Low Tide Lovers (Peter x Reader)

𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐯𝐞

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The morning shore was peaceful. A few seagulls passed by overhead. I watched their shadows move along the rippling water. I straightened out my legs. Like this, I felt like a little kid. But really, I couldn't explain how I felt.

A crumpled piece of paper that was making its way in the breeze caught on a piece of driftwood. I reached out to grab it. San fell from every crease as I opened it up. A faded photo of my cat stared back at me. I frowned. I still hadn't received a call.

"Y/n?"

I turned my upper body around, squinting. It was Peter; he followed me. I let go of the paper. It kept flying down the beach. Maybe someone would find it. Maybe someone would call.

He sat down next to me, his knees up to his chest. He looked out at the horizon. I half smiled. I didn't know what to say. 

"You know, this is the last thing I thought we'd be doing together," he commented in a quiet voice. I looked down at the hot sand. A tiny crab scurried down in the direction of the water.

Finally, I found words.

"Why, Peter?"

He looked at me. I watched his eyes fall, and his expression turned sad. The morning sun highlighted the subtle tears falling down his face. I felt a pit in my stomach.

"I... I don't know."

I reached out to touch his arm. He tensed. I brought my hand up to his cheek and gently pressed his head onto my shoulder. Warm tears left charcoal-colored spots on my T-shirt. I ran my fingers through his hair.

"I'm not mad," I whisper, "I've just always wanted to know why."

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My mom left the station without me. I came to find this out when I arrived at my house and saw her old Chevy in the driveway.

I opened the door to see her asleep on the couch. Again, with a cigarette between her fingers. I put it out on the coffee table again.

I thought back to last night. Red and his knife. Alan defending me. Peter wrapping up my bloody hand. Speaking of, I think it's time to rewrap it. It wasn't looking too good.

I went into the bathroom and shut the door. Peter left the bandages on the counter. I'm surprised Mom didn't say anything about them. Upon picking up the roll, I looked in the mirror. Jesus. I looked terrible.

I frowned. Is this really what I always looked like? Maybe it was just the days events. I shrugged and began to unwrap my palm. I winced as dried blood pulled off from the cut.

"This damn thing..." I muttered. I tossed the bloody wrap in the trash and turned on the cold water. The faucet sputtered to life. It was refreshing.

The phone in my bedroom rang. I wrinkled my nose. Who could that be? It surely wasn't Peter; we were just talking not long ago. Maybe it was Mary. I dropped the roll back on the counter and quickly walked across the hall and into my room.

"Hello?" I asked. The other line was quiet for a minute. I contemplated hanging up. Until,

"Hey, uh, Y/n."

I cocked my head to the side, confused.

"Alan?"

What was he doing calling me? I wrapped the phone cord around my finger.

"Uh, yeah. I was just calling to... ask if you were okay," he said. This was weird and unlike him. I took a deep breath.

"What do you mean?" I asked. I looked down at my feet and waited for a response. I heard Peter's voice in the background.

"Last night. It, uh, wasn't my idea. It was Red's, you know. I'm sure Peter told you," he started. I nodded. "We tried to stop him, but obviously, it didn't work. I'm, yeah, I'm just really sorry."

I shut my eyes. I didn't know how to respond. I waited before responding.

"I understand. I guess he can be... a bit much," I said, "thanks, Alan. I'm okay." I waited.

"Yeah, alright. Yeah, bye," he said. The line went dead. I half smiled. That was... different. I guess Alan wasn't so bad. I turned around and went back to the bathroom to finish wrapping my hand.

I tried to remember how Peter did it, but I couldn't. I gave up in the end. The cut wasn't too deep, I suppose. I rinsed it off one more time and put the bandages back.

Sighing, I crawled in bed. It was still broad daylight, but I just wanted to disappear.

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