Chapter Text
I just wanna follow my heart.
Love. Love is not enough. It’s not enough to save someone. It’s not enough, day in, and day out. It isn’t magic. It doesn’t heal all the cracks overnight.
In the movies, it seems so great. The couple has a conflict, but at the 90-minute mark they kiss, and maybe even at the altar, and the credits roll.
Not every movie is like the Graduate, where they sit in awkward silence, realizing they have no idea what the fuck they just did.
Pete sat at the kitchen table, disassociating himself into next Tuesday, while Vegas’s screams hummed like tinnitus in his ears. Glass shattered as Vegas launched a small marble bust into a display case.
It was already the third time he had acted like this in the three weeks they had come home from the hospital. Macau had already disappeared into his room to play violent video games with his headset on.
Pete didn’t notice his phone buzzing in his pocket until Porsche called for the third time in a row. He scrambled, pulling the phone out, and answered without checking the caller ID.
“Hello?”
“Pete, where the fuck are you?”
Pete glanced around, startled to see it was already dark outside. He glanced at the microwave, not allowing himself to calculate how many hours he had lost this time.
“Home.”
Home. It still felt weird to say. Home used to mean Yaai, after it meant violence. Pete knew he shouldn’t be surprised he was repeating his mother’s mistakes.
He had been so sure, though. He had fought against it. He reminded himself at the safe house again and again that Vegas was only acting within his true nature. And all it had taken was Vegas to turn those desperate eyes, sad and pleading, in Pete’s direction and he had crumpled. He had softened. He was often told he resembled his mother. He had become a doormat, just like her.
He had tried to fight back. He had fought back, knocking Vegas out cold before getting away. But Vegas had found him again, not giving him space. He twisted the knife he had embedded so recklessly in Pete’s bruised heart, wielding his tears like a weapon. He had sobbed with Pete, holding him as close as Pete would allow.
Pete was just so tired. He had felt backed into a corner. Did he really want Vegas? Or did he just fear losing the one person who truly saw him?
The one person who saw the ugliness in him and reflected it back like a mirror.
His Vegas.
His captor.
His keeper.
“Come to Hum Bar,” Porsche said.
“Are you asking as my friend or commanding?”
“Pete…”
“Give me an hour.”
Pete ended the call and sat for another ten minutes in silence, feeling the house smothering him. He knew he needed to leave, but the process of leaving was not so simple. He would have to tell Vegas, for one thing.
With a sigh, Pete got up, his legs wobbling beneath him a little as he stretched. He had sat for much longer than usual.
After grabbing a broom and dustpan from the closet, Pete made his way to the room he shared with Vegas.
After flicking on the light, Pete surveyed the damage. It had been worse the last time. He swept quietly, careful to get every shard of glass. It wouldn’t do for any of them to cut themselves.
Vegas would only blame himself, and the cycle would repeat.
“Pete? I can do that,” Vegas said as Pete felt strong arms circle his waist.
Pete stilled. “I’m almost done,” he said quietly.
“Let me help,” Vegas said, reaching for the broom.
“I’ll be done in just a moment, just let me finish.”
“Pete-”
Pete snapped, raising his voice exactly how he didn’t want to. “Vegas, I said I got it. Sit down.”
Vegas went quiet, shuffling to slump into the bed with a pained groan.
Pete shut his eyes for a moment, feeling the guilt wash over him. After cleaning up the rest of the glass, Pete washed his hands and crawled into bed to press himself gently against Vegas.
Pete knew his scars were still healing. Vegas had been so gentle with him while Pete was healing, so Pete tried to do the same.
“You didn’t get cut, did you?” Vegas said in a muffled voice.
“No, I was careful.”
“Good.”
Vegas finally reached for him, pressing his face into Pete’s chest. Pete could feel his shirt grow damp from the tears Vegas had been silently shedding. Pete had never known someone to cry so much. He had thought the tears the two of them had shed in all the time before they left the hospital had been enough for a lifetime.
Vegas had told him he was going to change. He was going to be better.
But he was in so much pain.
He refused to deal with his father’s death. He just didn’t speak about it. It was as if Vegas had sprung from the sea, like Aphrodite herself.
It wasn’t just the trauma, though. It was the shock of being replaced by his uncle, even though he had anticipated as much. It was Vegas’s turn to be kept like a pet in a cage. Running and running on a wheel with no progress being made.
The physical pain was just the icing on the cake. A nurse came every day to help him with his physical therapy, but it wasn’t always the same nurse. They were on the eighth one already. They had quit, one after another after Vegas snapped at them or threw something.
Pete had learned most of the stretches, so he had called the hospital to cancel the service. Vegas was even more foul in Pete’s presence. He would rant, looking absolutely feral as angry tears streamed down his face.
It cut Pete up inside to force Vegas to endure this pain, but he knew it was helping him. Sessions usually ended with them screaming at each other until one of them burst into sobs and the other tried to quickly soothe them again, desperate not to lose the other.
Pete stroked Vegas’s hair and hummed lightly as they pressed their warmth together.
“Porsche wants me to meet him at the bar. Is it okay if I go?”
“You know I won’t stop you.”
“I know,” Pete whispered. “But I don’t want to leave if you need me.”
“You’ll come back?”
Pete hated these questions the most. He felt trapped again by Vegas’s neediness. The self-assured, bastard from the minor family had been transmuted into a clingy, insecure orphan.
But Pete loved him, nonetheless.
“I wish you would stop asking that.”
“I’m sorry,” Vegas said, his voice thick with the threat of fresh tears.
“Vegas. I’ll stay with you for a few more minutes before I leave, okay? And you can call or text me if you need anything. I’ll be home before the bar closes. Promise.”
Vegas nodded his understanding against Pete’s damp chest and tightened his hold.