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Summary
“Why are you here?” Patrick asks through gritted teeth. His hands, clenched into fists, are shaking. His whole body is shaking, and there’s a coldness flooding him, turning his blood into ice. Ice. Ice and snow-white skin. White and a clash of red against it – no, no, please no. He can’t think about this right now.
But Pete died. He’s fucking dead, except, he’s sitting on Patrick’s bed now, looking very much alive and well except for those giant feathery things.
Chest rising and falling, Pete’s fucking breathing, how is that possible?!
“You died,” Patrick says, and then, what little self-restraint he has vanishes. “You died,” Patrick repeats, and with each word, his voice gets louder, “you died, Pete, you’re fucking dead, so why are you here?!”
Pete is not bothered by the screaming, he looks aggravatingly calm and just a little sad. Beautiful brown eyes looking at Patrick, and they look so real. So alive.
“I’m here to offer closure, Patrick.”