Setting Fire to the Stars (mxm)

Chapter 5: Help

**(Note that this chapter contains mild sexual themes, underaged drinking, and mentions of death)**

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Peter
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We didn't speak as we took our time walking down the uneven path of broken pavement. The roads that used to carry the steady rumble of motors and horns of traffic were silent, the strange quiet around us feeling eerily out of place.

Occasionally, we would stop at a house that hadn't been affected too badly by the attack to see if anyone was home. I wasn't sure if I was relieved or disappointed that they were empty. We helped ourselves to whatever food we could find. I know that was considered looting, but we were in the middle of a worldwide crisis.

At one of the particularly nicer houses, Lauren found some antibiotic cream and real bandages in the cabinet. At the same time, I found some expensive-looking whiskey. Items in hand, we both sat down at the wooden table in the kitchen.

Cracking open the amber beverage, I took a swig of the burning liquid while Lauren busied himself with unwrapping the bloody strips from my arm. After throwing those away, he cleaned the red gash with a soapy towel and some water from the water bottles we had gathered. While his hands weren't exactly gentle, he continued to work without hesitation.

What I couldn't figure out was why he was putting in so much effort just to help me. Honestly, I'd been surprised that he'd stuck around. With how horrible I had acted towards him, I thought he would have taken off the first chance he got. Instead, he was here. With me.

Alone.

Taking another long gulp of whiskey, I tried my best to remain calm as he held my arm, clenching my jaw when he applied the burning antibiotic to the gruesome gash. My knuckles had begun turning white from how hard I gripped the bottle. A grunt of pain escaped me when he sharply yanked on the bandages.

Glancing over at him accusingly, I shifted my legs beneath the table impatiently. "You're enjoying this."

He opened his mouth as though to deny it, before he peered up at me through his long lashes. "A little," he admitted with a small smirk.

My heart fluttered slightly and I spent the remainder of the time it took to dress my arm staring at the bottle in my hand. He soon finished and we resumed the search for more supplies.

While scoping out the fancy-looking home office, I was surprised to find a silver barrel Ruger Wrangler hidden in one of the ornate desk draws. It was in pristine condition, appearing as though it had never been fired before. As discreetly as I could, I shoved the revolver into the backpack before Lauren returned.

Walking back into the living room, I saw Lauren attempting to turn on the TV to watch the news, but there was no power in the house. There wasn't a radio or a landline either.

Finally, it came down to the matter of clean clothes. My current ensemble was covered in dirt, blood, and sewage. While I treasured my personalized jersey, I knew that it was time to say goodbye.

After some scouring through the walk-in closet of the master bedroom, I managed to find a clean grey shirt and a pair of dark jeans that were my size. Stepping out of the closet, I threw the clothes on top of the elegant-looking king bed that sat against the far wall. I did my best to shrug off my ruined jersey, wincing in pain as I maneuvered my wounded arm out of the sleeve.