"We need to talk," Enid said, ushering him inside. He didn't like the tone of her voice. Or the way her eyes seemed to look anywhere but at him. Mama was out running errands in town and Katarina, well, no one really knew where she was. That meant she was home alone, with just enough time to try and figure things out. 

"I figured," Peter said, moving some decorative pillows and settling on the couch. "I'm kind of surprised you didn't find out sooner. There's a reason why I always win at ping-pong."

Enid gasped. "You cheater!" Her eyes finally landed on his. She punched him in the arm, sitting cross-legged on the other side of the couch. "How dare you? And I thought we were friends."

A tense laugh from Peter that slowly tapered off. "Yesterday....was a lot," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Are you okay?" His chocolate brown eyes trained on Enid until she mustered enough strength to reply.

"Honestly? No." She shook her head. "There's a lot I haven't told you. I thought keeping everything locked away would make it disappear...I was wrong. It just made things exponentially worse."

Peter didn't know what to say. Serious conversations weren't his strong suit. He wasn't the best at navigating his own emotions, not to mention other people's. He only knew he didn't want to let her down. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he said, hesitantly reaching out for one of her hands and squeezing it. I'm here. I'm always going to be here.

Enid squeezed back, then shut her eyes tightly. "Just, I don't want you to think of me any different," she said.

"Dude, yesterday I saw you blow up a playground. I don't think anything can shock me now," he jested, his lips quirking into a boyish smile. 

"You'd be surprised," she said, opening her eyes. If she waited any longer, she'd lose the courage. And she needed to tell someone. "Do you remember when I told you my family moved from Wales?" Peter nodded. "Well...it wasn't because my mom got a job in the states. We were running away." Enid felt her chest seize up as the memories flooded into her head. The boat, the man with the gun, Mama screaming. Seeing her struggle, Peter squeezed her hand again. His hands were warm and strong. She trusted him. "The men said they were doctors. They lied. They found out I was a mutant and....and they--"

Any trace of a smile dropped from his face as he watched her crumble before him. Not knowing what else to do, he leaned forward and wrapped his arms around her. Her head nestled in the crook of his neck as tears spilled down her cheeks. He could feel his shirt getting wet. He held her tighter. "It's okay, you're okay," he whispered. 

They remained in that position for a while, as Enid cried out all her tears and burrowed deeper into the warmth of Peter's jacket. When she finally stopped, she didn't want to let go of him. His warmth, his energy, it was contagious in all the best ways. Like a drug. That moment solidified her addiction.

"Well, that's enough of that," she said, straightening up and pulling from his arms. One hand wiped away what tears were left on her face, and she forced a smile. "I'm sorry....that was, a lot. And we literally just got back from the fucking pentagon."

He stared at her with those perfect brown eyes and when he laughed, they crinkled at the edges. "You're crazy, you know that?" He said. His smile wavered as he processed everything again, and again, and again, trying to settle on the right thing to say. "It must have been really hard...I'm sorry I couldn't be there to beat the shit out of those assholes," he started. "But hey, at least you wound up here, right?" A potent hopefulness spread through his face, painting him pink.

Enid bit the inside of her cheek, then replied, "Yeah, you're right. And there's nowhere I'd rather be." 

The air grew thick. Neither of them said much of anything. It was Enid who broke the silence. "Well, I, for one, am sick of being locked inside. It's the weekend, not a funeral."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Records and ice cream?"

Peter just smiled.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ice cream parlor was close-to-empty when they arrived, giving them the opportunity to take advantage of the free taste tests without being yelled at. The guy behind the counter didn't seem awake enough to care about the two teens eating all his profits. After about half an hour, the two ordered their ice cream cones and took an empty seat at the counter.

"How dare you like bubblegum ice cream! That should be a crime!" Peter exclaimed, fake vomiting into his hands, then motioning to the ice cream scooper behind the counter who was slowly passing out in the tub of rocky road. "See, he agrees with me!"

Enid rolled her eyes, proudly licking her ice cream cone. "Do me a flavor and fuck off, would you, Peter?" She replied.

Knowing Peter, he wouldn't fuck off. Not in the slightest. Within moments, Enid's face was burning red under a layer of bright blue ice cream. She gasped from the cold, then, not to be one upped, waited for Peter to turn his back on her before slapping the rest of her cone over his mop of curly silver hair. There was a mirrored backing on the wall behind the counter, which Peter's eyes were affixed to. His gaze wasn't aimed at his reflection, however; he was preoccupied with the girl cackling behind him, who still hadn't wiped the remnants of melting ice cream from her cheeks. 

Peter whipped around to face her so aggressively fast that Enid held her arms in surrender, concerned he might double down and drop his scoop of cookies and cream on her head, but he didn't. Instead, he smiled and leaned forward slowly, conspiratorially, until he was just close enough that Enid could smell the sweetness of his breath. Her face was red for a whole other reason now. "Nicely played," he smirked. 

It amazed her how quickly the darkness in her chest dissipated whenever Peter smiled at her like that, with his dimples and his crinkly eyes and how real it was. But she couldn't deal with that right now. Instead, she reached past him for the napkin dispenser and grabbed a fistful. "I think we're going to need more than that," she said, looking at the melted ice cream pooling on the table in front of them. Peter grabbed some more and together, they plastered their mess with paper. With the last napkins in the container, they managed to get themselves cleaned up enough to leave for the record store. Peter's head was still stained light blue at the top, which Enid found hilarious.

Lightness followed the two as they walked across the street and down the block to one of their favorite hang out spots--Rasputin Music. It opened its doors two years before, and since then, Enid and Peter became permanent fixtures in the daily flow of customers. At this early in the afternoon on a Friday, most people were still at work so the store was pretty dead. Perfect for aimless perusal and free reign over the music listening stations. 

Peter sped ahead of her, bolting through the door before she could even reach the welcome mat. He never waited for her. Something by the Turtles played low in the background, underlying the vast rows of records lying before them, colorful sleeves shining under the florescent lights and immediately pulling attention. Enid started flipping through the 60s rock records in the back, while Peter opted for the new releases section. 

Enid's eyes flitted between titles and artists, taking time to admire the album covers. She'd always been a fan of art, though she was never great at drawing. It was always the big colorful titles and imagery that caught her eye, like 'Face to Face' by the Kinks or 'Forever Changes' by Love. But today, her fingers stopped on one of her favorite bands, an album she lost in the move. She pulled it from the stack, turning it over in her hands to scan the track list. Sure enough, there it was. 'Our House' by Crosby, Stills, Nash, and Young. Seeing an empty listening station in the corner, Enid gently removed the record and set it on the player. Headphones slipped over her ears as she slid the needle into place. Track 1: Carry On started to play and Enid fell into rhythm with the music, breathing and beating in time until she couldn't distinguish the sound of her heart from the thumping of the bass guitar. 

Peter, on the other hand, discovered a recent album by Pink Floyd he'd been dying to get his hands on. With the shiny black record sleeve under one arm, he sought out his friend. It took him a while to find her, tapping her foot to the beat of some unheard song as she sat at the listening station. He watched her for a moment. The way she nodded her head so confidently, her hair flying all around, how her tongue stuck out in concentration as she mimicked invisible guitar riffs. He laughed out loud, not loud enough to distract her, then snagged a chair from a nearby station and plopped down next to her. As her rhythmic spasms ceased, the song was ending, she noticed Peter sitting next to her and jumped sky-high. 

"Jesus, Peter," she let out a breathless laugh, placing a hand to her heart before taking off her headphones. "If you wanted to listen, you could have just asked!"

Stealing the headphones from her, Peter rolled his eyes. "And why would I want to listen to your music? You've got terrible taste," he joked.

"Tell me that after you hear this one," she replied. "It's one of my favorites." Her soft hands brushed against Peter's as she slid the headphones over his ears. 

Enid knew the song by heart.

Come to me now, and rest your head 

for just five minutes....

Our house, is a very, very, very fine house.

With two cats in the yard.

Life used to be so hard.

Now everything is easy cause of you.

"Wow, that's actually pretty good," Peter said, taking the headphones from his head. "Kinda slow, though."

Enid huffed. "Of course you'd think it was slow," she said, then crossed her arms over her chest. "At least you didn't say it sucked." She quickly slid the record back into its sleeve and held it in front of her. "This is definitely coming home with me."

Walking in lockstep, they both left with their respective records. Enid had to bully Peter into actually buying his, he almost ran out the door with it. It was often up to Enid to keep Peter on the straight and narrow, though sometimes he sneaked things by her here and there--a keychain, a chocolate bar, a cassette tape. It kept her on her toes, that's for sure. The working folk were just starting to return home after long days, filling the streets with impatient drivers and hangry pedestrians mumbling about long workdays and traffic. But the two were far too busy chatting about music and the upcoming school year to pay attention to their grumblings.

Absorbed in conversation, the journey home seemed too short. By the time they reached their street, the sun was just starting to set behind the houses and dapple light through the red leaves of the massive oaks lining the sidewalk, shielding them from the fading summer heat. 

Peter insisted on walking Enid to her door. She let him. At the door, she turned around to face him. "Did I ever tell you you're the best person ever?" She said.

"Sorry, I didn't catch that," Peter replied, smirking.

"I take it back."

Peter took a step forward. The extra five inches he had on her really showed now that they were so close, so close Enid had to crane her neck upward to see his face. An uncontrollable smile bloomed on her face. "No," he said. "You don't." 

Enid paused, watching him reach for her hands. His skin was rough and warm against hers, his touch gentle like she could shatter at any moment. She felt like she might. Her arms tingled, and she thought she could feel them trembling. Peter's chocolate brown eyes locked with hers. He bit his lip, then squeezed her hands. "Stay safe, okay?" He said.

Why was she disappointed? She held her tongue and nodded, blinking back the sadness and letting go of his hands. "You, too," she said, watching him descend the porch stairs. Enid couldn't watch any further than that, and  shut the door without noticing the longing gaze following her inside.