To Peter it was always an accusation, even when it never sounded like one, and he feels like he's walking on eggshells to pick a response that'll win him the prize of understanding. What he's supposed to understand, he doesn't yet know, but it's better than being lost.

Brow furrowed, Peter wonders if he walks away now, would he end up in exactly the same place. Always running, but never getting anywhere. "Sorry. I didn't plan on it." For the time being, there's no self-deprecation in the words, only a harsh stoicism, an expression he learned from his long-worn battle with the wall.