Setting Fire to the Stars (a MM Sci-Fi Romance)

Chapter 5: Help

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Peter
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The worst part wasn't the pulverized houses or the smoke choking the sky beyond the treetops. It wasn't even the burn radiating through my injured arm. It was the silence. No air sirens. No gunfire. Not even birds. No calls for help. No screams.

Lauren and I didn't speak as we walked over the uneven pavement. The roads that once carried the constant hum of traffic only days ago were now barren. The silence was overwhelming, as if the world itself were holding its breath. As if it had ceased breathing at all. Something about the absence of car engines and forest chatter set my teeth on edge, a tight, restless feeling I couldn't quite shake.

Instead, I opted to immerse myself in the same dedicated mindset as Lauren. Find food and water, medicine. People.

Every so often, we stopped at a house to see if anyone was home. I couldn't tell whether I felt relieved or disappointed when they were all empty. We took whatever we could use. I knew it counted as looting, but in the middle of an alien apocalypse collapse, the word felt flimsy, like a rule that no longer applied.

Where were the owners? Had they skipped town and abandoned the house during the invasion?

We ended up at one of the particularly fancier farmhouses with a winding driveway. Lauren found some antibiotic cream and real bandages in a medicine cabinet. At the same time, I found some expensive-looking whiskey.

Lucky me.

Items in hand, we both sat down at the wooden table in the kitchen. Cracking open the amber beverage, I took a swig, the liquid burning a trail down my throat. Lauren busied himself with unwrapping the bloody strips from my arm.

Wincing, I watched as he uncovered the singed mess. The charred skin around the burn blistered in bulbous bubbles, consumed by the color of raw scallops tapering off to a deadening grey. Clear fluid trickled out where the blisters had cracked and popped. Through gritted teeth, I tried to shift away, my arm feeling like I was constantly pressing against a hotplate. Lauren's grip on my arm proved insistant, anchoring the limb to the table.

After throwing the linens away, he cleaned the gash with a soapy towel and some bottled water. I hissed at the intense pain, fighting the instinct to jump away. While he wasn't exactly gentle, his hands steadily worked as he applied the burn antibiotic.

Taking another long gulp of whiskey, I relished in the scalding heat that slid down my throat. It helped take my mind off the man sitting next to me. I couldn't figure him out. Why would he waste the time and effort to help me? Honestly, I'd been surprised that he'd stuck around at all. With how horrible I had been towards him, I thought he would have taken off the first chance he got. Instead, he was here. With me.

Alone.

I grunted when he sharply yanked on the bandages. Glancing over at him, I shifted my legs beneath the table and frowned. "You're enjoying this."

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

Ah, hell. My heart fluttered at the sight and I spent the remainder of the time it took to dress my wound staring at the bottle in my hand.