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love galore

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“Peter, listen to me, everything is gonna be okay.”

The teen trembles in his arms, head shaking in response to his words. Adam notices the way Peter grips into his shirt like a lifeline—as he has always been for Peter all these times - the unapparent but exist tremors under his boy’s fingertips. But he does not say a thing about it, instead, he’ll make sure to check Peter’s bags to see if he brings all of his medicine. “He’ll find me,” Peter croaks out, voice hoarse and muffled into his chest.

Before Adam can say anything, the young boy trashes in his arms, suddenly wanting to break free from the hug. Some movements are too hard and rough and urgent, which unintentionally hits Adam in the ribs and sternum. Wild eyes watch him, pupil dilated and face lacking its color.

Listen, Peter.” He grabs the boy by his arms, each grip is tight and full of force, stopping all of his fuss abruptly—he does not want to hurt him but Adam has to: Adam needs him to be calm. After a couple of minutes, the older man can feel him loosen up, even though he knows that there’s a possibility it’s only deceit so Peter can bolt out from his house and run away. “Anthony has taken care of it. Your father won't chase you. He won't do anything to you. Anthony and I will make sure you’re safe. You have to trust me. Do you trust me, Peter?”

“I do.”   

With both hands cupping Peter’s face, he gives the teen his most genuine smile—genuine enough to make him replies with his one. Because honest to God, Adam himself is panicking. His twin is on his way to kill their boy’s abusive father, hands will soon be covered in blood, which Adam keeps reminding himself that it was the same hands that put the burning cigarette to Peter’s milky skin, beat his baby’s face up and ruined his guts. And probably right now, he’s busy making it looks like an accident murder or a suicide, like a fucking hitman he is. But he couldn’t care less, because all he wants is for Peter to be safe and he doesn’t care if it takes someone’s life to make it happens. Peter already had enough of suffering.

Adam rubs his thumb to the apparent cheekbones, feeling the smooth unblemished skin under this fingertips, then, kisses him on the forehead. The kiss is long enough to make Peter sighs and his shoulder slumping. “Now, can you help me, baby?”

Peter’s eyes are watery, but he nods. “Yes.”

“I want you to check your bags again, in case you missed or forgot something from your house. Because we’re not gonna live here anymore.”

“Where are we going?” He manages to ask through his labored breathing and shaking hands.

The older man glances at Peter, watching him turns his back to go to the piled clothes and bags before he’s busying himself again with the medicine on the counter. At first, he’s about to bring Peter’s medicine, but then he thinks about Anthony and what he just did: killed a man. Then, he decided to put the first aid kit into the bag in case something happens. “Anthony’s penthouse in Manhattan.”

His motions are jerky, as if he’s in a rush, scared. But Adam cannot blame him. The teen has enough already in his place: his anxiety, his abusive father and his absent mother. He hasn’t even mentioned his life at school and also his assignments, his friends or even perhaps, his teacher. Peter is basically live with fear running down in his veins, thinking that he could die any day from his father’s wrath.  

When Adam is about to bring his suitcase to the living room, where all of their stuff gathered, Anthony barges into the house like a mad wolf, scaring Peter who’s busy putting back in his clothes. He wears the exact outfit when he went off to kill the man, except this time Adam doesn’t see his leather jacket around him. So, he assumes the worst scenario and that is: his twin threw the thing off because it has blood splattered on it. Seeing that he just scared his boy off, Anthony coos at him, beckoning the teen over with his hand.

“Come here, sweetheart. Everything’s fine.” Anthony kisses Peter’s temple once the boy is engulfed in his arms and Peter responds immediately with a sigh of relief. He soothingly rubs his back while he makes eye contact with Adam, nods his head firmly, as if he’s delivering the message loud and clear that: it’s fine, I’ve taken care of him and he’s dead.

It’s weird to not feel any remorse or grief towards the man, not forget to mention that he’s a psychiatrist, a person who’s supposedly familiar with these feelings since he has been with so many patients that he could even feel what they feel based from their stories and emotions that run in the room. Adam calls it sympathy and Anthony calls it: pathetic. But now, knowing what happened to the man. A man who had been abusing his younger boyfriend—his Peter—who’s also the man who probably needs his help rather than has his life ended abruptly, he feels nothing. Nothing at all. Adam looks at Anthony and all he can do is nods back.

“We’re ready. Let’s go.”  

Anthony gives his twin one more look before kisses Peter’s cheek with a loud smack which makes the boy giggle lightly. He disentangles his arms from Peter and taking the rest of the bags in the living room with him.

“Let’s go.”