"Where are you going?" She asked him, waking up from her spot on the chair and noticing Peter already dressed.
"Just into town," Peter explained, looking at himself in the mirror as he buttoned up his vest. "Is there anything you'd like while I'm out?"
She smiled and stood, brushing the dust off her dress as she approached him.
"I'm fine," she said softly, planting a kiss on his cheek. Peter smiled and grabbed his coat, pulling it around him as he made his way to the door. He slipped on his boots and grabbed the large wooden box by the door. He smiled and turned around, holding onto the box tightly.
"I'll be back soon," he called out, struggling with the door. She laughed and came around him, pulling it open.
"Thank you, goodbye," Peter blushed, slightly embarrassed as he made his way out.
"Goodbye," she repeated, watching him leave. It wasn't until he was entirely out of sight that she closed the door behind.
It was about a half hour walk into town, but one Peter often enjoyed making, especially in the spring and summer. In the spring, he got to pass by all the flowers that had grown, and in the summer, the weather was nice enough to just enjoy it. He'd go out, not because he needed to buy anything, but just to take his partner on a lovely stroll. Autumn and winter were different, though it was early enough in the season where it wasn't too cold.
Peter walked down the streets of town, his large apple crate in his arms. It was a peculiar sight, for sure, but one that most of the townspeople were already used to at this point. He never left the house without it.
"Ah, Peter," the merchant said as he saw the blonde push through the door with the crate, the bell ringing, declaring that someone was there. "How have you been, my boy?"
"Quite alright, sir," he said, placing his box up onto the counter. "Just the usual today."
The man nodded and went to grab logs of firewood, throwing them down into the crate.
"$1.52," he said as Peter fumbled through the coins in his pocket, able to find the right amount.
"You'll need more than the usual to get you through the winter," the man said, taking the money and putting it into his own pocket. "It's getting colder every year."
"Isn't that just the way?" Peter asked with a smile growing in his face. "We're buying early this year, stocking up before October comes around."
The man nodded, pushing the crate back to Peter.
"Thank you, sir," Peter nodded respectfully as he took it back into his hands. "I appreciate it."
He made his way to the door, struggling with it for a moment before the merchant let out a sigh and opened the door for him.
"Thank you, sir," Peter repeated as he hurried his way out, not wanting to embarrass himself further.
The next stop was to the bookstore, one of Peter's favorite places to visit. It was small, there were only two bookshelves and none of the books seemed organized in any sort of way, but it was cheap. He was able to get a few books, sometimes as cheap as $0.15 or so. Anything that looked interesting, Peter would take off the shelf and buy, even if he didn't end up reading them, he just liked to have them.
Today, he found a copy of Oliver Twist, a book he had remembered reading as a kid. He smiled and pulled it off the shelf, throwing it into his crate and making his way to the counter.
"What is it today?" The salesman asked. Peter smiled and pulled the book out, placing it on the counter.
"$0.20."
Peter nodded and rummaged through his pocket and cringed when he counted the money. He was two pennies short.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly, pushing the coins back into his pocket. The salesman looked at him for a moment before taking the book into his hands.
"How about this," he started. "How about I hold this book for you and you can come back for it another time. How does that sound?"
Peter smiled, relieved.
"Oh, thank you," he said quietly. "That sounds nice."
The salesman nodded, putting the book on the shelf behind the desk.
"Come back any time, Tork," he said. "Oliver will wait for you."
"Okay," Peter said, taking the crate back and pushing his way out the door. He collected a few more things he found on the street, bending down to put each of the items into his crate. The strange man caught the eyes of many people, but Peter didn't mind if he was being looked at. He found a lot today. Different rocks and leaves, a spare button, a few coins, flowers, apples, a squirrel, at one point. Peter was so excited when he realized the animal scurried in, but sadly the squirrel wasn't as excited as he was and instead spent the entire time plotting escape. The squirrel succeeded and Peter was disappointed, still feeling bad that he wasn't able to bring it home. Still, he found a lot of new things to add to his collection, as well as getting what he needed. As the hillside cottage came into view, Peter could feel a wave of excitement come over him. He couldn't wait to show her everything he found.
Suddenly, Peter felt something cold being placed on his forehead and the world around him began to change.
"Hey, he's waking up," a voice said. Peter frowned and blinked. He could tell the voice was familiar but couldn't place a name with it. Finally, his eyes focused and he found himself, laying down in his bed. Someone had brought a chair and placed it beside him, and now that someone, as well as two others, were all looking at him, a mixture of smiles and worried faces.
"Are you alright?" One of them asked in a thick Texas accent. Peter knew the voice, just as he knew the other one. And he recognized all the faces but he didn't know why.
"I'm fine," he said, pulling the covers around him more. "My head hurts."
"Let me get you something," the one in the chair said, jumping up and already out the door before Peter had a chance to say anything.
"May I sleep?" Peter asked softly, rubbing his forehead to ease the headache.
"Of course you can," the third one said in a British accent.
"Yeah," the Texan agreed. "Mick's just gone to get you some medicine, then you can sleep."
"Hmm, okay," Peter said, rolling over to his side.
Not long after, the man who was in the chair, who Peter assumed was Mick, came back with a cup of water and a bottle of aspirin. The other two helped him sit up as Mick returned to his own seat, pouring two pills into his hand and giving them to Peter.
"Thank you, sir…" he said quietly, taking them.
Micky snorted, he had never been called "sir" before, and something seemed hilarious about Peter in particular calling him that but nodded and handed him the cup
"You're welcome, Pete," he said with a smile. "I hope you get to feeling better. Call us if you need anything."
"Okay," Peter said as Micky took the cup from his hands, setting it on the nightstand as Peter curled himself back under the covers. Micky readjusted the washcloth on Peter's forehead, causing the blonde to tense slightly before easing into it.
Carefully and quietly, the three made their way out of the room, leaving the door open behind them.
