From Frost to Flame

Part 63: This Is Real

Pete's pulse thundered in his chest as Vegas slowly pushed himself up, sliding off the bed with quiet grace. The soft rustle of sheets was the only sound as he crossed the room.

"Morning," Vegas said again, voice low and teasing.

Pete's breath hitched. Vegas was already halfway across the room, eyes locked on him.

Vegas stopped just in front of Pete, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He reached out, fingers brushing a stray lock of hair from Pete's forehead.

"Did you sleep well, Pete?" he asked, voice soft but carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Pete's cheeks flamed instantly. "I—uh... I think so," he stammered, trying to sound casual but failing spectacularly.

Without missing a beat, Vegas leaned in and planted a quick, warm kiss on Pete's cheek.

Pete froze, heart skipping so many beats it felt like it might leap right out of his chest. He blinked, wide-eyed and stunned, fingers twitching to reach up and touch the spot Vegas had kissed.

Vegas chuckled, that low, rumbling sound that always made Pete's insides flutter.

"Wait for me," Vegas whispered with a playful wink before turning and heading toward the bathroom.

Pete stood there, cheeks burning and mind spinning, a small, goofy smile spreading across his face.

"Well, that's one way to start the day," he muttered to himself, still feeling the warmth of the kiss lingering on his skin.

Vegas closed the bathroom door softly behind him and leaned for a moment against the cool wood, as if holding himself together. He drew in a slow, steadying breath, trying to settle the sudden rush of feelings swirling inside.

There he was—Pete—standing like a half-remembered dream. Soft and achingly real, wrapped in Vegas's hoodie, cheeks flushed as if he'd just caught the first light of dawn.

A quiet smile tugged at Vegas's lips. That shy, surprised look Pete had given him earlier flickered through his mind like a warm ember. The way his pulse seemed to drum loud enough to fill the silence between them.

Last night—it wasn't a mistake. Not some fleeting, drunken fantasy.

It was real.

His chest tightened with a sharp, tender ache.

He loved Pete. Truly, deeply.

The thought settled over him gently, like a quiet promise.

And somehow—somewhere—it felt like the most peaceful, happiest thing he'd ever known.

After a quick shower, Vegas emerged from the bathroom, droplets still tracing down his skin, damp hair clinging to his forehead.

His gaze instantly caught on Pete, standing by the window in his white hoodie, a towel hanging dangerously loose on his hips, lost in thought and completely unaware of how devastating he looked.

A slow smile spread across Vegas's face, and he let out a soft laugh. "Seriously, Pete? So... is this your new look, or should I be worried?"

Pete blinked, cheeks blazing with heat. He glanced down, then back up, clearly caught off guard. "What? No, I—"

Vegas shook his head, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as he reached for the neatly folded pajamas on the chair.

"Here. Unless you want to give me a heart attack first."

Pete grabbed the pajamas, fumbling just a little as he slipped into them. The fabric smelled faintly of Vegas, and that small, comforting detail made his heart skip. He avoided Vegas's eyes, still embarrassed but grateful.

Vegas pulled on a loose black shirt, the top buttons left undone, before slipping into his dark trousers. The ease with which he carried himself was unfair—every casual movement sharpened into something magnetic.

Pete, by the window, couldn’t help but glance over, eyes tracing the sharp lines of Vegas’s frame, the way damp strands of hair framed his face. Heat rushed to his cheeks, and he quickly tore his gaze away, pretending to study the morning outside.

His chest tightened. God, why am I staring? He gripped the edge of the windowsill a little harder, as if the cool wood could ground him, but his pulse refused to steady.

But Vegas caught it—the flicker in Pete’s eyes, the hurried way he looked away—and it tugged the corner of his mouth into the faintest, knowing curve.

Vegas stepped closer, the teasing light in his eyes softening into something warmer, deeper. His voice dropped a notch, careful but full of quiet urgency.

"Pete... about last night. The things you said—the way you looked at me. I need to know. You don't regret any of it, right?"

Pete met his gaze squarely, the quiet morning light catching the determination in his eyes.

"I don't. Not one bit. I love you, Vegas. More than I ever thought I could."

For a heartbeat, silence hung between them—heavy, full of everything unspoken until now.

Vegas stepped closer, the space between them shrinking until Pete could feel the warmth radiating off him.

His hand lifted, fingers brushing a stray damp lock of hair away from Pete's forehead.

"God, Pete..." Vegas whispered, voice thick with emotion.

And then he kissed him.

It started gently—lips barely touching, like a soft question, a promise waiting to be made.

Pete's breath hitched, his hands instinctively reaching for Vegas's chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath his fingertips.

Vegas’s kiss deepened, growing more urgent but never losing tenderness.

His lips parted, inviting Pete in—exploring with a reverence that made Pete’s knees weak.

The taste of mint, comfort, and something unmistakably Vegas flooded his senses, grounding him in the dizzying reality that this wasn’t a dream.

It was them. Finally.

Pete's fingers tangled in Vegas's damp hair, pulling him closer, afraid this might all vanish if he let go.

Vegas tilted his head slightly, lips parting against Pete's with a quiet sigh.

Pete responded instinctively, chasing the kiss like he never wanted it to end.

Their noses brushed. Their foreheads touched between breaths.

There was something almost desperate in the way they held each other—like this was the moment they'd waited for without realizing how badly they needed it.

When they finally broke apart, it was with a shared breath, foreheads pressed together, smiles soft and hearts pounding loud enough to hear.

Vegas's voice was barely more than a murmur. "I love you so much, Pete."

Pete's throat tightened. Words felt too small, too fragile for what was swelling inside him. But his smile, shaky and filled with awe, said everything Vegas needed to hear—

"You're everything."

They kissed again—slow, fierce, infinite—two halves finally whole.