Low Tide Lovers (Peter x Reader)

𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

⛤⛤⛤

"𝐖hat about you, Y/n?" Peter asked me. I looked at him, brows creased. I hadn't been paying much attention.

"What?" I ask, furrowing my brows. He chuckled. I put my hands in the sand, waiting for a response.

"What do you want?" He asks again. I thought for a moment. I didn't think I wanted anything. But, the image of my stolen bike came up. I parted my lips to answer.

"A new bike," I muttered. "Mine got stolen a while back."

From the corner of my eye, I could see Alan and Peter exchanging a glance. 

⛤⛤⛤

In the living room, Mom was passed out on the couch. She had a burning cigarette between her fingers. I gently took it and put it out, smashing it on the tabletop. She grunted but didn't wake.

I went to my bedroom, rubbing my eyes. I was still wearing Peter's sweatshirt. I'll give it back tomorrow.

Mom came upstairs at quarter past ten. I was just drifting to sleep when she cracked the door. Light from the hallway flooded my room. I shut my eyes.

"When did you get here?" She asked. I rolled my eyes but answered her anyway, 

"A while ago. You were sleeping." 

I stared at the plastic glowing stars that littered the ceiling. My mom went back to sleep. Wherever Milo was, I'm sure he was asleep, too. A light rain began to tap the roof. The noise calmed me. I thought about the rain now, how pretty the sky must look, and not how those coins seemed to hold some sort of curse.

"𝑯𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒐?" 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒆𝒕 𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆. 𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏, 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒅𝒈𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝒓𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒊𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒏'𝒕 𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒔𝒊𝒅𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒓𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒂𝒍𝒐𝒏𝒆. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒍𝒍 𝒊𝒏 𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝑱𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒚. 𝑰𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒅𝒊𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝑵𝒆𝒘 𝑱𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆𝒚. 𝑨 𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑰𝒕 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒗𝒚 𝒃𝒐𝒐𝒕, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒘𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏 𝒍𝒆𝒈. 𝑴𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒍𝒆𝒈 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆, 𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒕. 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒘𝒌𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅 𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏. 𝑰 𝒒𝒖𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒚 𝒄𝒓𝒂𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔, 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒐 𝒖𝒏𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆𝒅. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒖𝒑𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒕. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒎𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒈𝒐𝒕 𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒓. 𝑪𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒓. 

𝑰 𝒑𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒎𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒕, 𝒄𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒅𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒔 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒎𝒚 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝟗𝟏𝟏. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒐𝒇 𝒔𝒂𝒅 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒆. 𝑰 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅, 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈. 𝑴𝒚 𝒎𝒐𝒎 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒆, 𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒄𝒌. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒐𝒏 𝒂 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌 𝒃𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉 𝒃𝒚 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒔, 𝒎𝒚 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒄𝒖𝒓𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒖𝒑 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒑𝒐𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒂𝒊𝒍. 𝑨 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒂 𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒂 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚. 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒇𝒖𝒏𝒆𝒓𝒂𝒍. 𝑨𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒆𝒎𝒃𝒆𝒓. 𝑰 𝒅𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒔𝒊𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒏 𝒄𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆𝒍𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓. 𝑻𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒕 𝒎𝒚 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒔 𝑰 𝒑𝒆𝒆𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒔. 𝑰 𝒔𝒂𝒘 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒂 𝒔𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒍𝒆 𝒓𝒐𝒔𝒆.

"𝒀/𝒏?" 𝑴𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒅 𝒂𝒔𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒅𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒆? 𝑰 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅, 𝒇𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒊𝒎. 𝑯𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒘𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒋𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒕𝒆 𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒐𝒏-𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒆𝒆. 𝑯𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒖𝒆 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒂 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅. 𝑯𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒊𝒓 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒄𝒐𝒍𝒐𝒓. 𝑰 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒕𝒘𝒐 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒕. 𝑯𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒈𝒂𝒏 𝒕𝒐 𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒂𝒘𝒂𝒚, 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒎𝒐𝒌𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝑹𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒍𝒆𝒘 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒎𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒄𝒉. 𝑰 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅. 𝑬𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒇𝒂𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈. 

"𝑫𝒂𝒅..?" 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒆𝒅, 𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅. 𝑰 𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒘 𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒈𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆. 𝑨𝒏𝒅 𝑰 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅𝒏'𝒕 𝒅𝒐 𝒂𝒏𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕.

I shot up in bed, drenched in sweat. Tears brimmed my eyes. What a horrible dream. I scrambled out from under the covers and to the phone on my desk. His phone number was etched into the surface of my desk. I failed twice.

"Hello?" He asked. His voice was laced with grogginess.

"Peter," I started, but my voice caught. I didn't continue, only let out a small whimper as I wiped a tear from my face.

"Y/n? What's wrong?" Peter questioned. His voice was hushed. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

"I'm sorry. It was a nightmare," I told him. I felt back about calling at this hour. But, then again, I knew he'd answer.

"Don't apologize. It's okay."

⛤⛤⛤