The Debt of Guilt [BxB]

19: after

May
1995

Andrea was reluctant to let Peter leave. 'Not until we have a game plan', she had said. But Danny's mansion was suffocating, and Peter needed to get out, at least for a little while. It felt smaller than his motel room, smaller than his prison cell, and smaller than the trailer he grew up in. He couldn't explain it. But every second he spent there, it felt like the walls were getting closer, the air escaping from his lungs and slowly choking him to death.

Danny had offered, once again, to pay for a better hotel room for him - or, even better, to stay with him - but Peter, once again, refused. The truth was, he had grown fond of his grotty little motel room. He felt more at home there. More comfortable.

He showered at Danny's - an experience which was quite surreal; he had never seen a shower so unnecessarily luxurious before. Then, he was back in his clothes from the day before - a tired t-shirt and a pair of distressed denim jeans.

But when the shiny black car dropped him off outside the motel, he didn't go in straight away. Instead, he turned on his heels and walked in the opposite direction. The Californian sun was beating down on him, and though he felt utterly directionless, his body seemed to pull him along like a magnet. Because there was one clear destination, and he hadn't fully realised this until he was already stood inside, confronted by those (now, quite familiar) hazel eyes.

"Hey!" Roy, the barista, smiled at him, and this time, it looked genuine. It spread throughout his face and lit up his eyes. After spending the night surrounded by superficiality, it was nice to see someone real. "It's the tea connoisseur, back again."

Peter didn't know why he was back in the same coffee shop again. Maybe it was the only place in LA he knew, aside from Danny's mansion. Or maybe it was Roy, the only real person who had been nice to him, even if he was paid to do so. "Hi." Peter smiled too. He wasn't weighted down with stress and anxiety this time. His hangover had faded and his energy was back. He felt more himself-though, even that, the concept of 'himself'-was hard to grasp.

"How's the holiday going?" Roy asked. There weren't any other customers around - he was free to chat, to take his time, to fill his boredom with the fantasy of other people's lives.

Peter shrugged, "Not much of a holiday. Visiting an old friend...bit surreal to see him again, after all this time." He wasn't sure why he was telling Roy all of this, but who else could he tell? He was alone out here.

"Oh, yeah?" Either he was as good of an actor as Danny, or he was genuinely interested in what Peter had to say. He seemed it, anyway. "Not what it used to be, huh?"

"No." Peter sighed, "It's not." He ran his fingers through his scruffy hair, looking for something to do with his hands. "We used to be so similar. Now, I...I don't know. I don't know why I'm telling you this. Sorry." He laughed nervously.

Roy's smile didn't falter. His eyes darted to the clock, then to his manager, "Hey, Nance? We're dead, haven't had a customer in the last hour. Can I head out early? My shift finishes soon anyway."

She shrugged dismissively, "Yeah, whatever. But only because you were here early to set up."

He smiled gratefully, "You're the best." He turned back to face Peter, "You hungry?"

Peter stared back at him blankly, confusion clouding his honey eyes, "Uh... Yeah." He nodded hesitantly, "Yeah, starving, actually."

"Great." He ripped off his apron, and hopped over the counter to join Peter, "I'm Roy, by the way."

I know, Peter wanted to say. You wear a name tag. "Hi, Roy." He said instead, "I'm Peter."

"Hi, Peter." Roy mimicked him, walking out of the cafe, leaving Peter no choice but to follow him.

He realised that the day had almost drained away. Peter had slept through a lot of it on the sun loungers with Danny, and by the time he had escaped Andrea, showered, and got back to his motel, evening was creeping up on him. The sun hung lower in the sky, though the air was cooler, and his head was clearer. Roy dipped into a gas station, and Peter trailed behind him mindlessly. He didn't feel like he was really there, with Roy, in downtown LA. Just like he hadn't felt like he was really there, at Danny's cocktail party, staring up at the stars.

"So..." Roy finally said, navigating his way through the aisles with ease; he clearly came here a lot. "This friend...he a school friend?" He asked, stopping in front of a fridge of bottled drinks. He tossed Peter a couple of lemonades, then moved on to the next aisle.

"Uh..." Peter tucked the lemonades under his arm, and followed Roy, "Yeah. Used to be neighbours. Went to school together...did everything together, really."

Roy's eyes were examining a shelf of crisps as he nodded distractedly, "How did he end up here?" He pressed, then, "What kind of chips do you like?"

Peter frowned, "Chips?" His gaze fell back onto the shelf, and realisation dawned on him, "Oh, crisps. Any is fine."

Roy smirked, "Crisps." He laughed, "Fucking funny one you are." He grabbed a couple of salt and vinegar flavoured packets and threw them to Peter.

Somehow, he caught them both, balancing them in his arms while trying not to drop the drinks. "Danny...He...Uh...He came to LA for work." He finally answered Roy's question, instantly regretting using Danny's real name. That was risky. He should have known better.

"And what d'you do for work?" Roy didn't move on to the next aisle straight away. He stopped and looked straight at Peter.

Peter had to fight the urge to look away. Roy was pretty; big hazel eyes, dark brown skin, and braids twisted into his hair. It was intimidating. How was he allowed to look like that, when Peter looked like this? All scruffy and tired and broken.

"Oh, I'm...I'm between jobs at the moment." He answered finally, "And you...? You like working in a cafe?" It was an awkward thing to ask, but he needed to flip this conversation around. Roy was asking him a lot of questions, and Peter didn't have a lot of answers.

Roy seemed to sense that Peter was trying to change the subject and politely agreed, "Yeah, I like it. I mean, it's okay. Don't wanna do it forever." He finally moved, turning around to grab a couple of plain cheese sandwiches, before heading up to the till.

Roy didn't let Peter pay. He even laughed when he offered. Then, suddenly, they were leaving the gas station, stepping back into the afternoon heat.

Roy led him around the building, and stopped in front of the metal ladder that climbed up the edge of the gas station. "After you." He said to Peter, gesturing to the ladder.

Peter stared back at him blankly, "What?"

Roy rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll go first." He tossed the sandwiches onto the roof carelessly, then hopped onto the ladder and climbed to the top. "Chuck us the drinks and the chips." He called over the edge, a smile lingering on his lips. "And get up here!"

Peter threw him the drinks, then the crisps, then proceeded to pull himself up the ladder, onto the roof, and into the unknown.