From Frost to Flame

Part 61:Safe Haven

Vegas arrived a moment later, the sound of his footsteps soft against the pavement. As he approached, Porsche looked up and silently pointed toward the backseat.

Vegas's gaze followed the gesture — and then stopped.

There was Pete, his head resting lightly against the car seat, eyes half-lidded, his entire body slack with exhaustion and the haze of alcohol. He looked peaceful in a way that made something in Vegas twist — a mix of tenderness and concern that lodged in his chest.

He said nothing.

Kinn stepped forward, catching the moment and the unspoken weight in Vegas's expression. A small chuckle escaped him, warm and knowing. "Sit with him," he offered gently. "I'll drive."

Vegas nodded once, eyes still on Pete. He opened the back door and slid in beside him, moving with the kind of care reserved for things that felt fragile.

The car started quietly, the low purr of the engine settling into a soft rhythm as they pulled away from the venue. Streetlights rolled past in a blur of gold and shadow.

Pete shifted slightly, his body swaying with the motion. Without a word, he leaned into Vegas's shoulder — slow, instinctive, and heavy with trust. Vegas stiffened for a moment, then softened, wrapping an arm around Pete's shoulders and guiding him gently closer.

Pete didn't speak. He didn't have to.

He shifted again, unconsciously finding more warmth, tucking himself closer until his head rested against Vegas's chest, ear pressed to the steady beat of his heart. Vegas's hand came to rest lightly on Pete's back, a silent reassurance in the quiet.

From the front, Kinn glanced once in the rearview mirror — just a quick, fleeting look — and then back to the road. Porsche turned slightly in his seat, his smirk replaced with something softer. Neither said anything.

There was no teasing, no commentary.

Just the quiet hum of the engine, the soft rustle of fabric, and the subtle sound of Vegas's breathing as he held Pete with a tenderness that asked for nothing in return.

The city moved quietly around them, streetlights painting golden arcs across the windshield. The moment lingered, still and full — not of words, but of presence.

By the time the car turned into the driveway of Vegas and Kinn's house, Pete was almost asleep in Vegas's arms, completely still except for the slow, even breaths against his chest.

The car came to a stop.

Kinn stepped out first, Porsche following. Vegas remained where he was for a moment longer, simply holding Pete in the hush of the night.

Then gently, carefully, he shifted. "I've got him," he said softly, lifting Pete with slow precision so he wouldn't stir too much. Pete's arm dangled loosely over Vegas's shoulder, head resting back against his collarbone, a quiet sigh escaping his lips.

Kinn opened the front door, stepping aside without a word. Porsche stayed close behind them, watching as Vegas carried Pete into the soft light of the house.

No one rushed. The air felt reverent somehow — as if even the silence knew how delicate this moment was.

Inside, the house welcomed them with its warm glow and quiet stillness. 

Vegas carried Pete through the living room, arms wrapped securely around his smaller frame. Pete's head lay gently against his shoulder, lips parted in a soft, sleepy breath.

They approached the staircase.

Porsche leaned on the railing, watching with an unreadable look before he spoke. "Are you taking Pete to your room?"