"𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘴.. 𝘶𝘮, 𝘐 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯... 𝘸𝘦𝘣𝘴!"
"𝘐 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘯 𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴."
Amelia was raised on sweet tea and Sunday mornings, but after the untimely passing of her father, her family trades Texas wheat fields for...
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𖧷
The soft rhythm of old country music bellows from a yellow speaker in the corner of Amelia's room. With such, she hums along in the process of her chores— it helps ease the embarrassment of today's earlier occurrences, of which Amelia felt insanely scornful of. A laundry basket is set on her hip as she empties balled up socks into a drawer, and a tap against her window warrants her sudden attention.
She glances to it. Past the cool and slightly fogged glass, Peter sits shivering in silly pajamas. His eyes are rimmed and swollen with tears, hair disheveled and legs folded underneath him as he begs for Amelia to answer. With the set-down of her basket, Amelia rushes to the window. "Pete?" She calls out, light voice now heavy with the necessity of question. "What in tarnation are you doing out in the cold like this? And who's PJ pants are those?"
Peter stumbles in, grateful for the warmth of Amelia's room. The part of just being in the clean kept room, always temperate and welcoming with the scent of vanilla, eases him. Along with the nearly silent music, it feels like a hug he very much needs.
The boy remains silent, mouth held tight in a white line as he inhales through his nose.
Amelia moves her laundry basket from it's resting point, holding
it against her hip as she pulls Peter to sit where the basket was placed, the sullen boy shrinking on her bed.
"What happened, Pete?" Amelia asks, golden eyes like molten honey as she peers at him with a certain tenderness. She relaxes, knowing this is something they'll be able to easily talk through, as dealing with a disrupted Peter is nothing new.
Peter spins his hands around each other in circles, nervously keeping his voice low in stutters. "Mr.starktookmysuit..."
"You're gonna need to speak up, suga'," Amelia advises as she moves to her drawer. She sets her basket down as she organizes her pajamas. The blonde girl grimaces, eyes wide before she realizes how much she sounded like Robin.
Peter huffs, soft cheeks puffing out as he avoids Amelia's gaze. "Mr.Stark took my suit, Ame."
Amelia's lips part in shock as she drops her basket, clothes flying to the floor around her as she turns to Peter, astonished. In such surprise, Amelia can't muster to hide her facial expressions which in turn hurt Peter further.
His demeanor shatters alike to his hurt; he's come to Amelia for advise and healing, but her stunned look only makes things worse. In his dark eyes which now lack their common sparkle, something Amelia finds herself now longing for-- the casual midnight sky dropping to a foggy night-- he holds shame and regret.
Like a virus, Peter's hurt infects Amelia, but overwhelmed by it is the fog of confusion. "He did what, now?"
"He said it wasn't working out. He said i should just lay low, that I should've been more like you." In a grumbled pout, Peter continuously refuses to meet Amelia's eyes.
