Evan Peters Imagines and One Shots

April Pt. 4 18+

Los Angeles was extraordinary compared to the lifestyle we had before. The bustling city never slept, but James adjusted to the environment immediately. He fell in love with the city as we stepped off the train, and LA loved him more. James's captivating charm gained him notoriety. He may have worked at the oil rig throughout the day, but he was an aspiring entrepreneur during the night. His networking skills had already provided him with opportunities. We were closer to his dreams every second of the day.

We lived in a tiny apartment near his job in the more hectic part of town. James would usually be home before dinnertime. There was still no sight of him. Nervousness surged through me as I worried for his safety. Our city hadn't been the safest since there had been a rise in murders in the past few months. The killer usually struck during the evening, which terrified me because that was when James got off of work. I feared that one day, he would have the unfortunate luck of running into the killer, and if he did, I hoped he would have the upper hand.

James almost jumped when he opened the door to witness me panicking, dropping his bag to the floor as he saw me. A relieved sigh escaped my throat as I rushed over to him and grabbed his face, kissing him everywhere that oil wasn't covering.

"Goodness, Y/n. Why were you by the door? You almost made my heart stop," James chuckled.

"I was worried sick, James. You didn't come home in time for dinner. I thought you'd gotten hurt or killed or...," I exclaimed.

"Nonsense, my dear. I am alright. Although, I must say I appreciate how much you worry about me," James admitted.

The light left his eyes some time ago, but it would shine again whenever he looked at me. James leaned over to kiss me before beginning to take off his coat. Underneath, his white tank and beige trousers were stained in black fluid and dark red splatter that I could not miss. My panic grew as I feared that he had been injured.

"Oh honey, you're hurt," I gasped.

He gave a nervous smile as he looked down at the stain.

"Oh! It's a minor injury. Nothing to worry your lovely face about," he lied.

"Nonsense. I'll go get the bandages, but first, let me examine it," I stated.

His face grew flush as I examined the shirt, searching for any holes or tears that could lead me to his injury. There was no luck the more I searched.

"This doesn't look like it came from you... ," I announced.

"I don't mean to interrupt, dear, but I must get out of this clothing and shower. The day has been extraordinarily long," James declared.

"But what about your dinner," I asked.

James hadn't even let me complete my question before the bathroom door shut. Honesty and loyalty were two traits we took very seriously in our relationship, so I felt like I'd been slapped in the face by one of the letters from the Hollywood sign. He was up to something, and I hated being left in the dark about things. A shower could wait, and it would.

The sound of humming and the water coming from the showerhead masked the sound of me creaking open the door and sneaking inside. Grabbing his shirt from the floor, I examined the reddish-brown stain again. It was most certainly blood, but who's? There was only one way to find out as I pulled the shower curtain open, startling James as he jumped and tried to cover himself with the soap bar.

"Um- well, hello, dear. If you wanted to join, you could've asked," he toyed.

"You'll join the couch if you don't answer my questions. What is this on your shirt, and why have you come home so late," I declared.