An update?

Peter's back was sore, but other then that, the couch was relatively comfy. Large. Made of nice, soft linen. Big pillows. Most likely better then his own bed which was a death contraption of broken springs, a tempurpedic bed cover stolen slash borrowed for an indefinite amount of time from Sav (if the dude didn't want it back, Peter would take it readily off his hands), throw pillows, which actually made for a comfy, perfect mix. The Coyne couch in x sitting room next to y bedroom in b side of the penthouse mansion mix was going to become a quick fixer upper for him and a clear cut destination for his next moment of collapse.

There was only one issue about the perfection of furnishings.

It was most definitely located adjacent to Declan's bedroom.

Peter spent a few moments debating whether the greatest sleeping device known to mankind—had he really just crashed on a couch in the Coyne house? He couldn't even fall asleep at Riley's house, or Blue's, or Holly J's, or anyone's. He'd thought himself simply unable to sleep in places other then his own—was worth the awkward moment that was waiting to happen with the couch of wonder's improper placing.

Declan gave him a sensation like ice cold fingers trailing down his spine. Like looking into the eyes of some sort of demigod, who saw right through him to places he wasn't aware of. Like he knew everything about him and then some.

It bothered Peter a little bit.

Made him uncomfortable.

Peter pulled himself out of its comforting depths, shrugged out his messy riot of blonde hair, and made a guess as to which door lead to the area of the house he was hoping for.

He guessed correct, and ended up in the spacious main corridor of the Coyne house, one he was quite familiar with.

Fiona was minding a startlingly large vase of flowers, plucking saffron colored daisies and purple lilacs and moving them around with the rest of the flowers. Angel was pouting on one of the wiry stools, dress so long it was hanging around her ankles, face flushed.

"Ready to go sprog?" He smiled.

She frowned, but hopped obediently off the stool.

Fiona looked up worryingly. "Are you sure you'll be okay driving? You really looked a little dead when you walked in here."

He nodded. "I just…" He swallowed. "Haven't got much sleep, I guess."

She seemed to take it as an answer, a concerned gaze lingering on them as they made their way out of the house.

Once in the elevator, Angel seemed to take it upon herself to become his principal annoyance. She was prattling on about how she wasn't a girl anymore—where in God's name she picked this up, Peter didn't know. He was aware, however, that it would be giving him hell for some time—and she didn't appreciate Fiona attempting to dress her like one. Peter wanted to point out to his young relation that she hadn't seemed too disturbed about the dresses some days ago. He did not voice this, however. He was much too tired to care.

X o x

To say Peter was burned out was an understatement. It was like every moment was in, out, in, out. His focus on the real world blurred inconsistently, colors meshing together like a kaleidoscope of his tired brain, the pattern of Holly J's shirt, his battered shoes, the white of the Toronto U desks. Riley's hair, the alluring curve of Declan's smile.

Peter was just a couple crashes away from disaster.

"Fiona will be here any moment." His sister bounced in one of the stools at the Dot, nodding. "Try not to get into too much trouble, okay?"

She saluted. "Boy's don't get in trouble!" She insisted as he walked off. She was obviously still in her I-am-man kick.

He didn't say anything else though, just sort of chuckling under his breath—who wouldn't think it was amusing?—and tying his apron. The Dot, for a Friday, was bone dry. Four tables in the back. One high top, excluding his bouncy sister, decked out in Fiona's "Coyne Couture", kid edition. What Peter supposed was the pinnacle of what children's fashion could achieve. He was about to get drinks on a table that had walked in a couple minutes ago (which was, predictably, Holly J and Blue, inevitably in their "almost together but still really talking" phase) when he noticed some jock sitting at the bar.

He looked kind of familiar, but hey, if he went to Degrassi, Peter had probably seen him a million times before.

"What's up man?" He asked distractedly. The guy gave a minimal response. "Can I get you anything to drink? I'd recommend ice tea, but the machines kind of going gnarly, and you really can't trust that shit."

The guy gave a half chuckle. "Nah, I'll pass on that. Coffee?"

"Sure, be back in a sec."

He meandered over to where Holly J and the former favorite artist of Degrassi High were getting it on once more, effectively slicing clean through what was shaping up to be another get-back-together talk, as the two silenced almost immediately as he sauntered over.

"Lemme guess," He began tiredly. "Double shot with a ham sandwich for Blue, and a water and... egg white omelet for Holly J?"

"You always know what I want!" Holly J clapped her hands in amazement, to which Blue mumbled, "Because you order it every time." Which she obviously didn't catch. "What would Spin do without you?" She asked, clearly amazed.

He cracked a smile. "Dunno. Speaking of Spinner, you seen him around lately?"

Holly J made a vague answer, and he moved back over to the bar to start punching orders into the high-tech machine, which had been installed as a recent feature after the fire, grabbing a coffee for the lonely looking kid at the bar while he was at it.

"So I didn't catch your name," He said conversationally, placing down the steaming cup which lit the boy's face.

"It's Drew." He sighed, and looked as if he wasn't pleased to be himself at the moment. "Drew Torres."

Oh… that kid. No wonder he looked vaguely familiar. Riley had some sort of feud with him back in the day, over who was gonna be quarterback. Starvos insisted that if Drew hadn't played dirty, he'd have won fair and square.

"Why so glum, kid?"

The guy shrugged, but looked slightly surprised he noticed. Hey, being a barista was like an underpaid psychologist part giver of life to the caffeine addicts of the world, and he had really gotten good at reading people. (Some people, though, remain indifferent to his technique, unflappable like steel blue eyes, regal button downs and dark, tousled hair)

Drew proceeds to tell him about his not-so-secret love affair with Alli Bhandari—to which Peter almost choked on his own spit at the thought of Sav's ickle little sister getting it on with some hormonal brute like this one—and all the other crazy women of his life. Apparently, last year him and his brother even had a quasi love triangle with Fiona. This almost made Peter laugh, as he was sort of sure that either Fiona was asexual or just straight up lesbian, because the girl never seemed to have any interest in boys at all.

In the midst of it all, Peter almost didn't realize that Declan had sat himself on one of the stools not too far from jock-boy Drew. When he did, he attempted to school the shock off his features. It probably didn't work.

"Fiona's occupied." He said by greeting. "Figured I'd do the honors."

Peter opened his mouth, and then closed it. "I—" He started. "Where is she?"

"Boston, for a new store opening." The man answered, as if it was completely normal for his sister to hop the border whenever she pleased, jetsetting in luxury around the Northeast. "She'll be back by tomorrow." He added.

"Oh." And then. "Sorry, she didn't tell me. You really don't have to watch her, you know…"

"You have classes this afternoon, don't you?" Declan tilted his head.

Damn. Found out again. He'd taken the morning shift because Fiona had promised to watch Angel for the afternoon, in which he'd spend most of it furiously cheating off of the asian next to him in calculus.

"Yeah…"

"It's fine." Decaln waved him off. "I've got more then enough time on my hands."

Peter blinked, in a mixture of surprise and skepticism, but answered nonetheless. "Oh… well thanks."

"Declan!"

Angel cut them off, as she skidded to a halt in front of him. Torres, at the mention of Fiona, had been listening with rapture, only to drop his jaw at the little girl who skidded into Declan's arms.

The most surprising part, though, was the lack of jealousy Peter had at the two's obvious affection for each other. It didn't even bother him remotely that Declan would be so close to his sister. In fact, he almost felt a bit… touched?

Christ.

Had someone slipped him meth while he wasn't looking again?

He hoisted her up onto his lap, where she perched curiously and looked at the countertop she'd never been able to see before from her normal height. When Declan looked back at him, his eyes were sincere. "I'll look after her."

Peter was speechless.

"I…"

He couldn't tear his eyes away from the brunette's.

"I know."

X o x

Of all the dumb things that could have possibly come out of his mouth, he really scarped the bottom of the barrel on that one.

Just thinking of it made Peter flush in mortifying embarrassment. It would have been marginally better had he not caught the surprised—and god forbid, pleased—look on Declan's features as he'd admitted that unintentionally. He hadn't even gotten a good laugh at Drew's mortification, after he'd confessed his history with a girl he had thought Peter had no knowledge of, only to find out that said billionaire was babysitting his sister, and said billionaire's brother had been listening beside him the whole time.

To make matters worse, the calculus test seemed to leach him of all his energy—what little he had of it, anyway—and not even cheating off of the random smart asian for the A could possibly raise his astoundingly low GPA.

By the time he stumbled into the Coyne penthouse, he didn't even bother with a greeting.

He just collapsed.

X o x

Angel thought Declan was a better driver then Peter.

Of course, Angel wasn't aware that Peter drove a vintage, if not a little beaten up stick-shift Mercedes and Declan was driving the latest BMW M6, which handled better then ninety-five percent of the other cars on the market. No, all she saw was the clean smooth leather and the sleek profile of the inside. That, and all the flashing lights.

"Your car talks!" She gushed as she pressed another button on the GPS, delighted when a robotic woman began to converse with her about directions.

Declan looked amused. "A lot of them do."

"Peter's doesn't." Angel revealed, though Declan had been under that assumption already. "And his is filled with junk."

"Your brother's a busy guy." Declan explained. "He's very busy taking care of you and going to school and working, so he probably doesn't have the time to fix it."

Angel looked at him curiously. "But don't you do all that stuff?"

Declan chuckled. "No… I don't do nearly as much as he does."

Angel hummed. "Peter does do lots." She agreed, after some deliberation. "He should stop doing all that stuff."

"It's very admirable of him." Declan disagreed, shifting lanes smoothly as Angel squealed in the back as they sped past cars. "He's got a good work ethic."

"A good what?" Angel giggled.

Though Declan didn't bother explaining. "And don't you go to school?"

"Not really." The blonde girl surmised excellently. "We sleep and paint things. We don't have lots of books like Peter does. Michael says its cause were not old enough."

"Is Michael one of your friends?"

"Yup! Michael thinks Peter is my dad and Auntie Fiona is my mom." Angel titled her head. "But they kind of are!"

Declan smiled, amused. "And what am I, then?"

Angel made pause at this, thinking deeply. Declan switched lanes again, slowing as they got off on the exit. They'd spent most of the afternoon at the zoo, in which Angel received a backstage pass to see the zoologists feed jellyfish. She was so enthused that she completely forgot that she was a boy, much to Declan's relief.

"My other daddy." Angel decided upon. "I can have two."

Now if that wasn't an exciting prospect…

"Two?" Declan asked slyly. "You wouldn't mind having two?"

"Of course not!" Angel insisted. "Two is better then one! That means I'll have more people to play with!"

Play indeed…

Though that was an alley of thoughts for another time, Declan surmised, as he backed into a space one handed. He reached over to undo Angel's seatbelt. She was practically squirming with anticipation.

"When does Peter get back?" She whined, and struggled, simultaneously.

Declan made a face as he attempted to get around the car seat. "Hopefully soon."

"How long was he gonna be?"

"I dunno, kiddo." Ah, finally. She sprung out of her seat and out of the car, jumping as she did so. "He's got a very important test today, so he could take a while."

Angel pouted. "I wanted to tell him about my day."

"I'm sure he'll be just as happy to hear about it in a couple hours as he would be now."

Though there wasn't any arguing with a four-year old.

She was still sulking throughout the entire elevator ride, and Declan was brainstorming various ways to get her out of it. Maybe juice. Sugar always worked to make kids happy, right? Perhaps too happy, though. He'd need a better alternative. Fruit? Or maybe she'd be content to watch another rerun of Tom and Jerry. Why a child would be enamored with a Technicolor cartoon when 3D bugs were talking to her on Disney was beyond him.

The two made their way into the house, Declan too engrossed in his thoughts to notice the blaring difference from the usual foyer.

"Those are Peter's shoes!" Angel interrupted his thoughts, trotting over to the familiar gray—if worn out—Sperry's in the center of the foyer. She eyed them as if they were clues to a mystery. "Does that mean he's here?"

"I suppose so." Declan answered dazedly, a bit surprised.

"It's a mystery!" The girl shouted as she tore down the hallway. "We've got to find him!"

Declan had a pretty good idea where he was, though. "Angel." He called to the young blonde girl. "I think he's over here."

True to his gut feeling, Peter was sprawled haphazardly on one of his couches, in one of his enormous sitting rooms of which he had no use for. He was thinking of converting this one into some sort of tech room, though obviously, it had better uses now. His Oxford button down was wrinkled and rolled to his elbows, and his face was schooled into a look of exhaustion.

Declan hadn't lied when he'd said he'd admired Peter. There was something very… real about him. Real and hardworking. There were very few people in the world like that now, and he respected the blonde for being one of them. Life certainly hadn't dealt him a very good hand, and there was no reason he had to make it worse by doing the charitable act of taking care of his young sister. How could he and Fiona not help out, when they knew how wonderful he was? How could he not be drawn to him?

"He can't sleep here!" Angel protested hotly, attempting to drag Peter by a limp arm. "He needs a bed!"

Declan smirked. "You're absolutely right, Angel. He needs a very nice bed."

"So he can sleep for a long time!" She clapped her hands, as Declan hefted Peter off the couch. "And he needs a princess to kiss him to wake up! Just like in the fairy tales!"

"I though it was the other way around?"

"But Peter isn't a princess!"

"But he's sleeping." Declan pointed out as he opened the door.

Angel thought about this. "Well, then Peter would need a prince to wake him up, then. But who would be the prince?"

The Coyne heir's smirk widened.

Angel soon came to the obvious conclusion he had. "You can be the prince!"

"I suppose I can." He answered, easing Peter onto his bed. The boy made for a delicious sight, hair skewed and features relaxed in sleep. "It'd be very magnanimous of me, though."

"Would you?" She trotted after him. "Would you please?"

"Well," He exaggerated. "If you ask so nicely."

She squealed.

"We can't wake him now, though." He began seriously, shrugging off his blazer, and tossing it onto one of the long stretch chairs near the bed. "He needs sleep."

"A long sleep!" Angel agreed.

"So we'll have to find something quiet to do for the meantime, right?"

The blonde agreed, curls bouncing in her vigor, though she made no sound. In fact, her lips were pursed and she looked like she'd be quiet the entire rest of the afternoon.

Declan couldn't even believe his luck.

Peter was in his bed, Angel was being quiet—and he'd just killed two birds with one stone.

X o x

Peter awoke with a startled intake of breath, eyes flying open to snap the world into bleary, sleepy color. He pushed away from the pressure that had awakened him so quickly—soft and feather light on his lips.

He expected to make out the dim sitting room, and the large bay windows that would most likely hold a still dyed red sky, not the impossibly bright and smoldering blue eyes that met him.

Peter sat up quickly, propping himself on his elbows. The man on top of him adjusted to give him space, though not very much.

I'm dreaming, he thought—hoped.

He was wrong.

Declan was really on top of him, wearing one of his perfectly ruffled white button downs, the kind that had Peter tracing each seam and fold of cloth like they were each works of art. And his hair, god, if Peter hadn't seen anything so perfectly imperfect in his life. Though neither of them covered the depth of his eyes, so close that Peter could see the flecks of light gray that surrounded his pupil.

And then he heard the clapping.

And the girlish shriek of delight.

Angel had seated herself opposite of the bed—bed! When had he gotten on a bed?—and had a face of utter delight, and Peter whipped his had between the two of them, wondering if the world was conspiracising against him and when it had started to do so.

Then Declan smiled. "Looks like it worked."

"And the Prince saves the Princess!" Angel agreed with a giant grin. "And now they live happily ever after!"

"Pri—what?" Peter sputtered. "Princess?"

"That'd be you." Declan added with a lustful smirk, and Peter attempted to shy away. It didn't work.

"You were Sleeping Beauty cause you're so pretty—

"I resent that—" Protested the blonde.

"And you were sleeping! So we needed to wake you up with a kiss! But I'm not a boy, so I cant' be a Prince." She explained unnecessarily, and Peter wanted to point out that just yesterday she'd been under the impression she was of the male sex. But obviously that was irrelevant now.

"You couldn't just spray water on me?" He asked, perplexed.

"That's not how it works!" Angel cried in retort, hopping off her chair. "The Prince has to wake the Princess up! He has to."

And really.

Was he supposed to return a logical argument to such a flawed fallacy?

Instead he sighed, rubbing his hair with a yawn.

"Ugh. What time is it?"

"Nine." Angel said matter of fact.

Peter turned to one of the long windows, eying the light saffron that diffused the room softly. Nine, and the sun was still out? He took the moment to give a quick sweep of the unfamiliar room. A bedroom, obviously. The bed large and modern frame made from dark wood, the white sheets like silk down beneath him. The window had a small sitting area centered around it, and a marble hallway which led to what looked to be a pretty sick bathroom.

A sinking feeling settled in his stomach.

Oh no…

"In the morning." Declan added, looking amused at his frightened surprise. He turned to the brunette billionaire, who had a knowing smirk on his face.

This was Declan's room.

He was in Declan's bed.

And had been for the past fifteen hours.

"You… let me stay here?" He asked softly.

"Of course." And how Peter hated that sincerity. Declan was supposed to be the enigmatic elder brother of one of his dear friends, who obvious held a fair share of dark intentions. They were supposed to be passing acquaintances, if that. Not… Not whatever Declan wanted them to be, which was certainly the opposite of what Peter wanted.

Right?

"You're always welcome to stay here." Declan added, looking almost a bit confused. "I'm sure Fiona's told you this countless times."

She probably had, but there was something a bit mortifying, if not disturbing, about staying in this place overnight. It was beautiful in the morning, impossibly so, with the sunlight pouring in from every open window, the courtyard outside always full of pleasant chirping birds. But in the night? No. That was just a bit borderline uncomfortable.

"I had the biggest room!" Angel gushed, leaping onto the bed. "It had a big TV and its own bathroom and a tea set!" She put so much emphasis on that final word that Peter was sure that Declan spent the majority of his afternoon conversing with fake animals over cold tea.

Guilt rose in his stomach. As a college sophmore, it wasn't like he could give Angel any of those things. At this point, he could hardly give them to himself. Everything he owned that had any relevance had come from his time in high school. His house, most of his clothes, his car… back when his parents still paid for everything.

He didn't even know where his mother was off flying to, and he wanted nothing to do with his father, so there wasn't much he could do about it now aside from support himself.

"That sounds a bit big for a little sprog like you." He said instead, ruffling her bed mussed hair.

"I'm not little!" She protested, though she looked like even she didn't believe her own words.

"You're very little." Declan refuted, before Peter could even open his mouth to say the exact same words. "Which is why you should always eat your breakfast. Have you eaten it like I told you to?"

Angel had the good sense to look a little guilty, but mostly just cherubic. "Well…"

Declan gave her a flat look, one brow raised.

"I'll just bring it here!" She decided, hopping off the bed. "I'll be right back!"

Peter watched his sister go with foreboding horror, completely unprepared to be in the room with only Declan. Not just any room—but the man's bedroom. How did he get into these situations? The blonde sighed.

"You really didn't have to do this." Peter said into the silence, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

"I don't mind." Declan replied with startling honesty, something which surprised even himself.

"But… I don't understand." Peter blinked slowly, taking his eyes off the far wall to focus on Declan, who still sat on the edge of the bed. "Why?"

The brunette turned to look at him, and Peter almost turned away. He could never seem to hold that burning sea blue gaze for very long. He smirked.

"Do you really have to ask?" He leaned closer, lidded eyes never leaving Peter's. The blonde backpedaled until he could feel the pillows behind him, but it wasn't enough—not enough distance.

Peter flushed. "Wha—Declan—

"It's not like she's a devil child, or even remotely hard to take care of. She doesn't even complain very much." The brunette confessed, somehow impossibly getting closer. Peter was well aware he was in a compromising position, the exact position he'd been skittish about from the moment he noticed Declan's smoldering eyes.

So why wasn't he moving away?

"But I don't mind." The man added, breath warming Peter's cheeks. "Because its for you."

Peter's eyes fluttered open, meeting Declan's. There was nothing but frank veracity in them, though. And that scared him a bit more then their nonexistent distance apart.

Even though he was awake for this particular meeting of lips, soft and chaste and, if he let himself think it, absolutely perfect, it still took him a few moments of prolonging heaven until he pushed him away.

"W—Wait minute." He gasped out, pleasantly disturbed with the hand on his hip, the other near his head, caging him in. "We can't do this."

It was like the words didn't even register.

"Why not?" The brunette moved again, claiming his lips for another perfect second until Peter moved away.

"Why not?" He echoed incredulously, out of breath and flushed. "Are you serious? Because—

Angel came back into the room then, with her enormous bowl of cereal, looking as if seeing Declan pinning her older brother to the bed was normal and perfectly acceptable. "Are you guys playing a game?"

Peter sat upright quickly, pushing the brunette off him. Luckily, the guy didn't protest this time, letting himself be moved with unreadable eyes. Peter didn't meet them. "Uh—no, we were just… discussing something."

"Yeah?" She hopped onto the bed, wedgig between them like some sort of miraculous, adorable cock block.

Peter could have cried in relief.

Declan looked less then pleased.

"What about?" She tilted her heard curiously.

"Just stuff, kiddo." Declan gave her a strained smile, not even sparing Peter a glance, which didn't help the restless flutter of the blonde's emotions. "Why don't we play a game or something?"

"Tea party?" Her eyes lit up.

"It's not tea time!" Hah, sly, sly, Declan, worming his way out of that one. Angel looked dismayed, before she just simply nodded.

"We can just play prince and princess!" She yelped, cereal near flying everywhere, but Declan caught it just in time and laid it on the beside table.

The blonde paled.

Oh no.

"I'll be the knight!" She volunteered.

Declan looked like the cat who just caught the mouse, devouring Peter whole with his smoldering dark eyes.

"Sounds like a great idea." He smirked.