels on the shiny marble floors, trying not to fall asleep out there while your friends partied inside. 

“We’re getting too old for this kinda stuff.” 

You perked up, sitting up in your seat, turning to look for him. 

Oney came into view, taking the seat beside you, sinking into the decorative and uncomfortable chair just like yours. 

“Kinda wish I’d driven myself, now,” you said, trying to contain your smile. 

You were both quiet, watching each other, waiting for the other to speak again. 

Finally, he asked, 

“No Pete?” 

You had to stop yourself from blurting out the answer, from seeming too excited to tell him, from acting like it was anything more than just a simple statement. 

“I ended things with him.” 

You waited, but he didn’t react. 

He had to have known. It had been nearly a month and there was no way Oney wouldn’t have found out by now. 

Still, he stayed quiet. 

This is what the entire conversation had been leading to. It was the final admission you both had been waiting for. 

And now neither of you knew what else to say. 

“I’m sorry.” 

It was a start, you supposed. 

You sighed, 

“It...had been over for a while. But now it’s official.” 

He nodded again. 

“Pete...was good. But he wasn’t...right. For me.” 

There was a flash of something in his eyes that you could only describe as relief. 

And it was as if a weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

To say it out loud, to tell Oney that there was hope, still, somewhere around you both. 

It was the greatest relief of all. 

“Then what is right?” he asked, slowly. 

You shrugged, a smile spreading across your own face, now. 

“Someone that’s easy to breathe around,” you said, smiling at him. 

“That used to be us,” he said. 

“We were different,” you said. 

“We always have been,” he replied quickly. 

And there it was, again. 

That stare. 

The way Oney looked at you when he thought you wouldn’t notice, the way he looked at you when Pete held you close, the few times he showed any affection in public. 

You wondered if it was too late for you. 

For both of you. 

You wondered if you had wasted all this time, lost and afraid to admit your own feelings, only to lose the one person that was the clearest choice for you. 

He said nothing, and made no move to close the space between you two. 

And you figured it was better to leave now, with a little dignity left in yourself, before you made another mistake. 

So you looked down at your hands, rubbing them together nervously, and spoke, finally, 

“I should get going,” you whispered, getting up from your seat. 

Oney stood up, as well, but stepped aside to let you pass, 

“I’ll see you around,” he said. 

But you stopped.

He always let you pass.

He always let you go. 

No matter how long he stayed with you, no matter how long he talked to you. 

Oney always let you go, in the end. 

But this time, you stopped and turned back to him. 

“It could still be,” you said, quietly, your heart racing and hands shaking, pulling your coat snug over yourself. “Us, I mean. It could still be us.” 

Oney kept his eyes down, but you saw the smallest smile on his lips, 

“You’re tired, sweetheart,” he said, softly. 

“Not with you,” you replied. 

He inhaled, but said nothing else. 

“Oney,” you said. 

And that was the hardest part. To say his name, to see him work up the courage to look up at you, and to look into his eyes and know that nothing was going to change. 

“I think it’s time we both head home,” he said. 

Your eyes burned with tears, and nodded, and turned to leave. 

Your heels clicked on the floor, the sound deafening in the quiet lobby. You hoped, for a moment, that the sound would be loud enough to annoy him, just enough, into saying something just to make you stop. 

But he didn’t. 

So you kept going. 

But as you reached the door, one hand poised to push it open and into the cold, winter air, you stopped yourself and turned around. 

Oney walked slowly to the exit on the other end of the building, and inside you everything else suddenly faded until all you were left with was his name. 

“Oney!” you called out, making him stop. He turned his head back to look at you, surprised. 

And this time you didn’t wait. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t waste a single second, running back to him, jumping into his arms and kissing him. 

He didn’t waste time, either, wrapping his arms around you tight, holding you close, your feet hovering above the ground, kissing you back. 

You pulled back, breathless, resting your forehead against his, 

“It’s you,” you whispered, “you’re my home. You always have been. And I’m ready to come home.” 

Your tears mixed with his, traces of salt on his lips as he kissed you, softly, savoring every bit of you wrapped around him. 

“I love you,” he whispered, “I never stopped.” 

“I know,” you replied. 

“Let’s go home,” he said, gently setting you down on the ground, but you still stayed close to him, pressed into him, burying your face into his chest. 

“Let’s go home.”