From Frost to Flame

Part 59: Broken and Seen

"Late post alert! 🙈 Thanks for hanging in there, everyone! 💔
Vegas and Pete's rooftop moment is finally here. Did it break your heart, make you tear up, or leave you speechless like me? 😅 Drop a comment and let me know your thoughts!

Vegas drifted through the party like a shadow that didn't belong. Every corner he passed, every table he scanned, came up empty. His jaw was tight, his steps clipped, but his eyes betrayed him—sharp, restless, searching.

The laughter around him grated. Glasses raised in celebration, voices pitched high with relief. But to Vegas, it all felt hollow. The one face he was looking for wasn't there.

On the rooftop, Pete stood by the glass railing, the cool night air brushing his skin as he leaned against the glass railing. A half-empty bottle dangled loosely from his fingers, the liquid sloshing with each unsteady movement, eyes fixed on the night sky. His eyes shimmered, but not from the city lights.

"Why..." His voice cracked, barely above a whisper. "Why did you do that, Vegas?" He lifted the bottle, swallowed hard, then let out a bitter laugh that didn't sound like him at all. "No... no, I won't think about you. I won't." His words stumbled, heavy with alcohol, heavy with hurt. But the more he said it, the more it sounded like a lie.

Back inside, Vegas caught a fragment of conversation—two staff members passing by, mentioning someone slipping out to the rooftop. His head snapped toward them, his chest tightening. Without a word, he stopped a passing waiter.

"The rooftop. How do I get there?"

The waiter blinked, startled, but quickly pointed him to the elevators. Vegas didn't wait. He pushed through the crowd, his usual cool stride broken into urgency, and when the doors slid open, he slammed his finger against the button, chest rising and falling faster now.

"Pete..." he muttered under his breath, jaw clenched.

The rooftop doors opened, and the wind hit him. His eyes swept the space—nothing at first. Then, just beyond the pillar by the railing, a lone figure stood, bottle glinting under the night sky. Vegas's breath caught.

"Pete!" His voice rang out, sharp, louder than he intended. But there was no response. Only the faint, slurred murmur of Pete's voice carried on the wind.

Vegas's chest clenched. He moved fast, running toward him. The sight of Pete—shoulders slumped, lips moving as he mumbled broken words into the night—made something burn behind Vegas's eyes.

He reached him in a heartbeat, grabbing his shoulder and spinning him around.

"Pete—"

Pete blinked, startled, and immediately tried to pull away. "Leave me..." His voice cracked, raw, his hands pushing weakly at Vegas's grip.

"Pete, it's me." Vegas's voice dropped, softer now, desperate without meaning to be. "It's me—Vegas."

Pete's glassy eyes lifted, wide and childlike. For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to make sense of the man in front of him. Then, in a broken whisper:

"...Vegas..."

"Yes, Pete. I'm here." Vegas's grip steadied on his shoulders, his voice low, laced with something he couldn't hide anymore.

 "Where have you been? I was searching for you."

And for the first time that night, his voice wasn't cold, wasn't sharp. It was soft, trembling with a worry he couldn't bury anymore.

Pete blinked up at him, slow, unsteady. His lips parted, and for a moment, no sound came out. Then the words tumbled, broken, laced with alcohol and hurt.

"Searching?" His laugh was harsh, jagged. "Now you search?

His voice caught, the bottle slipping slightly in his grip. Vegas's hand shot out, steadying it before it shattered, but Pete yanked his arm away, stubborn even in his unsteadiness.

"You don't get to care now," Pete slurred, shaking his head, eyes glassy with more than drink.
 "You don't get to... to say my name like it means something. You—" He stopped, breath hitching, anger folding into something softer, something far more dangerous.

His gaze lifted, childlike and wounded, and he whispered, "Why did you do that, Vegas? Why did you make me feel like I was nothing to you?

Vegas's throat worked, but no words came. His jaw clenched, the practiced mask faltering as Pete's broken voice pressed against the cracks. He wanted to reach out, to wipe the trembling from Pete's lips, to steady him—but Pete staggered back half a step, clutching the bottle like a shield.

"I tried... I tried not to think about you," Pete murmured, eyes shining now, his words tumbling into the night.  "But I couldn't."

Pete's voice cracked as he staggered back a step, glass trembling in his hand. His eyes glistened, fixed on Vegas with a mix of hurt and fire.

"Why did you behave like that, Vegas?" he demanded, the words spilling out uneven, raw, half-slurred but sharp enough to cut. "Like I'm nothing. Like, I don't matter to you at all." He swallowed hard, his throat tight, but the ache in his chest kept pushing him forward.

"Sometimes you're warm, kind... and then suddenly cold. You push me away like I'm nothing. Stop—stop giving me hope, Vegas." His lips twisted into a bitter, self-mocking smile. "...Stop making me believe in something that can never be."

Vegas didn't answer. He stood frozen, the rooftop air sharp in his lungs.  His eyes—usually sharp, controlled—shimmered with something heavier. He looked at Pete, and for once, didn't know how to hide.

Pete's tears started to fall, slow at first, then harder, each one carving lines of pain down his cheeks.

His voice dropped to a tremble, but every word struck with force.

"I always came to the office with a hope to see you." He let out a broken laugh, shaking his head.

 "Do you know how stupid that sounds? I dressed nicely just for you. I fixed my tie, I tried to look confident, I did everything so you would notice me,...and you—you made me feel invisible every damn day!"

His hand shot up, swiping angrily at his face. "I'm a fool, I'm an idiot. I shouldn't have done this. I shouldn't have believed you cared, even for a second..."

Vegas's chest ached. The words tore him apart, piece by piece. He wanted to tell Pete he loved him, he wanted to explain, to beg, to apologize—but he was already too broken for words to matter.

Vegas's hands curled into fists at his sides. His chest burned, his lips parted, but still nothing came. 

"Why, Pete?" he finally forced out, his voice low, ragged, almost pleading. "Why do you care for me? For a man who always hurts you." His eyes searched Pete's face, desperate, terrified of the answer.

Pete's chest heaved as he stared back, breathless, trembling. And then the dam broke. His cry split through the night, raw and devastating.

"You dumbass—because I love you, Vegas!"
I love you, and it's killing me.

His voice cracked as the words tore free, echoing against the empty rooftop. His knees nearly buckled, the bottle slipping from his grip and clattering uselessly near the railing. "Can't you see? I love you..."

The rooftop went silent, save for Pete's ragged sobs. His shoulders shook with the weight of everything he had held in, the truth that had burned him from the inside out.

Vegas stood across from him, rooted to the ground. And then—finally—his mask cracked. His eyes glistened, and before he could stop it, a single tear slipped down his cheek, trailing slowly, betraying him in a way words never could.

Pete's gaze caught it, wide and shattered, as if that lone drop had undone everything.

And in that moment, the rooftop felt unbearably small, the night air too heavy, the silence too loud.

Vegas stood there, unmoving.
Pete stood there, undone.

And nothing between them would ever be the same again.