Chapter Text
He no longer remembered what it was like not to hate himself. A self-loathing so pure and heavy that it dragged his spirits down into the dirt and crushed them beneath its powerful heel. He’d stopped wishing for things to change and started wishing for them to just be over.
He’d never been an aggressive person, but the complete disregard for his own health and safety exaggerated his naturally passive nature to the extent that he no longer felt human. Just an object to be dressed up and paraded around. A puppet lost without its guiding strings.
His father had taken him from his mother out of spite, and he felt that stinging apathy every day. His— Lover? Boyfriend? Something?— only knew how to take, never to give, and Pete was willing to keep giving so that his life actually meant something to someone. But he was running dangerously close to empty.
“Buy me that one, hmm?” Trump whined sweetly, pointing to a beautiful leather jacket, only a few displayed on the rack of the high-end store. Pete felt exhausted after a day of being dragged around the giant mall without a moment to rest or stop for food. He was feeling faint and in no mood to protest or argue, not that he would have even if he wasn’t so tired.
He looked at the jacket with lethargic eyes, stroking the supple leather and able to appreciate it even in his tiredness.
“It would look good on me, right?” Trump said, a gleam in his eyes that was almost dangerous.
Pete wasn’t sure. The jacket would probably look good on someone more muscular. Someone who could wear it more naturally, for function, and not just to show off how expensive it was. But if it made Trump happy… “Yeah,” Pete agreed tiredly, blinking as his vision grew oddly fuzzy and spotty. “You would look good, P’Trump,” he mumbled.
“Where is everyone in this stupid shop,” Trump muttered, glancing around. “Hold on, I’ll find someone to help us. I want one that people haven’t been touching with their dirty hands.”
Self-conscious, Pete withdrew his fingers as Trump went in search of an attendant. He felt lost in a sea of shopping bags, his arms and wrists bruised from hauling them around all day. If it weren’t for propriety, he would have taken a nap right there among the clothing racks.
“Somehow, that doesn’t seem like your style,” someone said, and Pete was startled to see someone standing next to him. How long had they been there? How long had he been zoning out? He blinked again, and the shorter young man came into focus. Tanned skin, short hair, muscular arms extending from a white t-shirt and plaid overshirt with sleeves folded up to his veiny forearms. Most importantly, an oddly kind face, even though his cheek was abraded like he’d been in an accident or scraped it against something. “Are you okay?” the man said, and Pete flushed, as he realized he’d been openly staring.
“I’m sorry,” Pete apologized, ducking his head slightly and blinking away the headrush. “Y-you’re right, it’s not my style, is it?” Pete said softly, reaching out to touch it once more. “I’m sorry, I’m probably in your way,” he realized, backing up quickly and stumbling over a bag. The other man reached out to steady him, hands rough where they brushed Pete’s skin.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” the man said, pressing a hand to Pete’s forehead and frowning at his instinctual flinch. “Here, let’s go sit down over here,” the man said, guiding Pete in an almost overly-cautious way to the fitting rooms and onto a cushioned bench in the first open room. Pete sat down gratefully, dazzled as the man was backlit by the bright lights of the room, making him look like an angel.
“Thank you,” Pete said automatically, manners taking over in all unfamiliar and uncomfortable situations. “Thank you, but I’m okay now. You really don’t have to bother with me.” Even to himself, his reflection in the dressing room mirror looked pale, but it was probably just the fatigue.
“How could I leave you alone?” the other man said. “Is there anyone I can call for you? It seems like you have a fever.”
“I’m here with someone,” Pete said slowly, the words coming out like his tongue was swollen. “It’s okay, really. I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” the man said bluntly. “Who the hell would leave you alone in this state? More importantly, who would drag you around when you’re obviously sick? You couldn’t possibly be responsible for all those bags out there.”
“I’m not sick,” Pete protested weakly. “Really, please, I don’t want to bother you.” The man looked mad, handsome face twisting, and Pete was afraid that he’d offended him somehow. “I’m sorry,” he said again, squeezing his eyes shut as he turned his head down towards his lap, fingers twisting together.
“Don’t be sorry,” the man said, rough voice softening as he reached out to press calloused fingertips to Pete’s wrists. Pete opened his eyes to see him caressing the darkening bruises. His heart fluttered at the caring gesture, and he hated it. He hated that he was so weak to the barest kindness of strangers. “Who did this to you?”
“No one,” Pete answered quickly. “No one, I—I just bruise easily.”
“So delicate, Khun Chai,” the man huffed, seemingly mesmerized by the feel of Pete’s skin. “I’m really not used to that.”
“Pete!” a harsh voice grunted, and Pete couldn’t hide his reflexive wince.
“Is that the person you’re here with?” the man frowned, and Pete couldn’t help but admire the way his muscles flexed under the thin fabric of his shirt. He felt guilty immediately afterwards. He shouldn’t be having those kinds of thoughts. They were dirty and wrong. He was wrong. He was bad.
“Yes,” Pete said softly, attempting to stand, but he was pressed back down onto the seat with a warm hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll bring him to you,” the man said, eyes narrowed. “You sit right here.” Pete was stunned into obeying. He didn’t understand why a stranger would care so much. Not about him. Never about him.
“Pete?” Trump said, voice tinged with annoyance. “Why’d you let a,” he paused, disgusted gaze flitting over to the stranger, “person like this drag you back here? Are you stupid?”
“I’m sorry,” Pete said, ducking his head and staring down at his shoes. He was stupid. He’d been told that so many times that of course he believed it must be true.
“Hey!” the stranger practically growled, tanned face flushing red. “Don’t talk to him like that!”
“What the hell? I can talk to him however I want,” Trump shot back, his own temper quickly and visibly souring. Pete wanted to diffuse the situation, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak up, his anxiety winning out over any semblance of bravery. He wasn’t expecting the harsh pull at his right arm, stumbling to his feet as he was yanked into Trump’s side. “Isn’t that right, Pete?”
The stranger lurched forward quickly, as though prepared to catch him if he fell, eyes filled with an unusual combination of concern and rage. “One word and I’ll take you away,” the stranger said, looking only at Pete.
Pete couldn’t breathe. The intensity of the stranger’s gaze was paralyzing.
He had never before come so close to saying yes to something completely unknown.
“Ae! Holy shit, Ae, chill the hell out!” another man called, rushing into the dressing room and pressing long-fingered hands against the shorter stranger’s chest. “I leave you alone for five seconds to buy a fucking outfit for the interview,” the man hissed at the stranger, turning to face Pete and Trump with a greasy smile. “We’re good here, right? No harm, no foul,” he nodded his head. “We’ll just be going, then,” he said, pulling at the stranger’s arm, but the stranger didn’t budge.
“Ae!” the man complained, pleasant face strained with frustration. “Come on, you have a fight tomorrow! Save the testosterone for then, hmm?”
“Shut up, Pond,” Ae hissed, gaze unwavering. “I’m waiting on an answer.”
“Ae?” Trump blinked, confusion coloring his voice. “Why do I know you?” He paused, letting go of Pete’s arm to stroke at his own chin. “Ah! That fighter—you’re that fighter, aren’t you? The little one,” he added derisively.
The man who’d rushed in seemed offended at that, chest puffing out as his eyes narrowed, turning to face Trump. “That—are you kidding me? Who hasn’t heard of two-time kickboxing champion Ae the Whirlwind?”
“I think I lost some money betting against you,” Trump said derisively, reaching out to grab Pete’s arm once more. “Come on, my mood is completely ruined. I don’t want to buy anything from the same place something like that would.”
Pete let himself be pulled along, offering no resistance. He wasn’t expecting the resistance to come in the form of a rough hand reaching out for his own, fingertips grazing his skin once more. Before he had the chance to react to the grip, he was already being ripped away, his shoulder smarting at the force with which Trump dragged him back into the store, Trump haphazardly grabbing at their (his) bags before pulling Pete into the main concourse.
Trump sighed in aggravation as he failed to pull out his phone with the number of bags weighing his arms down. He slipped one arm’s worth of bags off of his wrist and shoved them into Pete’s chest. Pete, not expecting the sudden weight or force, stumbled backwards and ended up on the floor, tailbone smarting painfully after striking the hard tile.
Pete’s mind was too fuzzy to truly understand what happened next—maybe he really was sick—but he blinked after rubbing at his back and found Trump sprawled across the floor, mouth bleeding and moaning loudly. Pete stared, anxiety sending his heart pounding against his ribcage, before raising his eyes to find the stranger, Ae, lowering his fist as he glowered at Trump.
“Touch him again and lose that hand,” Ae rasped, expression thunderous as he turned to Pete. Pete didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t the man approaching almost timidly, dropping to squat on his heels as he looked Pete over with concern. Reaching out slowly, as though not to startle Pete, Ae pulled the bags away from on top of and around Pete and shoved most of them to the side. “Are you okay?”
Pete could only stare, mouth slightly open, as his eyes began to water.
Ae’s expression grew panicked, hands hovering around Pete like he didn’t know what to do with them. “Oh, please, don’t cry, Khun Chai. I didn’t mean to scare you. Or does it hurt that bad?”
The tears began to spill over Pete’s cheeks as he was overwhelmed by the care of the stranger. He should feel awful that Trump was hurt, but a sick part of him could only feel a strange relief. “I’m sorry,” he said, raising a hand to rub at his eyes.
“How—how can I fix it?” the man worried. “What can I do?”
“I,” Pete found himself blubbering, shaking his head.
“Yeah?” the man said, eyes wide as he listened for Pete’s words. “What is it?”
“I want to go,” Pete whispered.
The man seemed frozen for a moment before nodding. “Then I’ll take you.” He wrapped a wiry arm around Pete’s waist and helped leverage a wincing Pete to his feet. With purpose, he led Pete over to the nearest escalator.
“Yah! Ae! Are you fucking kidding me?” the man who’d followed Ae called, looking panicked between their escape and Trump still on the floor.
Ae didn’t answer him, gaze still stuck to Pete as he watched him closely while they descended. Pete felt a bit dizzy as they moved, and he soon found himself stabilized by Ae’s hold. “You’re so warm, Khun Chai,” Ae muttered, hand finding Pete’s forehead once more. “Even more than before. We should get you to a doctor.”
Pete swallowed, shaking his head in weak protest. His father, everyone, already thought he was weak enough. He wasn’t mentally prepared enough for another lecture on his pathetic constitution. He was already enough of a bother. “Please…”
“Okay,” Ae said, palm cupping Pete’s cheek as he tilted his head slightly downwards. “Okay, calm down, I’ll figure out something.”
There was something painfully comforting about Ae’s presence. Something so warm and calm, but painful because Pete knew it was only temporary. Nothing good ever lasted.
Pete felt himself slip into a daze as they stepped outside, the patter of the rain lulling him into a trance. He knew that Ae was leading him somewhere, but he didn’t much care where it was, as long as it was somewhere else. He knew that he stumbled when he had to step upwards, but he didn’t snap back into reality until Ae was draping his own drenched overshirt over Pete’s shoulders. Pete didn’t understand the gesture, because everything was equally wet, until he noticed a few sets of eyes on the both of them, and the fact that his own shirt was practically transparent.
“We’re…on the bus?” Pete said softly.
“You’re back with us,” Ae said, one corner of his mouth curling upwards. “And yeah, stupid Pond has my bike keys, so it’s the old fashioned way. Are you cold?”
Pete shook his head shyly.
“Ah, that fever is no joke, then,” Ae said in concern. “Just a few more stops and then we’ll be close to my place. I, ugh, couldn’t think of anywhere else good.’
“Okay,” Pete said, words followed by a slight cough that had Ae sitting up straight.
“Khun Chai,” Ae muttered, hands finding Pete’s face and hair, stroking softly. “How could you let it get to this point? You should be at home resting. Why’d that asshole drag you out?”
“I’m sorry,” Pete sniffed, overwhelmed by the attention.
“I already told you to not be sorry,” Ae said sternly. “You—wait. What’s your name, Khun Chai? I can’t keep calling you royalty forever.”
“P-Pete,” he stuttered, shyly looking down again.
“Pete,” Ae repeated, like he was chewing the name over. “I’m Ae,” he smiled, and Pete thought it was beautiful, the way he practically glowed. “I’m sorry we had to meet like this, but I’m not sorry I punched your friend in the face.”
“Oh,” Pete said. The guilt was beginning to seep in after he just left Trump behind. “He’ll…be mad,” Pete said softly, already dreading the repercussions of Ae’s actions.
“He hurts you, doesn’t he?” Ae said directly. “I should have fucking—”
“He doesn’t,” Pete said. “I’m just…like this,” he sniffled. “I’m pathetic. I’m—I’m lucky that P’Trump is willing to put up with me.”
“Be quiet,” Ae said harshly, sending a spike of nervous fear up Pete’s spine. “Don’t you dare talk about yourself like that.”
“But I’m bad,” Pete said, voice cutting off in a high-pitched whine.
Ae looked angry, fingers clenching into fists where his hands rested on his thighs. “I really want to kill whoever poisoned you to think that.”
Pete didn’t know what to say, curling in on himself until the bus lurched to a few more stops and Ae grabbed his hand. “Time to go, Pete,” Ae said, pulling him from his seat. Pete winced at the various aches he’d begun to feel, both from the mall and the soreness of his joints from the oncoming illness. Still, he let Ae pull him along. Though Ae was a rough man, it was clear that his intentions were not to harm Pete, even if Pete had no idea why the stranger was helping him.
Finally, they reached an upscale apartment building, and Pete shivered as they were blasted by the air conditioning upon entrance. Ae led him to a large elevator and pressed a number high on the presented options. Ae seemed nervous, then, looking over at Pete with hesitation. “I’ve never actually had anyone over before except Pond,” he muttered apprehensively.
“Sorry,” Pete said reflexively. “To—to bother you—”
“You’re not a bother!” Ae said sternly. “I’m just…fucking messy,” he frowned, rubbing at the back of his head.
Pete didn’t understand what Ae considered messy. While his apartment looked lived in, it was nowhere near as messy as Trump’s place, even if it wasn’t as immaculate as his father’s house. Ae sat him down carefully on the couch, rushing off before Pete could say anything at all. He returned a few moments later with an armful of well-worn towels, draping one carefully over Pete’s shoulders and beginning to rub his hair and face. As Ae discarded one towel and reached for another, Pete noticed a set of clothes hidden at the bottom of the pile.
Pete let himself be taken care of. It felt…nice. He found himself leaning into the warm, massaging hands at every opportunity.
“Pete. Hey, Pete,” Ae said softly. “You need to change out of these wet clothes. I brought some of my workout clothes, because they fit a bit larger and should be the right length on you.”
At Ae’s words, Pete felt self-conscious. He knew he was too big. Father had been commenting on his weight since he was a child, chastising him for the baby fat that he was still trying so desperately to lose.
“Can you—can you manage?” Ae said, face flushing pink as he looked at Pete’s chest and then away again.
Pete felt even more shy and self-conscious just because Ae felt that way too, reaching shaky hands up to undo his buttons. However, his hands were too shaky from the blur of his vision and the strange effects the fever was having on him, his flesh pimpled with goosebumps over every square inch. “I,” Pete said, voice shaking too as his eyes pricked with tears again.
“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Ae said hurriedly. “I can do it, no problem, Khun Chai,” Ae said. “I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable. I know I’m—rough.”
“No,” Pete said, voice slurred as he shook his head. “I’m…gross,” he whispered.
Ae’s expression was angry again. Pete felt bad for making him angry all the time. “You are not,” Ae said. “You’re so soft, Pete,” he continued, reaching out to take one of Pete’s hands. “You have a pretty face, and pretty hands, and pretty—everything,” Ae said. “You’re gentle and—and sweet. There is not one gross thing about you.”
Pete felt compelled to prove him wrong. “I’m gay,” he breathed, wanting desperately for Ae to see how wrong and bad he was.
Ae didn’t flinch. Ae didn’t even let go of his hand, just squeezed it tighter. “And why do you think that would make you gross?”
“B-because,” Pete said. “Father says—”
“Pete,” Ae said firmly. “I don’t care if you’re gay or an alien. No one deserves to be treated badly because of anything they can’t change.”
Pete blinked, flabbergasted. He didn’t know what to do in the face of this warm indifference.
“Now, let’s get you dry, hmm?” Ae said, undoing Pete’s buttons with unrefined determination, like he wasn’t used to buttoning shirts. Halfway down, Ae froze, eyes that had been focused off of Pete’s body zeroing in on the shadows coating his skin. “What—what the fuck is this?” Ae whispered, fingers hovering over the bruising like he was afraid of it. “What—who did this? Who?!” he demanded, sending Pete shrinking back.
“No one,” Pete said quietly. “I bruise easily.” It was true, he did. And rather than someone doing something, he felt like he deserved most of them. He really did it to himself.
“Bullshit!” Ae growled. “That’s—” he cut himself off, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. “Okay, we’ll just get you dry first.” He finished undoing the remaining buttons, carefully peeling Pete’s shirt from his arms and swallowing down his anger as more marks were revealed. He carefully pulled his own loose zip-up hoodie over Pete's body, Pete immediately sighing at the warmth of the thick fabric.
Pete managed to get his own pants off after that, only one button and a zipper releasing the loose fabric. Pete’s phone was set aside on the coffee table. Ae still had to help pull up his sweatpants over Pete’s hips, cheeks flaming red the entire time. Again, he was angry at the bruises contrasting harshly against Pete’s fair skin, but he visibly tried to restrain his temper.
When he was finally done, he took the towels and returned to somewhere deeper into the large apartment.
Pete startled when his phone began buzzing, and he was almost too afraid to look at it. Ultimately, the fear of what would happen if it was his father spurred him on to pick it up. He heaved a sigh of relief when Tin’s name popped up on the screen. “Hello, Tin?”
“Where are you?” Tin demanded loudly.
“Umm,” Pete said, taken aback. “Out.”
“Out,” Tin repeated, scoffing. “One of your father’s men reported that you’ve been kidnapped.”
“Wh-what?” Pete stuttered, heart skipping a beat. “I wasn’t!”
“Then tell him that,” Tin said, “before he sends any more disgustingly clothed goons to my office and disrupts my practice.” Tin didn’t say anything for a moment. “Are you really okay?”
“Yes, Tin,” Pete assured him. “This is—this is all a misunderstanding. I’ll fix it.”
After ending the call, Pete stood quickly, intending to leave, only to find himself on the floor again. Hearing the thump, Ae rushed back into to the living room with only one arm through the sleeve of a dry sweatshirt, leaning down to help Pete with half of his chest exposed to the air. Pete swallowed at the sheer amount of muscle that had been hidden under his clothes.
“Ah, what happened?” Ae questioned, helping Pete sit up. “Are you alright?”
Pete shook his head in an attempt to clear some of the strange spots dotting his vision, but he didn’t get far before he felt himself slipping into darkness.
He woke to the sickening sound of fists meeting flesh.
His entire body was shivering, coated with sweat, as he managed to pry his eyes open. He didn’t recognize the room he was in, or the bed he was laying on. Fear surged through his fever-wracked brain as he tried to remember what had happened. Had someone done something to him? Was this another of his father’s tests?
And then something clicked.
Ae.
He was with Ae, who had helped him, and then—
Another loud cry had Pete sitting up quickly, clutching at his pounding head. He peeled back the sweat-damp sheets covering his body and swung his legs over to the carpeted bedroom floor. He staggered to his feet, blinking back a wave of dizziness, but still managed to stay upright. He pressed a hand to the closest wall as he shuffled to the door, desperately concerned for Ae as the noises only continued.
He finally managed to find the doorknob, pulling the door opened to a darkened hallway with a man’s heaving silhouette at the end of it. “Ae?” Pete managed, barely able to mouth the words before a bout of coughing had him bending in half.
“Pete!?” Ae gasped, at his side in nearly in an instant. “Shit, Pete, you shouldn’t be out of bed.”
“What…?” Pete said, the light from the bedroom lamp illuminating more of the hallway to reveal a few groaning bodies.
“Oh,” Ae said sheepishly. “These guys just showed up looking for a fight. Is that what woke you up? Sorry, I don’t know what’s going on, either. Instinct kind of just kicked in, you know?” He glanced down the hallway. “Shit, looks like a few more are up.” Exactly as Ae said, the downed men began to stand again. “I’m really trying to hold back, but they’re really pissing me off.” Pete really thought that Ae’s calm reaction wasn’t normal. “I can’t remember who I made mad enough this time, though.”
“They’re for me,” Pete coughed, rubbing a hand up and down his neck. “I’m—I’m so sorry, they must be here for me.”
“You?” Ae said, brow furrowed in extreme confusion.
“Master!” one of the men called, spotting Pete, and Pete winced, wishing he were brave enough to step in front of Ae.
“I’m—I’m fine,” Pete said. “Please stop fighting. I’m not kidnapped.”
“Pete?” Ae questioned.
“I’m so sorry,” Pete said, chewing at his bottom lip as he spotted the blood spotting Ae’s cheek, the scabs from the abrasion broken open. “I’m—I’ll go now. I’m sorry,” he said again, shuffling wearily past Ae.
“No, wait, Pete,” Ae said, catching his hand. “You can’t just…leave…” he said. “You’re still sick!”
“I’m fine now,” Pete said. “Thank you, Ae. I won’t…I won’t forget your kindness.” Swallowing back his desire to stay, Pete pulled his hand back and straightened his posture. Weakness was death. And while he was indeed weak, his father would not accept that kind of showing in front of his men. “I’m ready to go. Let’s leave.”
“Master, we can’t just let this impudent—”
“Let’s go,” Pete repeated quietly, wrapping his arms around himself as he continued to shuffle to the door.
“Pete!” Ae called again, frustration heavy in his voice. “What is this? Am I supposed to let you leave with a bunch of gangsters?”
“I’m sorry,” Pete said, pained. “It’s who I am.”
The ride home was a painful one. He curled up as best he could on the pristine leather seats of the town car as his body convulsed with shivers. He twisted his fingers in the fabric of Ae’s clothes and breathed in the strong scent of Ae’s laundry detergent. It was too cruel to have experienced something like that, and then go right back to the real world. He sniffed as his nose ran and his throat began to ache with every swallow. He knew that none of it would stem his father’s anger.
He hadn’t even slipped off his shoes before he was being hustled into his father’s office, the fear that was always there sending his heart pounding into a frenzy. His father stood behind his massive desk, surrounded by shelves and shelves of books that Pete knew his father had actually read instead of being there just for show. A pool table stood to the side, balls scattered across the green felt.
He tried to stand straight, but the shivers were making it impossible, Pete forced to clutch at his body to physically hold himself together.
“Why did I have to send out a hunting party today?” his father asked bluntly.
“I f-forgot to tell them where I would be,” Pete said softly. “I’m deeply sorry, father.”
“Sorry,” his father repeated, throwing the pen he’d been holding down onto the desk. “It seems that’s all you know how to be, instead of simply doing things right the first time.”
Pete ducked his head, breathing harsh as he tried to restrain a cough, trembling now doubled as fear was piled onto illness. His words were always insufficient, so he could only offer silence. And prayer.
Trump must have been the one to report the false information. Pete hoped it was because he actually cared, and not because he wanted to see Pete chastised.
“Arms,” his father said. Acting before he could even think, Pete raised his trembling arms in front of him as his father stepped around the desk. “What am I to do with you?” his father sighed, eyeing Pete’s clothing in thinly veiled disgust. “I suppose it’s lucky that I have another option.” Pete’s heart smarted at the comments, even though they were often-repeated. But if it meant that his brother was treated more kindly, he would accept the punishment without complaint. “Pathetic,” his father growled, sliding a pool cue from a rack on the wall.
Pete braced himself for the pain that came with the stick of wood slamming against his already-bruised forearms. It didn’t help much, but at least he didn’t cry out when the inevitable happened. He couldn’t, however, stop the tears from slipping past his tightly-squeezed lids.
His trembling arms couldn’t stay up, no matter how much he attempted to raise them again. He could feel his father’s disappointment like it was a physical force pervading the room and crushing his spirit. “I’m sorry, father,” Pete coughed, still trying to lift his arms up.
“Pathetic,” he father repeated, throwing the stick and striking Pete in the calves. It didn’t take much to send him to the floor, muscles so weak that they were unable to hold him up. At least it seemed like his father was done with him for the night, storming from the room and letting the door slam shut behind him.
Pete would have fallen asleep on one of the rugs if the thought of staying in that room didn’t terrify him so much. Tears and snot leaking from his eyes and nose, Pete pushed himself to his hands and knees, trying to force his body to stop shaking just long enough for him to stand. It didn’t work, and he found himself stuck there.
He felt the tears dripping down onto the rug as he thought of how nice someone had been to him that day, even when he didn’t deserve it. He felt his eyes dragging shut against his will, his head hurting and his stomach roiling. He just wanted someone to care. He wanted someone to take care of him. He wanted his mother.
“Master Pete,” a deep voice said urgently, large hands practically hauling Pete onto his feet. “Come on, Master Pete, up you go. Let’s get you to bed.”
“P’Tharn?” Pete said blearily, cracking his eyes open to a muscular body and gently-smiling face.
“Yeah,” the other man said. “You can sleep now, little prince. I’ve got you.”
Pete let his eyes drop closed for real. He was too tired to do much else.
He hoped Ae wasn’t hurting too badly.