Devour || AU VegasPete Fanfic

Chapter 22: Confessions and Overdue Conversations

"Stay still," Pete ordered for probably the tenth time.

Vegas muttered a soft apology.

When Pete demanded to know how he got in, Vegas explained that one of the first things he was taught as a Theerapanyakul was how to pick a lock without alerting the security system. It helped that the building was half owned by him.

Before Pete could demand to know anything more, a jolt of pain shot through Vegas's left arm and he visibly winced. So Pete had kept his curiosity at bay for the moment and decided to deal with the current situation.

Right now he was cleaning Vegas's bullet wound before he could put on a new gauze around it and dress it properly. Vegas had expected the man to throw him out the moment he saw him sitting in his kitchen. But Pete and his goddamned bleeding heart were too good for his own good.

Vegas could almost feel the tension radiating off of him. It was understandable given the last couple of weeks Pete had to go through because of him. He must've had a million questions. Vegas was ready to answer at least a few, but Pete wasn't asking anything.

It wasn't Vegas’s intention to show up unannounced like this and receive medical care from Pete. But when Ken informed him of the whole situation Pete and Macau had been in, Vegas had to come and see Pete for himself. The only consolation for Vegas was that Macau was safe in a warehouse far away from this warzone.

"How have you been?" Vegas asked and instantly smacked himself mentally.

Seriously? That's what you lead with? What do you expect him to say? "Oh you know, just spent two weeks in the hospital due to a bullet wound and head injury somehow caused by your family."

Pete looked up from his task with a raise eyebrow that made Vegas cringe farther at his poorly worded question.

"I mean," Vegas fumbled for the right thing to say. "How's your shoulder? And head?"

"They've seen better days," Pete shortly replied before he swiped the antiseptic dipped cotton one last time on Vegas’s bullet wound before throwing it away and grabbing a fresh piece.

They were sat on the living room couch. The close proximity between them was making it hard for Vegas to not stare at Pete. So he took the opportunity of silence and took in his surroundings instead. The living room walls were cream-colored and the couch and love-seat seemed to match it. The carpet was grey and the coffee table on it had a black base and grey marble top. It all seemed very basic, Vegas realized. The whole decor lacked personal touch.

Of course it did. Because Pete wasn't in his home right now. He was at a stranger's place because Vegas also took away his home from him.

It was pouring outside. Raindrops rolled down the glass of the living room window. Vegas couldn't remember the last time he saw it rain this hard in Bangkok. It was as if the city was trying to wash away its sins.

The first aid kit Pete had grabbed from his bathroom laid open on the coffee table. Vegas sat so close to him that he could feel Pete's soft exhales on his chest. And even though it was cheap of Vegas to think how easy it would be to just duck his head a little and capture Pete's lips to his, it didn't stop his mind to paint some vivid pictures.

"Are you cold?" Pete asked softly, all his focus the wound.

"Huh?" Vegas asked only paying half attention.

"You have goosebumps on your skin."

Oh, right. Vegas was shirtless. "It's nothing. Just a little chilly. I'm fine."

Pete didn't ask any follow up questions. So the room fell into silence once again.

"I'm sorry Pete," Vegas mumbled, trying to not sound pathetic. He wished he had more to add — something eloquent to say. But he didn't. He never could soothe Pete the way Pete soothed him.