axiios

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this is a private,  low activity multi-muse blog.  mature themes may be present here.  icons may or may not happen.  my name is kaleb,  he/him.  re-established oct 2021. 

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when it came down to it, the time roman and peter had known each other was miniscule in their lives.  it was their extreme experiences together that had pretty much solidified their friendship.  if peter thinks back on it all now their short-lived friendship almost feels as if a tornado blew through his life with nothing but a path of destruction behind it.  he’d like to think he’d grown and changed in the last six years, that caring for a child had made him become some type of amazing human but that probably wasn’t the case.  

they still struggled, they always would — but caring for a child like nadia hadn’t been something they were really too prepared for.  there was only so much that lynda and destiny could do to help him, and so many extra hands they could reach out to before the well had run dry.  six years had brought more moving, almost constantly…and if peter was being honest with himself he knew they were all tired of it.  nadia was old enough to deserve some type of normalcy in her life, whatever that even entailed in their fucked up world. 

his inner debate was still going on even as he stood in front of roman and told him the truth he’d been keeping from him for almost a decade.  or at least attempted to…blurting things out wasn’t really the way he’d planned to do any of this.  just being in roman’s house made peter feel like he was a teenager again, and everything he’d planned on the drive over had been washed form his brain the second that asshole opened the fucking door.

peter waits for roman’s reaction though, not even sure what the other may do or if he’ll even believe him in the first place.  if he knows anything about roman at all, he’ll know this is something that peter would never make up a story about.  when roman does finally react it makes peter flinch, waiting for a punch to the face or some kind of fight until he sees the realization of the truth finally settle on the other’s face. 

for a moment roman looks like that kid peter met in the hallway again, before their lives went to hell in a handbasket.  there’s an inner urge, maybe it’s the old friendship, maybes it’s his last six years of playing father, but he reaches out with a gentle reassuring grip to roman’s shoulder.  if roman wanted to take him down for lying to him now would be his best chance and peter knows that.  he’s just hoping that he can listen to him for another five minutes.

here comes the hard part.

“ yeah…yeah i know…”  doesn’t explain a fucking thing, peter.  this is what he came here for, but goddamn if this wasn’t a difficult situation to be in.  “ lynda helped me.  we just — i couldn’t…i told letha… ”  if his throat wasn’t closing up it sure as hell felt like it and he moves his hand to pull the collar away from his throat at the thought.  “ i’m so fucking sorry for waiting so long to tell you, to do any of this at all. and…i know that sounds like bullshit right now but…she’s beautiful, roman… ”  

every fiber of him wants to spit it back in peter’s face,  to deny it and truly show his hatred;  but to do that,  roman would first have to know how to hate him.  despite the anger,  despite the crashing waves of emotions running through him,  no force could drive him to hate peter.  he could rip out roman’s throat and still the upir would still look at peter as though he held the universe in his eyes.  so in place of the anger he instinctively wants to cave into,  his mind instead is racing and trying to even comprehend the blow that’s just been dealt.  six years.  so much had happened,  and despite being kept in the dark,  there’s a tingling warmth beneath it all.  she’s alive.  his fingers curl and tense,  jaw locking,  and then he slowly relaxes with a slow exhale,  eyes closing,  and he can feel the moisture welling.  “ i saw her die . . .  ”        he frowns,  and his words come out at the edge of his exhale,  barely audible as he echoes himself for a final time.  his gaze turns back up to peter’s face,  searching it as he speaks.  everything tightens again -- his lips pinch,  throat constricting,  and he reaches a hand up habitually to his mouth,  teeth grazing over his knuckle.  half of what peter has said hasn’t even registered.  “ where is she? ”        his words aren’t as pointed as they had been before,  a mumble that stifles the rest of the emotions brimming at the surface.         “ why -- why didn’t you tell me before?  i mean -- ”       his words get caught and he tries to relax his shoulders,  dropping the hand from his lips.        “ -- why now? ”     

@axiios​​ / resheph said: “ by the way, why did you kiss me? ” 

“ that wasn’t — no it’s…you were… ”  sleeping?  did they even do that?  they sure as hell didn’t just stop breathing either though, genius.  “ i thought you had just stopped breathing or some shit… ”  after the words actually come out he realizes how ridiculous they sound strung together into an actual sentence.  “ uh…mouth-to-mouth, i learned when i was a kid, just in case… ”  he swallows, sigh, wipes his palms down the side of his jeans and leans back against the counter edge.  “ you can’t just — look dead, dude… ”  one day someone was going to give him an early heart attack and when they do he’s going to haunt the hell out of them, angel or not.

@rustruin​​ sent: “we didn’t bring him here for a fucking happy meal.” peter @ roman