I'm Half-Doomed and You're Semi-Sweet

“You can take the bed,” Pete offered her from his spot at his desk.

He felt her stare on his back as he pretended to study the mess of papers that crowded the desk.

“Where will you sleep?” she asked.

“I won’t,” he replied.

“Why not?” she asked, her questions were tugging endlessly at his nerves. He didn’t reply; only stood up from his chair and wordlessly exited the room, closing the door behind him.

He saw Brendon at the table, staring him down as soon as he entered the kitchen.

Pete simply ignored him.

Brendon continued to stare as Pete made his blend. He gathered the ingredients and mixed them in the blender, as he did a few times a week to keep his thirst at bay. It didn’t fill him as much as pure blood filled vampires, but he didn’t mind in the slightest.

“You have no right to talk to her like that,” Brendon growled in a low, threatening voice, once Pete had finished gulping down his blend. “She’s only ever tried apologizing to you.”

He finally turned to return Brendon’s glare, narrowing his eyes at his friend-turned-enemy.

Their feud had not subsided; what was Hanna’s problem became Brendon’s, so as their relationship would have it, Pete was Brendon’s problem.

“She has no right to talk to me in general,” Pete snapped back.

“Don’t start blaming her again!” he snarled, now standing up as his eyes flashed crimson.

Pete could feel the red heat building in his own irises.

He and Brendon had been at each other’s throats ever since Brendon and Hanna had returned from wherever-the-fuck they had originally ran away to in order to avoid Beckett. It was only a matter of time that one of them would do something they’d later regret.

Had Joe not interrupted their stare down to retrieve a snack, the situation might have escalated.

“Whoa, what’s going on here?” he asked, barging into the kitchen and stepping between them to open the fridge, his dark mop of curly hair momentarily interfering with their stare down.

Neither Pete nor Brendon answered his question, but continued to glare murderously.

“Oh-kay, then,” Joe said, shrugging before leaving the kitchen.

There was no point.

With a final growl, Pete turned and left the same way as Joe.

He retreated to Patrick’s “library,” for a lack of better description. Here he knew he wouldn’t be bothered; the only one to ever spend time in there was Patrick, who would most likely be reading.

As Pete predicted, there was Patrick, writing away with large volumes of books on vampirism surrounding him.

“You should take a break,” Pete stated, shutting the door.

“You’re telling me to take it easy?” he replied, the corners of his lips turning upwards in a teasing smile, which Pete had no intention of returning. His best friend’s face fell and returned to its previously tired expression. “Vampires don’t take it easy. I want to be prepared.”

Pete didn’t respond.

“So…Kira?” Patrick treaded the topic lightly.

Pete exhaled noisily so that Patrick would get the clue that he wasn’t in the sharing mood.

He would have to find a new sanctuary.