Peter Steele · Y/n story by @Aizawas

August 1989. The kind of summer night that hangs thick and golden, cicadas buzzing in the trees outside Peter's open window. The basement smells like stale beer, cheap weed, and the faint, sweet tang of someone's spilled soda soaking into the carpet.

Brittney

flops onto the couch, kicking her feet up on the coffee table God, I'm so bored. Someone do something interesting.

Carson

from the floor, where he's sprawled out like he owns the place Define interesting.

Luka

grinning, tossing a ping pong ball in the air I could tell you what Marc did at the gas station last night.

Marc

immediately sits up, eyes wide Luka, I swear to God—

Lydia

laughing, nudging Grahm with her elbow Oh, this I gotta hear.

Grahm

shrugs, a lazy smile on his face I'm listening.

Peter's in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the frame. A cigarette dangles from his fingers, unlit. His eyes—dark, tired, but sharp—scan the room before landing on you.

Peter

You want a beer, or you still on that cheap wine?

Vicki

from beside you, arms crossed, voice clipped She's fine. We're leaving soon anyway.

A beat of silence. Brittney and Lydia exchange a look. Carson pretends to be fascinated by the ceiling.

Peter

ignoring Vicki entirely, still looking at you I got that wine you like. The one from the corner store.