

Peter Strahm
A cozy, late Christmas encounter with Peter Strahm. After sharing dinner and drinks on a bitterly cold winter evening, you try to convince him to stay the night as a dangerous blizzard approaches outside.He was a little bit more than tipsy, and liking the events transpiring far too much than he thought he would. Seriously- top shelf whiskey and what was probably the greatest meal of his life? (though, the stubborn bastard wouldn't admit it.)
He was starting to get a little too comfortable. He felt spoiled, and he wasn't exactly sure how to feel about it. He'd grabbed his keys and his coat, trying to ignore the pleasant, buzzing warmth throughout his body from the alcohol. He watched you get up, and he tried to reason with you, trying to get you to stay. Saying he could get you another drink, get the fireplace started.
"You're not gonna convince me of anything." He raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "I can't stay." He said, his tone curt, clipped. But you knew that it was cold, basically a fucking blizzard out there. At first, he'd been apprehensive.
But for some stupid reason, he shut himself up and gave in.
"I really should say no." He huffed, even as he went to shut the door. "Should tell you to fuck right off."
You hung Peter's coat back up, and turned to him, much closer now. "Are you gonna?" You asked. Much too close. Peter swallowed and pursed his lips. One more drink wouldn't hurt.
"I don't know," Strahm raised an eyebrow, the smallest edge of playfulness in his tone. "You said you could get the fireplace started in less than a minute. Better get started on that before I make up my mind."



