#cc:p1

[kingpetre]

hc 04; smokes

Peter used to smoke a lot to the point of when he first left home. But eventually, he ran out of money to really buy cigarettes, and the withdrawal symptoms were something he doesn’t like to admit he fell prey to.

sometimes he goes back//slides back into the habit

[kingpetre]

the artist; kaye/peter

When he got back to Central City, he felt like as if he didn’t know anyone.  a while back,  on the streets, before he felt overwhelmed by his daily dosage of normality, he was more social, he had met a lot of people, he had tried to know their stories. and on one day, before crossing a street and waiting for the cars to pass, Peter was thinking about someone he had met before. He never got to know much about her, although she was really nice and friendly, how much could you really open up to a complete (and not to mention homeless) stranger? But she told him her story: through her gorgeous art.

Her name was Kaye, he remembered.  And she looked like the blonde woman who was with that kid that he saw right next to- Hold up.

“oh uh..Kaye?” He called out to her in realization.  “Uh..Peter, if you remember aha-aND you’ve got a kid! Wow, you did the uh the thing, congrats!”

[kingpetre]

the door across; peyton/peter

to think you had been running for so long//only to run back you’re here again and she’s here too.  you never really noticed in the beginning. life had just been a continuous cycle of  meds work sleep until you realized she was there.  a hallway away, actually. the door across from his own was the door she used every day.

And suddenly, the poison that controlled him, numbed him felt lighter. Gift after gift, he left in front of the door across. Small things - there was nothing he really desired to buy with his useless paycheck anyways. Now, he had a job. A roof over his head. He had been conformed to a lifestyle that he preached hatred against. But a part of him didn’t feel anything for it or against it. He just - existed. Nothing more than that. But she existed, which made it more. For once, he felt more than nothing. 

And one morning, he opened his door And at that moment, the door across opened and he saw her again. “Hello,” he spoke. “Good morning.”

[kingpetre]

hc 03; cold coffee

he kept the shirt.

stains and all.

[kingpetre]

reenter; central city

why are you back? the once familiar sounds of Central City seem louder than before.

something's drawn you in you've been running from this and now you're running back.

you have nothing here.

but you have her. chances are she doesn't even remember you. honestly, you mean nothing.

so why are you back?

[kingpetre]

you're awake. and you have been since 1am. the restlessness has a disturbing familiarity that you don't want to remember.

[kingpetre]

hc 01; outdoors

there are some pros to being a "drifter".  specifically referring to those perks that come with sleeping outside. {when peter was a kid his mom used to always storm into his room, at the sound of anything whether it was him accidentally dropping a book on the ground, or an outburst or anything like that: she was there. And he couldn't take that. He felt bad that she always had to help him. He felt awful when a signed slip of paper determined that he was beyond human help alone. And so he began sleeping in the backyard.} a perk that comes with sleeping outside is that you can break without anyone trying to fix you. because eventually you know you can fix yourself. you just need time to sort out the pieces. maybe that's the answer to the "why" of his drifter life.

[kingpetre]

it's that feeling where you've got everything bottled up but there's no way to  let it out without self-destruction