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A hot summer breeze drifted through the window as Tom woke up to an empty bed. He had rolled over to wake up Pete to make him make coffee for the two.
Pete’s pillow was dented and the covers were wrinkled but he was not there.
The light drifting through the blinds was white hot and blinding, but still soft in a way. The birds chirped happily, signaling that today was going to be a good day.
Tom rolled over to check his phone, rubbing his eyes and yawning. No text from Pete at all. He stared at his phone, almost like it would explain what was going on if he looked at it for long enough.
Usually, a trail of chaos followed Mav everywhere he went, so a quiet house was far more than just unusual. His eyes drifted up to the date.
The 29th of July.
That would explain it. Tom had totally forgotten.
Tom hurriedly rushed out of bed, clumsily throwing on a pair of sweatpants that were on the floor and scurrying into the kitchen.
There he was.
Pete sat in the kitchen, a cup of coffee loosely wrapped in his hand. He didn’t even look up when Tom walked towards him, his eyes glued to the floor.
It was the 5 year anniversary of the crash in Miramar, and Pete was evidently not taking it well.
The carton of milk was next to the coffee pot, which a normal person wouldn’t bat an eye about but Tom knew Pete was lactose intolerant, and he hated milk. Pete was running on autopilot, just moving through his morning routine with a not so efficient execution.
Tom crouched in front of Pete, who was still staring at the floor.
“Hey.” He said softly, looking for any signs of light in Pete’s eyes. Nothing. Tom carefully pried the tainted milk coffee out of Pete’s hand and set it on the counter, and pulled up a chair next to him. He had his gold-rimmed aviators on, trying to hide his eyes. Tom gently took them off, showing Pete’s red and puffy green eyes.
Hot tears still spilled down his face, etching a path down his nose. Tom knew that grief had no bounds, no limit and definitely no intent on stopping. He stood up and ever so gently, pried Pete off the chair and carried him into the bedroom, placing him down on the plush bed and sitting down next to him. Pete didn’t say anything, just layed there like a ragdoll.
“Hey. You doing alright?” Tom asked around an hour later.
“Mm.” Replied Pete, his eyes half open. Tom rubbed the hem of Pete’s sleeve inbetween his fingers, thinking of what to say.
“Slider called. Asked how you were.” Tom said softly, trying to get Pete to ease up at least a little. Pete just rolled over, pressing his face into Tom’s shoulder.
Tears stained his shirt but he didn’t care. Tom threw his arms around Pete’s back, pulling him closer. Sobs racked Pete’s body, his entire demeanor of “I don’t care” tumbling down around him. His breathing was ragged and uneven as he cried, his hands clutching at Tom’s shirt.
“It was my fault. I was his driver. He was my responsibility. My RIO.”
Tom just let him cry. He knew that this would never really cease, and all he cared about was being there.
“It wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t do anything about it.” Tom whispered, combing his fingers through Pete’s messy hair. Pete had good days and bad days, the bad days stung and the good days shone. Recently, the good days had been getting more plentiful, and the bad days were less intense.
But Tom knew that the anniversary would tear this small hope in two, and crack him in half. Pete finally fell asleep but sleep was no escape. His leg shook, his breath coming in short gasps.
Around every thirty minutes he would wake in a cold sweat, either sobbing or asking for goose. And every time Tom was there, ready to console him back to sleep.
Tom had gone to the bathroom, leaving Pete for only a few minutes. Just as he was finishing washing his hands, a loud bang followed by a million tiny pops filled the humid air.
Tom froze, whipping around to face the closed door.
Fireworks.
Tom fumbled with the doorknob, hurriedly unlocking it and running into the bedroom. Pete sat curled up, shaking slightly, his hands over his ears.
He was muttering something incoherent when another sharp pop fizzled outside. He flinched hard, curling farther into his knees. Tom approached carefully, like someone would approach a wild animal, careful and quiet.
Softly, Tom rested his hand on Pete’s shoulder. Pete tensed but didn’t shake him off, small sniffles coming from him every few seconds. Tom sat down gently next to him, rubbing his back in small circles.
He knew that this would happen all over again next year, and honestly, he didn’t care. He was there for Pete, and as the shaking subsided and small snores came from under Tom’s arm he knew he wouldn’t rather be anywhere else.