//
Peter listened for the knocking on the door to stop. It did a few seconds later.
Peter glanced behind him as he felt a presence close to him.
There was no one there.
Peter hurried upstairs, entering his room, grabbing his cell phone off his bed as he heard something hit his window.
Once. Twice. A third time.
Peter walked over to the window to see Tate standing outside in the lawn as he mouthed the word: 'basement'.
He nodded, walking down to the basement as Tate said, pulling the door open but he kept glancing towards the front door in worry.
He descended down the stairs, approaching Tate who hugged Peter tightly.
"Hey," Tate greeted.
"It's been fucking insane here. First, the cops were outside, then some guy started banging on the door, screaming about money," Peter explained.
"Hey, hey," Tate spoke softly. "Shit like tend to go down on Halloween. It's probably just asshole kids. It's fine now. I'm here," he assured Peter, kissing his forehead before pulling out a dark rose, handing it to Peter. "I painted it black. I know how you don't like normal things."
Peter grinned, grabbing the stem softly. It felt like his heart was beating a mile a minute even if that sounded cheesy and stupid. "Thank you. I love it," Peter told him before his eyes grazed over Tate's form. "You look...pretty."
Tate smiled. "And therefore, I have value?" he asked.
Peter gulped. "No. No, that’s not what I meant at all. I was just..."
"I was just messing with you, Pete," Tate replied much to Peter's relief. "You look pretty too."
Peter straightened out his gray sweater before returning Tate's smile. "Thank you."
"You ready to go on our date?" Tate asked.
"Hell yeah," Peter answered.
***
Peter and Tate were at the beach. Peter sat down at a picnic table while Tate messed around nearby.
"Hold on, I need to go check in with my parents," Peter called out.
"Okay, hurry," Tate told him with a small giggle before continuing to mess around.
Peter pulled out his cell phone, pressing his mom's number and dial. He held his cell to his ear and waited for her to pick up.
Finally, Vivien answered, "Peter, where are you? Where's your sister?"
"I'm just hanging with friends," Peter half-lied, glancing back to see Tate looking so free as he stood on some railing nearby. "And Vi went to hang out with her friends too but we're meeting up later."
"We told you not to leave," Vivien replied.
Peter sighed. "I'm sorry. I should've called you earlier." He paused. "Is this the part where you make me come home?"
"Are you safe?" Vivien asked.
"Yeah."
"Are you having fun?"
Peter smiled as he glanced at Tate who jumped off the railing. "Yeah," he answered into the phone.
"What happened with the guy who was banging on the door?"
"It was just some kids. I think they were playing a prank. They were gone after I got off the phone with Dad," Peter answered.
Tate ran over with a big grin and jumped on the table next to Peter who shushed him but grinned regardless.
"I want you home in an hour," Vivien said over the phone, and Tate leaned towards Peter, pressing quick kisses to Peter's cheek and neck.
Peter tried to back away and contain his own giggles. "Okay. All right, bye," he said quickly, hanging up and lightly shoving Tate but he was smiling. "Dude."
"Who was that?" Tate asked.
"My mom if you must know," Peter replied.
"Aw..." was all Tate responded with before connecting his lips to Peter's.
Despite kissing Tate many times, this one felt needy and desperate as Tate's hands cupped Peter's face and were lightly pushed back onto the bench's table.
His lips and tongue were heavy and desperate, kissing with an unspoken surrender, and his chest was heaving unsteadily.
***
Before the pair, knew it, they were lying back in the sand on a blanket next to a small fire that crackled as the ocean's waves crashed against the shores.
Tate pulls away the tiniest bit, their noses still bumping slightly but Peter kissed him again. Tate's hands finding Peter's waist so Peter cups his jaw as he deepens the kiss. Both of his hands lower to Peter's hips as Peter pulled him closer, his weight shifting as he does. His body's now towering over the Harmon boy, making his back fall completely against the blanket.
Peter smiled into the kiss as he runs his hands through Tate's hair, the blond boy's thumbs still draw slight patterns on Peter's hips to which Peter grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling the boy closer to him. One of Tate's hands drops, moving Peter's legs so they're on either side of him without breaking the kiss.
All Peter could focus on was their breaths syncing up, and then he felt Tate's cold hands scrambling up to his undo the button on Peter's pants. His heart kickstarted, movement shooting to his limbs, and his fingers trembled as he grasped tightly around Tate's wrist, stilling his movements.
"Tate," Peter panted softly, parting from the boy.
"What?" Tate questioned before seeing Peter's look of sudden terror. "I'm sorry I don't mean to push you. I just thought-"
"I do. I want to," Peter replied. "But I've never done anything with anyone. I get it if you don't want to do-"
"Pete," Tate began softly. "I swear... I want to be with you so badly. And that's never happened to me. With a guy." Tate sat up, sitting beside Peter who was stayed in the same position. "Maybe it's those meds your dad gave me. They do that, you know."
Peter pressed his hands to his face to hide his embarrassment. "Fuck," he mumbled to himself before sitting up, getting ready to stand up. "I'm gonna go before I screw more things up..."
Tate grabbed Peter's hand before he could walk away. "No, no," he objected. "No, Pete. You didn't screw anything up, I promise. I'm not ready to go. Not yet."
Peter glanced back down at Tate. "Okay," he spoke before sitting back down on the blanket to which Tate wrapped an arm around Peter, pulling the boy closer to him and resting his head on his shoulder, both watching the fire crackle peacefully in front of them.
"I used to come here," Tate spoke to Peter. "When the world closed in and got so small I couldn't breathe. I'd look out at the ocean, and I'd think 'Yo, douche bag, high school counts for jack shit'." Peter chuckled quietly at that which made Tate smile but continue, "Kurt Cobain, Quentin Tarantino, Brando, De Niro, Pacino-all high school dropouts. I... hated high school. So I'd come here and I'd look out at this vast, limitless expanse. Then it's like, that's your life, man. You can do anything, be anything. Screw high school. That's...It's just a blip in your timeline. Don't get stuck there."
Tate looked down at Peter to see if he was still listening and he was. Watching Tate with very interested eyes as if he knew Peter had been wronged and hurt in ways that he couldn't imagine.
But Peter made a vow. That it wouldn't let that happen anymore. Not as long as he was still breathing.
Peter turned his head upon hearing a twig snap. He saw five shadows of people coming down to the beach but he couldn't see their faces, only a lot of blood and they were wearing typical high school outfits.
"Looks like we're not alone anymore," Peter told Tate as the group of people surrounded them. Peter didn't look directly at their faces but just cringed at their non-creative costumes and chuckled, "Nice costumes. What are you, the Dead Breakfast Club?" he remarked although that'd be something Violet would say.
"You know, there's a whole lot of beach, guys," Tate added.
"Good job, Tate," the jock spoke. "You finally came out of hiding. We've been waiting for years for you to show your face. But you like Mommy's little safe house, don't you?"
"I don't know you," Tate replied.
The girl in the cheerleader's outfit knelt down beside Peter and Tate. "You know, I'm actually surprised you have the balls to show your face around here."
Peter met her gaze and recognized her eyes from somewhere but couldn't remember where. "Hey, do I know you?" Peter asked her.
Before she could remark something back to the boy, the gothic girl also knelt on Tate's other side. "Yeah. Maybe you should have worn a mask."
"I'm not really into Halloween," Tate replied.
"But this year's different, right?" The girl eyed Peter. "You have a date. How cute is that?"
"Didn't peg you for being the queer type," the jock remarked.
"Leave him alone," he stated as he stood protectively in front of Peter.
"We don't want him. We want you," the jock replied.
"How about we drown him?" the gothic girl asked.
"No, we should shoot him right between the eyes."
Peter stood up. "Ha, ha," he remarked. "You guys are really fucking funny with your fake ass makeup."
"Somebody please erase this asshole," the gothic girl remarked.
"Yeah, why does he get a boyfriend?" the biker looking dude asked. "I don't have a boyfriend or girlfriend. Do you have a girlfriend?" The boy with the glasses shook his head. "Kyle, you?"
"No," the guy answered. "I haven't had sex in a long time."
Tate picked up the blanket off the ground as he wrapped an arm protectively around Peter as they began to walk away. "Come on, let's go. This beach sucks. Someone should pick up the trash."
Peter glanced back at each and every one of their faces.
He's seen them all before. He knew that now.
***
As they made it back to Peter's house, they went upstairs to which they went into Peter's room who closed and locked the bedroom door before turning to Tate who plopped down onto Peter's bed.
"So," Peter began. "We can't act like nothing happened at the beach. Those dicks knew you, Tate."
"But I don't know them," Tate replied.
"Then why do they hate you?" Peter asked.
"They-They're just high school assholes. I mean, the world's full of them. It's popular kids who get off on being mean and cruel." Tate looked down at his shoes. "I thought you understood that."
"I do but Tate, I can tell you're totally freaked out," Peter said but trailed off as he heard multiple dogs barking outside. Both boys looked outside the window to see the group of teens earlier walking through the lawn to the house. "It's them. They followed us here?" His gaze met Tate's. "This is bullshit." He eyed his desk before walking over and grabbing a sharp pair of scissors. "Stay in here."
"Wait, Pete," Tate spoke, grabbing Peter's arm. "You can't go out there."
"Tate, it's fine," Peter replied. "They're all talk and probably won't do anything to me. Just stay in here, I'll handle this."
Tate was hesitant but kissed Peter's forehead and had released Peter who exited the room, walking downstairs before going to the front door, pulling it open to see the five teens standing there.
"Oh, great, he sends his little boyfriend out," the jock remarked.
"With a pair of scissors. You gonna make us some paper dolls?" the gothic girl asked Peter.
"No, but I will gut you guys if I have to. Get the fuck out. This is private property. I have every right to call the cops," Peter stated.
"Go ahead, call them. You'll probably need them," the cheerleader replied.
"Screw that. He deserves whatever happens to him," the jock stated.
"Yeah, he's like those lonely, fat chicks that marry guys on death row," the gothic girl said, making Peter turned back to her. "You're deeply, deeply disturbed."
"You guys need to take your disgusting ass made-up faces and go home. Now," Peter snapped
"Home? Where is that?" the cheerleader asked. "I'm an only child. After what happened, my parents split up, sold the house, moved away. No forwarding address. So I don't have a home."
Peter huffed in frustration. "Parents suck, but I can't fix it for you."
"Can you fix this?" the jock asked, motioning to the wound in his head. "Can you give me back my scholarship to Georgia Tech? I'm supposed to be starting quarterback freshman year."
"He doesn't care," the cheerleader spoke again. "He's in love, and he'll do anything for him, including giving him his virginity. Tonight was the night, wasn't it?"
Peter narrowed his eyes. "First of all, fuck you," he said. "And second of all, that's none of your business.
"Stupid faggot," the jock remarked. "He's worse than he is. He thinks it's okay what he did to us."
"What did he do to you?!" Peter exclaimed.
"He doesn't know," the cheerleader stated.
"About what?" Peter asked.
The boy with glasses tried to speak but it came out garbled to which he fell silent.
"It's okay," the cheerleader told him.
"How have you not heard about Westfield High?" the jock asked.
"We just moved here," Peter answered.
"Pick up a yearbook, fairy," the gothic girl remarked.
"Or read a newspaper," the cheerleader added.
"We're kind of famous," the jock stated as they all surrounded Peter.
As they all looked at Peter, he began to recall where he's seen them all.
From his dream and all the wounds they had were in the exact same spot as where he remembered he had shot them.
"I think I know you guys..." Peter spoke softly.
The biker looking guy laughed. "So he's not a complete dumbass."
"Let's put him down, out of his misery," the gothic girl spoke.
"Leave him alone!" Tate yelled, exiting the house.
"Finally, the Prodigal Son returns," the jock said as Peter walked back to Tate.
"Come on down, man. We've got some questions," the biker looking boy stated.
Tate turned to Peter. "Go inside. I can handle this."
"Tate, you can't," Peter replied.
"Go inside!" Tate exclaimed.
"Fuck no. They want to hurt you."
"Karma's a bitch, Tate," the gothic girl said.
"You want to talk to me? Let's see how fast you can run," Tate told them before running past them all to which they all followed.
Peter pulled out his cell phone and tried to dial 911 with his shaky fingers until a hand was placed on his shoulder, making him jump.
"Shit, sorry," Violet apologized. "Are you okay?"
"No," Peter answered. "Some high school assholes are chasing Tate down the street for something bad. I think they might-"
"Shit," Violet mumbled as Peter finally pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear.
"Hello," Peter spoke anxiously as he connected to someone. "Hey, my boyfriend's in trouble. There's a bunch of kids chasing him. I think they're gonna kill him."
A woman came over, grabbing Peter and Violet's arms. "Come with me to my house now," Constance told them.
"No," Peter told her, trying to move away.
"Leave us alone, you crazy bitch!" Violet yelled.
Constance had let go of Peter to grab his wrist that he held his phone in. "Addy is dead because of you two!" she screamed in anguish.
Peter lowered the phone hanging up. "What?" he asked in a low tone full of shock.
But he didn't get a response as Constance dragged Peter and Violet over to her house.
***
Ten minutes later, Peter and Violet sat at Constance's dining room table as she had placed cups of steaming tea over before sitting down.
"She wanted to be a pretty girl," she continued to explain. "Of course, she didn't look so pretty lying on that table under those harsh, energy-efficient lights." She took in a shaky breath. "One of the many comforts of having children is knowing one's youth has not fled but merely been passed down to a new generation. They say when a parent dies, a child feels his own mortality. But when a child dies, it's immortality that a parent loses."
"Constance, I'm so sorry," Peter told her.
Constance chuckled. "Well, you two did encourage her, that's true. But you were just trying to be kind, weren't you?" They both nodded. "I was the one who sent her out into the world tonight. And it did what it will do. Go ahead, drink your, drink your tea, honey."
Peter lifted the cup of tea to his lips before drinking it slowly as Violet motioned to a small bag on the counter. "Can I have one of those?" she asked.
"Oh, a cigarette?" Constance asked, taking one out and handing it to Violet. "Certainly." She grabbed a lighter, flickering the flame and lighting the end of Violet's cigarette. "Just don't let your mama know that I am encouraging your vices." She cleared her throat. "You know, Adelaide was a willful child. I suppose if she inherited anything from me, it was that. In truth, I think my little monster was more like me than any of my other children."
"I didn't know you had other children," Peter spoke up.
Constance met the boy's eyes for a small moment before saying, "Tate is my son."
Peter's eyes widened as Violet quickly exhaled the smoke she had. "What?" he asked. "He's your..."
"He cannot know about this, Peter," Constance told him. "He cannot know that his sister has passed. Not now. He doesn't...react well to certain things. So you..." She grabbed onto Peter's wrist somewhat rightly. "You have to promise me."
"I don't understand," Peter stated.
"Well, he's a sensitive boy. You've seen that. He's a young man with..." she trailed off, standing up. "Too deep feelings, the soul of a poet. But none of the grit or steel that acts as a bulwark against this...these horrors of this world. The steel that...has protected me. That Adelaide possessed." She grabbed a picture frame, holding it to her chest. "And that...that you have, too. I, uh...I think..." She chuckled. "That's why he's taken so with you. He craves your strength. Look," she told Peter as she handed him the picture frame to which he looked it over. "Maybe he misses his sister. But we must protect him, Peter."
Peter didn't say anything else as he and Violet kept looking at the picture.
It was a photo of a smiling Tate who had his arm wrapped around Addy who was also smiling too at the camera in front of him.
So it was true.
What else did Peter not know about Tate? And was it bad?
***