Setting Fire to the Stars (mxm)

Chapter 9: Confrontation

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Lauren
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"Wake up."

A sudden breath of morning air filled my lungs as my eyes snapped open. Radiant daylight streamed across the grey surface of the ceiling, colors dancing over my face where the sun caught on drops of rain on the window. The pleasant chirping of songbirds outside sang in my ears. The smell of bacon and seasoned eggs lingered in the room and my empty stomach rumbled with hunger.

Obviously, this wasn't my school dorm room. A throbbing pain in my side drew my attention. Touching the area around my ribs gingerly, I releasing a sharp grunt of pain.

"Ow, shit ow—" I hissed through clenched teeth.

Carefully, I sat myself upright to find that I was seated in a leather chair. My sides ached as though I'd been steamrolled by a truck.

"Ah, he lives."

Annoyance prickled across my skin, already guessing who it was before I even raised my head. Sure enough, Wyatt stood before me, wearing newly washed clothes that reminded me of my old English teacher. I belatedly noticed he always managed to dress well, even in an alien apocalypse. Regardless, the argument we had the night before still irritated me.

Speaking of last night, all the memories from the past two days abruptly flooded my mind.

Peter.

My eyes immediately sprung to the large bed where I'd last seen him lying with a fever. The bed was empty, sheets made up as though he were never there and an unstoppable wave of panic surged through me, followed quickly by anger.

Chucking the blanket from my body, I bolted up out of the chair before charging forward, viciously grabbing a fistful of Wyatt's shirt. The blond was a full head taller than me, but I still managed to drag him down to my height. My heart thudded loudly in my ears, fear tightening that icy ball in the pit of my stomach.

"Where is he?" I seethed, unable to control my anxiety. "If you've touched even one hair on his head, I swear to God—"

"Lauren."

The familiar, smooth voice instantly cooled my inner fire as my eyes fixed on the man standing at the top of the stairs.

Peter stood there in a fresh navy blue shirt and a pair of white-washed jeans. He had traded his old white sneakers for a pair of brown boots, his shirt emphasizing the muscles of his arms while his defined pectorals strained against the dark fabric. Hair slightly damp, the ebony stands fell haphazardly around his handsome face.

My heart instantly leapt into my throat. God, he looked amazing. Like, 'supermodel of the year' kind of amazing.

Sexy.

"I'm fine. You can let him go," Peter assured me. His eyes swam like a winter ocean as he took a step forward, his hand raised out to me.

My grip eased on Wyatt's shirt. With an indignant huff, Wyatt tore himself out of my grasp, glaring at me as he attempted to smooth down the newly formed wrinkles in his shirt. "So much for gratitude." The blond scowled before stepping out of my reach.

I didn't even spare him a glance, my eyes remaining glued to the man in front of me. Peter's color was much better than yesterday, the tanned skin of his collarbone on display. His face displayed none of the weariness of yesterday and the icy-cold knot of fear in my chest deflated like a ballon at the sight of him. "H-How do you feel?" I stammered. "Any pain?"