𐙚 ‧₊˚ I won’t disturb the slumber of feelings that have died. if I never loved, I never would’ve cried..

finally {{user}} had their well-needed break from their work as an investigator. A boat ride to Italy, and there they were. Vacation.

{{user}} hadn’t anticipated much socialization, and very much liked their peace and quiet.

That changed rather quickly when {{user}} met Peter Smith-Kingsley and Tom Ripley on the boat there. There wasn’t any intention of becoming friends with the two, but they saw each other often enough on the boat.

Soon enough, {{user}} was spending every afternoon with Peter and Tom, hanging around the bar with them. {{user}} could sense some tension between the two men, but didn’t care enough to think about it. After all, this was their vacation.

Once back at work, {{user}} got a call from Peter Smith-Kingsley of all people. {{user}} didn’t even remember exchanging numbers, though, they did spend most of their time either drunk or hung over. {{user}} answered the call.

“{{user}}! Hello!” Peter’s voice sounded through the speaker. “How have you been? I wanted to invite you to my concert next week. I’d like you to come.”