Roomate
Peter couldn’t sleep.
He tossed and turned in the – quite frankly, huge - bed they gave him. Apparently, Scott and Kurt were already sharing a room, as was everyone else, so Peter got one just for himself. What a bummer.
It was probably for the best; he didn’t feel like being a good roommate tonight.
It wasn’t his pent-up energy keeping him awake, for a change. It was pure worry. Peter was worried about Summer.
Peter wondered if she felt comfortable in her new room. He wondered if Summer was feeling just slightly better. He wondered if she was sleeping, or if she just couldn’t, like him. Even more absurdly, he wondered if those bastards had the courage to invade the institute and where kidnaping her at that exact moment. Peter had quite a vivid imagination. It wasn’t impossible, after all, just extremely unlikely. They wouldn’t get far with that many mutants around; at least not without making a sound, and the night was dead quiet.
What kept him in his bed, apart from his fists desperately holding onto the bedsheets, was the absurdity of it all.
Peter had no right to worry about her.
First of all, Summer could damn well take care of herself. She was a mutant just like him and, as far as he knew, she had escaped a high security facility that was literally designed to keep her there, and managed to fight her way into freedom well enough before he was even in the picture.
Secondly, Peter was, after all, nothing to her. He was that guy that she kissed the day before and that saved her nice ass that morning, but that hardly qualified as being her friend. He had no right to worry. He had no right to miss her, especially when he had been with her a little over an hour ago. He had no right to walk up to her door and knock, disturbing her hypothetical sleep.
She was not a damsel in distress and he definitely wasn’t her knight in a silver armour. Those things didn’t even exist.
But the not knowing was killing him.
If he could check on her just this once, then his mind would rest and he would finally be able to sleep.
That’s what he told himself as he sped to her door.
As long as Peter never opened that door, Summer would remain his own personal Schrodinger Cat. Behind that door she was both asleep and wide awake. She was both safe and unsafe. She was both alive and dead. And the not knowing consumed him.
Peter knocked.
No answer.
He knocked once again, you know, just to not be accused of not knocking.
Still no answer.
Peter turned the doorknob slowly.
Unlocked.
‘Please don’t be a squeaky door’ He thought.
Peter opened the door painfully slow. His head popped inside as soon as the gap between the door and the door frame was big enough. Her bed was unmade but Summer wasn’t there. She was nowhere to be seen.
Peter tried to remain calm as he logically processed the signs he could see. But there were none. No sign of where she was, or where she could have gone. No signs of forced entry, no signs of a fight. Just an unmade bed. What that implied, he did not know. God, he would suck as an investigator.
Peter could have scanned the whole institute in a matter of seconds. He could check every square foot of that property without breaking a sweat. Yet instead, he froze in place. He stood there, dumbfounded, hand on the door frame for balance, frozen.
Then he realised the air was quite chilly. There was a cold breeze, tickling his left side. At the end of the corridor, there was a glass double door that led to a small balcony. And the door wasn’t closed all the way. It was a guess as good as any, but Summer could be there. He walked slowly to the balcony, careful not to make a single sound. A relieved breath escaped him when he saw her sitting on the rail.
She, moonlit, hair blowing in the wind and in that silky cream night gown that was so sexy it shouldn’t be allowed in school grounds, was a sight to behold. In that moment she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He could have frozen time with his super speed, and live in those seconds for an eternity, but he knew there was just no way he’d ever forget how she looked that night.
She probably wanted to be alone with her thoughts, but there’s something about her that seemed to pull him in. To call him, to lure him. Honestly, it could have been that heaven sent (more like Jean lent) night gown. He couldn’t step away from her if he wanted. And he didn’t want to. Not when she looked like that.
Peter stepped into the balcony, plopped his forearms into the railing beside her and leaned into them. There was a safe and comfortable distance between them, enough space for a third person to walk in and slot themselves in between them. Knowing Peter’s luck, that was extremely likely to happen, and he would glad throw said person off of the balcony for killing the mood. They both stared ahead, at nothing in particular.
The balcony overlooked the lake and a couple of nearby trees. The full moon shined bright both in the sky and on the reflection in the lake. It wasn’t a bad sight.
“Couldn’t sleep?” Summer asked, her voice low and soft, in a tenderness that seemed adequate to the occasion. It sounded like she cared. She had recognized the silver head on her peripheral vision and felt no need to steer away from the view she was admiring to look at him.
“Not really” Peter admitted “You?” Summer shook her head slowly. A few silent seconds stretched between them before she started talking again.
“It’s a nice view, isn’t it?” Summer learned to appreciate even the ugliest of views, but that one certainly wasn’t half bad.
“It really is.” Summer yawned. He looked over at her and it seemed like her eyes were fighting to stay open. “You seem tired. Why don’t you try sleeping again?”
“I can’t. I-” she cut herself short “You’re going to laugh”
“I promise I won’t” I mean, he probably would. But he was going to try not to. For her.
“It’s the room…” Summer trailed off.
“What’s wrong with your room?” He had just been to her room and, at a quick glance, there seemed to be nothing wrong with it. She even got as lucky as him to get a room just for herself, though she got the room by insisting to Charles she couldn’t share a room, something that Scott backed.
“It’s… It’s white.” Summer confessed. Peter seemed and sounded legitimately concerned. So much so that she felt embarrassed telling him such a stupid problem. It took him a beat, but his eyes grew wide with understanding. “I kept opening my eyes and starring at the ceiling and… It feels like I’m there again.”
“I can fix it!” he said way to quickly. Peter was about to step out when he realised, he was maybe about to do something she never asked him to. “Just… Do you trust me?” He could probably have phrased that better. He didn’t mean for it to sound that deep. He merely wanted to know if she would allow him to help. If she trusted him enough to let him help.
“I’m here, am I not?” Summer said with a weak smile. It was true. When a stranger said he had a safe place for her to hide, she barely thought twice before accepting his offer. She told him her entire life story. She told him the reason why she couldn’t sleep, as silly as it sounded. Summer had trusted him plenty of times before in the past 24 hours. Why would she stop now?
Summer stood very still in the corner of her new room as Peter duck taped an ugly brown curtain to the ceiling, directly above her bed. Actually, not that still, as she was trying not to laugh at the scene. Peter had ‘borrowed’ the curtain from the music room, that he actually had never been to before.
He stumbled into the music room as he opened random doors in the mansion, looking for something to cover the white ceiling of her bedroom. The room had a huge piano, a drum kit he was definitely going to mess with later, a bunch of different instruments neatly scattered around the room, and curtains. The curtain was dreadful, ugly and it kept falling from one side as Peter taped the other onto the ceiling. But it certainly wasn’t white.
“What do you think?” Peter said, appreciating his finished work with a proud smile, like if he had just finished one of his pranks. “Is just for now, we can think of a more permanent solution in the morning.” She walked until she was beside him and stopped to admire his work too.
“I think it’s great.”
“Try it out.” He said, gesturing to her bed. She got into the bed, under the covers and laid flat, staring at the now curtain covered celling. “Better?”
“Much better.” She confessed, a small smile on her face. Peter took a step back. He was ready to bid her goodnight and go back to his room, relieved now that he knew she was all set for a good night of sleep.
He would have done that, he really would. Say goodnight, go back to his room, try to sleep. He would have done all that, if she hadn’t grabbed his forearm to prevent him from leaving. It wasn’t a gentle touch. It was a strong hold, a desperate one.
“Can you… Can you stay?” She pleaded; her voice weak, vulnerable “I’d feel better if you stayed… Please”
Peter didn’t think he could ever leave. Not when she looked at him like that. Peter had saved the world a couple of times before. He knew what it felt like when people looked at you as if you were a hero, as if you were their saviour. This felt better. Her gaze pierced right through him and tickled his heart. That unjustified trust she felt for him, it humbled him. It made him want to be a better person. Just for her.
He circled the bed to lay on the other side. He got under the covers and laid on his side, facing her at as respectable a distance as they’d get in that bed, that suddenly seemed way too small. She did the same.
“Better?” he asked again, looking deep into her hazel eyes.
“Much better” she said, sporting a full smile this time. They both laid in silence for a while, just looking at each other. There wasn’t a single thought running through Peter’s mind – which was rather unusual – he simply laid there, looking at her. She brought one of her hands from under the blanket to tuck his hair behind his ear. Her thumb ran through his cheek. “You have very nice skin.”
“I’ve been getting that a lot” He said with a smile “Although most people usually comment about my hair, you know.”
“I like your hair” He wasn’t fishing for compliments, but he didn’t mind getting some more. Maybe he should ask how she felt about his eyes. “It’s just- I don’t like how it keeps falling and hiding your…”
“My beautiful skin?”
“I was going to say your face.”
It was Peter’s turn to bring his hand up. He ran his hand through her hair. She let out a shaky breath and closed her eyes. She allowed him to run his hand through her hair once more. Then again. Then again. Until she drifted off in sleep. Over her shoulder he saw a single shoe floating in the air. It wasn’t something he had witnessed before, but he just guessed it was something she did in her sleep, float things around. Maybe that’s why she wanted a room just for herself. He watched the little shoe wiggle alone in the air, until his eyelids could no longer stay open.
Summer woke up in the middle of the night. When she opened her eyes, she didn’t see white walls or a white ceiling. She saw Peter. And she smiled. She knew she wasn’t back in that horrible place. She was as far away as she’s ever been. And she had no plans of coming back.