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The Flames Are Too Loud

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A whine bursts from his throat as another deafening roar shakes the apartment.

It's just the wind, he knows, but he still doesn’t like it. It's too loud, the harrowing din is battering against his eardrums and rattling through his bones. It's overwhelming, and the shudders wracking his body are getting harder and harder to control. He wants it gone. He doesn’t want to remember. It's too much. The sound. It's too close to—

Gentle hands trail over his sweat-slicked skin, and long, sturdy arms wrap him in a comforting embrace. "Shhh. It's alright, you're safe."

Peter snaps out of his thoughts, instinctively leaning back to chase the warmth radiating from the lean figure curled around him. "I don't like it," he grumbles into the pillow, scowling when the wind takes it as a challenge and booms violently once again.

"I know, baby," Stiles whispers softly as he threads his nimble fingers through Peter’s hair, stroking soothingly. "But I'm here, and I won't let anything happen to you."

Peter huffs, frustrated with the hair's gap between their bodies, suddenly craving more than anything to be molded to Stiles like a second skin. He turns in his blanket cocoon and attaches himself to the boy like a limpet, burrowing his face into Stiles’s chest, sighing contentedly as he drowns himself in the sweet and appeasing scent of mate

Stiles says nothing more, just lays there as a grounding presence, one hand still in Peter's hair and the other drawing calming patterns onto his back. He places a lingering kiss to the top of Peter’s head, nuzzling him when he snuggles impossibly closer.

Peter hones in on the steady beat of the boy's heart, the familiar patter blocking out the worst of the raging storm. Everything outside the protective circle of his mate's arms gradually fades into the distance, the haunting memories retreating far enough that they're no longer threatening to consume him. 

Peter's trembling eases, his breath evens out, and eventually, he finds enough peace to drift off to sleep.