The room was silent, save for the gentle hum of the rain outside, whispering against the windows like a lullaby from another world. It was one of those nights that made the air feel thick with comfort and a strange sense of peace—a break from the chaos Emma had been drowning in lately. She and Peter were nestled on the floor of her spacious bedroom in Liam's mansion, the soft beige carpet beneath them like a warm cloud.
A movie flickered across the screen, but neither of them was really paying attention anymore. Emma was curled up in one of Liam's hoodies—one she had practically claimed now—and Peter sat beside her, legs stretched out, one arm slung loosely behind her as if he was still figuring out whether he had the right to hold her like that. Her head leaned on his shoulder naturally, like gravity itself knew where she belonged.
"So let me get this straight," Peter said with a grin, "You used to think marshmallows were vegetables?"
Emma laughed, nudging him with her elbow. "I was five, okay? And they were white and soft like cauliflower. My logic was unmatched."
Peter chuckled. "That explains a lot."
She raised a brow. "Explain what exactly, Bag-of-Sarcasm?"
"Just your taste in food. And friends. I mean, you're voluntarily hanging out with me."
"Touché," she said, sticking her tongue out at him.
Then, just as the teasing simmered into comfortable silence, her phone buzzed. She lazily grabbed it and smiled.
Nathan: Magic club? Tomorrow? Got a spell I wanna test. Might accidentally summon a frog. Fingers crossed.
Emma grinned. "Nathan's experimenting again. He says he might summon a frog. Or a demon. He didn't specify."
Peter leaned over to look. "Oh boy. He's going full wizard mode."
"He's serious though. He really wants to believe in all this. I used to be like that. Curious. Skeptical. But hoping."
"Yeah? And now?"
She turned to face him, sincerity swimming in her eyes. "Now I know it's real. But he reminds me of the version of me who wanted to believe so badly. I didn't want to crush that in him. So... I told him everything."
Peter blinked. "Everything?"
Emma nodded slowly. "Well, not the scary visions. Not yet. But about my powers. Amanda. The blood. The mural. All of it."
Peter exhaled. "You trust him?"
"I don't know. But he feels like... someone who gets it. And he wants to be part of it. Like us."
Peter watched her for a moment. "Then I'll trust him too."
That was Peter. Always choosing her.
Their fingers brushed again, and without thinking, she laced hers through his. It was natural. Warm. Right.
"You know," Peter murmured, pulling her closer, "I never sleep this peacefully anywhere else. Just... here. With you."
Emma's cheeks heated. She rested her head against his chest now, feeling the calm, steady rhythm of his heart. He didn't say anything else. Neither did she.
They stayed like that, wrapped in quiet, breathing in sync, until sleep pulled them both under.
---
The first thing Emma heard was the clatter of pans from downstairs. Then the smell of freshly made pancakes. Her eyes fluttered open to golden morning light filtering through the curtains.
Peter was still next to her, his arm around her waist, breath soft against her neck.
For a moment, she didn't move.
Didn't want to.
Then she whispered, "Peter. Wake up."
He groaned. "Five more minutes."
"You're in Liam's house."
"...Ten more minutes."
She snorted, then poked his cheek. "Come on, sleepyhead."
They finally sat up, still wrapped in the fuzzy blanket. Peter rubbed his eyes while Emma stretched like a cat.
Downstairs, the kitchen was already buzzing with activity. Even though Liam had an entire fleet of servants, he was behind the island stove, sleeves rolled up, flipping pancakes like a domestic god.
"Morning, sleeping beauties," Liam said without looking up.
Emma blinked. "You cooked? Again?"
"I'm insulted. Of course I cooked. Who else makes pancakes with perfectly crisp edges and chocolate chip hearts?"
Peter looked amused. "Your chef named Carlos?"
"Carlos doesn't make them with love," Liam said dramatically.
They sat down at the long wooden table. A platter of pancakes was already steaming in the center, alongside bowls of berries, whipped cream, and syrup that looked like it belonged in a food commercial.
"So," Liam began casually as he poured orange juice. "Rough night, Em?"
Emma paused. "What do you mean?"
"Just... y'know. Heard some shouting. Then saw Peter's shoes outside your door."
Peter froze mid-bite.
Emma blinked. "You saw that?"
Liam grinned. "I see everything."
Peter choked a little on his pancake. "I swear we just slept. I mean—not slept, I mean, we slept, but not—"
Liam held up a hand. "Relax. I'm not your dad. Or hers."
Emma rolled her eyes. "You do act like it sometimes."
"Because someone has to," Liam said, biting into his own pancake. "Besides, Peter doesn't snore. That earns him points."
Peter cleared his throat. "Thanks. I think."
They finished breakfast laughing, sharing dumb stories about school, magic fails, and Chloe's obsession with naming her plants. Then, as they got ready to leave, Liam tossed Emma the keys.
"I'll drop you two off. Let Carlos rest. He made that twelve-course dinner last night. He's earned it."
---
The car ride was filled with music from Liam's weirdly perfect playlist. He always knew what to play—something soft, something chill. Emma leaned against the window, Peter beside her, their pinkies still brushing between them like they were magnetized.
Liam glanced at them through the rearview mirror and smirked. "You two are disgustingly cute."
"Shut up," Emma muttered, blushing.
"I'm just saying," Liam continued, "Remember when you said you'd never like someone like Peter?"
Peter raised a brow. "Wait, you said that?"
Emma buried her face in her hands. "I was twelve! I also said I wanted to marry Zayn Malik!"
Peter laughed. "Ouch. Beat out by a boyband."
"Technically," Liam said, "You still might be."
"LIAM."
They arrived at school way too fast for Emma's liking. As they stepped out, Peter grabbed her hand, gave it a quick squeeze.
"See you at lunch?"
"Always."
As he walked off toward his locker, her phone buzzed again.
Nathan: Don't forget! Magic meet after class! Got something to show you. Also... you left your socks at my place? They have tiny cats. Do I keep them?
Emma grinned, then typed back quickly:
Emma: You touch my cat socks, you die.
Today felt good.
Peter. Liam. Nathan. Her weird little magic crew.
Even with the nightmares. Even with the secrets.
For once, the world felt okay.
And she was ready for whatever came next.