Peters’ Apartment
Tokyo, Japan
December 2014
God,
the idiot was obstinate.
(But
could she really blame him? She had been away for months.)
She
had told him to get over her and find a new person and move on; besides, who
could want a messy-haired, slowly-recovering, sharp-tongued lady? J had been a
hundred percent ready to detach from the American, as much as it would hurt.
She had prepared herself for coming back to a changed lock and merry laughter
from within the apartment; laughter than came from him and laughter that came
from an unknown other.
But,
no.
J
came back to an unchanged lock and an empty apartment which smelled lightly of
food and laundry. From that, she could arrive at three conclusions.
- Peters hadn’t changed the locks at all. He was either too lazy or too stubborn to change them.
- Peters was still at work, even at this time.
- The lack of clothes strewn on the floor and the fact that only a single pair of utensils had been discarded told her that he was the only occupant.
J hadn’t returned her things back to the
respective cabinets and such, not really. She definitely wasn’t sure if Peters
even wanted her back. Nonetheless, she stayed seated there, on his couch,
flipping through the channels and sipping from a cup of coffee she had brewed
only moments back.
She was never the type who would be easily
surprised. Everyone who knew her knew that this was pure fact; surprising J was
nearly an impossible feat. So when she heard the door creak open, she jumped –
and felt irritated at herself for jumping at such a simple thing.
“Really, J? You’re jumping at a fucking
opening door?” she grumbled to herself, attempting to calm the storm raging in
her heart. She felt her heard thud wildly in her chest, threatening to fight
its way out due to the intensity it was experiencing.
Deep down, she knew that if it had anything to
do with Peters, then she would be jumpy.
* * * * *
Peters didn’t work with the police for
nothing.
The moment he saw the lights switched on from
outside his apartment, he felt his chest tighten and actually stopped himself
from going inside his apartment. There were two possible scenarios playing in
his head; one positive and the other negative.
The negative one would be someone breaking
into his apartment and waiting for him to come. A possible ending would be the
man being arrested and Peters holding an ice pack to his head.
The positive one would be of her coming back – as unlikely as it
sounded – and the ending would be taking her into his arms and potentially
never letting her go…as cheesy as it sounded.
He contemplated on taking out his phone and
texting the rest of Squad A about it; yet a small voice in his head told him to
first check things out rather than to merely assume. It took him seconds to
clear his head until he took the keys out of his pocket, walking up the steps
and sliding it into the keyhole.
Peters twisted the key, and the door opened
with ease.
Cautiously he moved inside, pocketing the keys
and closing the door, locking it much after. He held his breath and peeked into
the living room, silencing his steps. Who knew if it really was a goddamn thief?
In any case, the American had to be careful. So he bit his lip and sneaked
around silently around his apartment, catching a few movements from the living room.
A head of black hair caught his gaze.
Curly black hair.
In his shock, he felt the keys slip from his
grip and hit the floor. Immediately, the head turned and Samuel found himself
staring into a shining, icy pair of blue eyes.
Ten seconds was all it took. Finally, J
cleared her throat and sent him a glare.
“I told you to fucking change the lock.”
“With my schedule, do you think I have the
time to actually change the lock?” he retorted. J stared at him for a few seconds
until she laughed, Peters feeling all feeling in his body return; the man moved
into the room and soon took the woman into his arms, embracing her tightly and
just letting him take in her scent, her texture, her everything. “Did it go
well?”
“Pretty okay. I don’t feel like dying anymore,”
she murmured, wrapping her arms around him as well. Peters rolled his eyes and
holding her a little tighter. J sensed his hesitation and scoffed. “Fucker. I’m
not a porcelain doll.”
“Can’t blame me for being careful,” he
replied, and she knew he was right. So J stayed silent and let him hold her,
the twosome finally breaking apart after a minute or so. Peters had to admit
that the time spent away from him – all for her own health – made her look
better, at least. There was more color in her features, she had gained some
weight…and the look in her eyes was different. There was more life amidst the
sarcasm and dry wit.
Soon enough, the two ended up in the kitchen.
Peters was casually taking a sip from his can of cola while J chewed slowly on
a sandwich he had prepared for her, silence melding with them comfortably. It was
only when the can landed in the trash that J cleared her throat and managed to
speak.
“Why didn’t you change the locks?”
“What?” he glanced at her, “And have you stay
outside and nearly freeze? I don’t think so.”
“…were you expecting me to come back?”
Peters answered without a beat. “Of course. I
waited for a long time and never really lost hope. I knew you had a spare with
you, so…I didn’t change the locks.”
“Oh.” She looked at the table and picked up
the plate, Peters merely watching as she went to the sink and washed her plate
carefully. “You could have, you know. I’d crash with A instead. Or Olsen.” J
washed a little more aggressively as she went on, “You also could have moved on
with your life instead of waiting for me to come back.”
The man frowned deeply. “I can’t do that.”
“It would have made things easier for you,”
she said coolly. J wasn’t actually angry, despite how her words came out. In fact,
she was mildly amused.
“If you think that I like easy living, then
you don’t know me too well.” Peters walked behind her and took the wet dish
from her hands, putting it aside. “I like the storm you bring when you’re with
me, J. Clear skies can’t compare to you,” he teased. She rolled her eyes yet
again.
“You should have moved on from me, Pete.”
“True. I could have moved on.” She blinked,
taken back. “But I chose not to.” J, now facing Peters, saw the corner of his
lips rise slightly into a half-smirk. “And I’ll always end up choosing you, J.
No matter what happens.”
She felt her heart give a small flutter.
“…so you forgive me for leaving every couple
of weeks without notice?” he pressed his forehead against hers, laced her wet
fingers with this.
“Forgave you the first time. Always will. Just
keep coming back to me.”
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