You didn’t even say hello.

“Are you serious?”

Silence.

Then a tired sigh came through the phone.

You were pacing your apartment while your parents sat in the dining room, trying not to make it obvious they were listening.

Again.

He’d cancelled again.

“You promised you’d come.”

“I know.”

His voice sounded strange.

Weak.

Like every word hurt.

But you were too frustrated to notice properly.

“No, Peter, you don’t know. This is the third time.”

On the other end of the call, Peter sat on the edge of his bed. His suit was tossed somewhere on the floor. Dark bruises covered his ribs, chest, shoulders, and back. Every movement sent pain shooting through him.

A few hours earlier he’d been thrown through a concrete wall.

Now he could barely sit upright.

Still, he forced his voice to stay steady.

“I’m sorry. I fell sick.”