prompt: identity
Pete runs his hands over the neat, dark suit laid out on the bed. It is crisp and pristine despite the years of wear, one of many carefully maintained by his own hands and the tailors hired to the main compound. He had tried the suit on again, just once, after the night of the coup. It was strange. Although hardly any time had passed since he last wore it, the suit felt too constricting, too plain, too formal. It was like wearing someone else’s skin who was just like him, but not quite. The material itched unpleasantly, and Pete couldn’t remember if it always had– something he had unthinkingly adjusted to over time. “Should we burn it?” Vegas hooks his chin over Pete’s shoulder, looking down at the suit with unabashed disdain. Pete laughs despite himself. “I’m not sure,” he pauses, swaying back into Vegas’s embrace. “It meant something to me, before.” It sounds silly to say about an item of clothing, but Vegas nods. “Does it mean something now?” Vegas’s voice is carefully neutral, and Pete knows he’s trying to be careful. The topic of the main family is sore for both of them, something cautiously talked around rather than addressed directly. He stares at the suit. “I don’t think so,” he says, and he feels Vegas relax a little. “Let’s burn it.” “Really?” Vegas perks up immediately, and Pete finds it hopelessly endearing in spite of himself. “Yeah.” He smiles. “I don’t think it fits anymore, anyway.” Vegas spins him around and kisses him soundly, and Pete welcomes the way it drives away all other thoughts. “You were always more than just this,” Vegas murmurs against his lips. Pete doesn’t know if that’s true, but he’ll be happy to see it burn all the same.
