onepassingnight | under the boardwalk // people walking above || closed log;

As frustrated as he was with Adam, Peter still wished that his faith, his trust in Adam had never been misplaced to begin with. That Adam was different. And maybe that was for his own good; he was tired of being on the receiving end of Adam's manipulations. But Hiro had already tried that, and Adam was the one responsible for his life, not Peter, and not Hiro. That didn't change the way he felt though, because when he got down to the core of it, Peter still wanted to keep all the good parts of Adam close to him. He just didn't know if those were a lie too.

"Wasn't it, a week ago? Two? I don't know-- But you told me it wasn't hopeless." Even if he'd been the one that had said it, in a roundabout kind of way, it had still been Adam who'd tried to remind him. And now he was returning the favor, or at least trying to. "You believed it when you said it."

Time didn't matter in this place, but he couldn't help being touched by Peter's effort. Even now, when he'd lost everything, when he'd been forced to forgive his brother's murderer--he would give Adam a pep talk. It meant more than words could say. Though, this whole encounter transcended words. Every assignment and application of them only cheapened the experience, but he couldn't help it. Where there was Peter, he would be.

"You're a beacon of hope, Peter. Even now, you--" He almost seems to smile before glancing back to the increasingly angry ocean. "You give me hope, when I deserve to have it ripped from me."

Feeling immeasurably exhausted, Peter leans back slightly, placing his weight behind him on the palms of his hands. Whenever things got too much, even for him, Peter looked back and forced himself to remember what Nathan had said to him. That he's always been everything that's good in the world. And granted, he didn't believe it every day. He couldn't. Not when he felt that he barely made an impact, that he'd done more wrong than right. But Nathan had believed in him, Nathan had believed that he still had enough good left in him to keep going, to keep doing. If there was one thing he had to live up to, it was that, even if the memory alone hurt more than he could take.

Looking off somewhere else, Peter swallows everything back, his expression softening back through grief. "I have to try." Nathan's words were his own to keep though; an exchange between his brother that he would never share. But he could pass along the mentality and use the words to remember there was a time where he'd found it so much easier to find the good in other people, too.

"Yes, you do." It was why he was all that he was to Adam. He knew he would never let that go, that Peter would always be with him no matter how much it hurt. He knows, too, that he'll always be with Peter and the best he can do is hope vainly he hasn't left an entirely bad impression. Even before his latest great betrayal, he had some good memories with Peter--had shared things with him he'd never considered sharing with anyone else. And though, at the time, it had been an easy enough ploy to have Peter falling back into his arms; the ultimate test of trust, it had ended on a much different note. He knows to himself he could've shared much less to achieve the same result. It hadn't mattered though, because Peter had been the first friendly ear in his most current lifetime, maybe even two back.

As cavalier as he played it off, he trusted Peter as steadfastly as the empath had trusted him. And though he can see it clear on this Peter's face, it's his own breakage he feels, his own failure ripping him to shreds. If he had destroyed his own chance--his only chance--to have forever love and to forever love, then Peter was right about one thing: he would have to make it as worthwhile as it was soul-shattering.

"No one will ever measure up, Peter. And I'm not sure I want them to." He goes quiet, the neverending fountain of tears he'd become ending on that decisive note. "There won't be a 12, but as long as I know.. As long as Peter Petrelli and Adam Monroe exist in the same world, I won't give up either. I can't."

Perhaps he wouldn't do with his life what Peter would want, and he knows he certainly can't hold the illusion of doing him proud, but as long as he soldiers on he still has a chance. And maybe that can be enough, for now.

He's not entirely sure whether or not Adam's words are going to end up making him burst into tears, or if he's going to eventually end up smiling. But there's no way he can drag himself back to the land of stoic neutrality, not anymore. Maybe when he's forced to wake up again he'll be able to do so, but right now he's wavering on the edge of too many emotions, too many thoughts hanging like a fog in his mind and he has to wait for the dust to settle before he can think clearly again.

Eventually he manages to tug himself back, to look over Adam, his chest aching even though he doesn't know why. "I'm not going anywhere." There's no bitterness or anger left in his tone, only some form of quiet resolution. And maybe for a brief twitch of a moment, a flicker of a smile reaches his features. "At least here, you're stuck with me."

For a moment, Peter considers the benefits of telling Adam to give his other self some time. Which should be easy, considering he and Adam both have immeasurable quantities of it. But Adam knows him well enough already to know that to be the case. In fact, out of everyone, Peter would have to say that Adam might be one of the few who knows him best of all.

Again, he considers going quiet. Letting the rest of his words, his thoughts, dwindle to silence like he always lets them when they're too hard to let go of. Staring out back at the ocean, it would be easy enough to let the moment split back into solitude with the lines drawn in the sand between them. But he can't, because this is as much of a part of him as it is a part of them. "I missed you- your company, I mean." He pauses for a moment, stopping just short of running a sandy hand through his hair. "But I missed you too. Even after... I missed it. I was stuck with you there for four months, and whether or not any of it was real, doesn't matter- didn't matter. I still wished I had you, what we had, back." And still he doesn't sound sad. Forlorn, maybe, but entirely honest. It's just a fact, an admittance, something he still feels like Adam should know. That even he, though they'd never shared a physical connection, still found humanity in Adam through friendship, at the very least.

He finds himself choking up for a whole new reason, leaning out of the wind and into those beautiful words. Ones without blame or loss, but only expressing what and who they are to each other; what they'll always be. He mirrors Peter with his own fleeting smile, trying to keep his heart from exploding. That would be a difficult one to regenerate, and he wonders, would his new heart feel the same?

"I wished it too," he sounds almost hoarse, run ragged by his paradisal dream gone awry. "Underground." He had found a true companion in Peter, before any of the physical. Only an empath could find sympathy for a cowardly psychopath. He concludes, a new heart would still be his heart, and Peter had unknowingly touched every fibre of his being.

He allows himself a few minutes so he won't start blubbering all over again, even going so far as pulling a deep breath into his chest. Adam finds himself switching his plea, if only to stay here a few moments longer. Watching Peter so earnestly give his testimonial, even after all he'd been through made everything worth it somehow. It wasn't often he'd been given the opportunity in his long life to make another person happy, and when it arose he often would fail. But for all his selfishness, and perhaps it wasn't so far removed from the urge, he couldn't help but want it--for another person to find his presence so warm, so comforting as to actually be moved just by his existence.

"I don't mind so much, being stuck with you," he says after a beat, adding it retroactively as if it hadn't been unspoken enough.

Peter's smiling a little more, even while he's staring out the crashing waves of the sea. And maybe if he was more prone to laughing, he would. After all the words that they've shared in this moment out of time, which amount to a handful in number but a universe full when it comes to emotion, those seemed like the very last few he was prone to hear any time soon. There are so many what-if's, and so many things he should expect, and so many ways he should still be angry, but if he let himself, he'd be consumed by it. He'd no longer be a person, and he'd no longer be Peter.

Eventually he looks back to Adam, his expression the warmest it's been since the other man seemingly summoned him here out of the unconscious. There are times when he dreams, that all he can't wake up soon enough. Abysmal dreams hurt far more than the reality he's left behind, and it's all he can do to suffer through another second. And while this dream might have started off that way, Peter's fairly certain he wouldn't mind falling out of time once again to spend a few more days in this one.

Peter comes up with the only words he has, voice tinged with forgiveness. "Neither do I."

Closing his eyes for only a beat, he can't help the wave of peace he feels sweep over, lips twitching just a little. It's like an elephant had been sitting on his chest, and Peter had shoved it off; he couldn't be more eternally grateful. He knows nothing's all gone away, but if Peter can accept him on this beach in this dream, maybe there really is hope yet. He owes it to him to at least try and believe. Leaning a little closer, he has to ask, knowing their time is running thin, "You won't leave?"

Staying exactly where he is, palms slipping by minuscule increments in the sand, Peter looks calmly back at Adam. The way he's looking at the other man should be all the answer he needs to that question, Peter's body language saying that he's not planning on getting up anytime soon. But for a few seconds, he just wants to revel silently in Adam's question. For the first time, Adam wants him to stay instead of Peter clinging to the hope that he won't be the one left behind. It makes his chest warm, realizing how rare it is that he feel needed by a person, not simply the world.

And after that moment, he can answer, as honest as every word that's come before it. "I'm not going anywhere."

He nods, a bit of heat flooding his face, somehow needing to have Peter say it again to make it true. In this world removed from reality, Adam can allow himself to be a little more open, to let his walls down where he never would. This Peter has seen a side of him his own never would, and asleep he could afford to let him in. It was ironic in a way, that the man he could never have would be the one to forgive him. Though Adam was accustomed enough to this theme in his life. Anything he wanted, he couldn't have--and anything he thought he wanted, he didn't after all.

"Those thirty years were the most lonely of my entire life. Though some decades feel like scarcely a blink now, looking back, those dragged on forever. I was nearing the end of my rope when they gave me you." His eyes are shining with words he's never spoken, with words he's only ever thought. And even then, without context, fleeting sentences he'd struggled to capture. His fingers brush Peter's knee as he stops himself from falling farther forward, heart speeding in a new way. He needs the man to know everything; needs him to understand.

Watching Adam curiously, his gaze flicking to Adam's hand before returning to the other man's face, he's not entirely sure if he should allow himself to respond or let the other man tell his whole tale before interjecting his own thoughts. He's not stupid; he's well aware that he's hearing things that now his other version has lost the opportunity to, to no fault of his own. It's just the way life goes, as miserable as it is. It was true that he wanted his own relief, explanations to questions he's had for months, but he still doesn't feel like the one who should be getting them. That doesn't mean he won't take what he can get.

"I gave myself over pretty easily." This time he does mean that in more ways than one, though he doesn't feel the need to specify that -- he'd be shocked if Adam didn't know what he meant. Jaw snapped shut again, he's back to listening aptly, eyes locked onto Adam's. Primatech feels as if it's been years past, and in a way, it has been. But even then he can still grasp the person he'd been, the way he thought, the raw beginnings of guilt he'd never before been privy to. And Adam came along with all of that, a man he'd fallen for not only as a confidant, but as his own savior to pull him from a situation he believed he'd put himself in. And he'd never truly been able to stop looking at Adam that way, as a stronghold, as his last chance.

He quells a shudder, picking up that double entendre all too easily. Even now, it was hard not to look back on their first night with a fondness. Since the virus and everything after, it had felt like so long ago. Two months stretched over a year and he's finding it impossible to hold his place in time. "In your defense, I've had a lot of practice." Hurt shows through, and Adam doesn't even try for a double meaning of his own. "But you brought me back from the brink, Peter. From madness, from... All of it. You brought me back."

His eyebrows knit together, watching Peter's reaction. He knew everything he did after Primatech weren't things Peter approved of anymore, and perhaps he would throw them back in his face, but it didn't seem important now. All that mattered was that Peter would know, and Adam would tell him. Everything else would blur and fade upon waking, but this much would remain true.

They both know Peter's feelings on what Adam tried to do after Primatech, Peter doesn't exactly feel the need to expound on them. Considering throwing them back at Adam only means throwing them back onto himself and he doesn't exactly need to make the flames of his guilty complex burn any brighter. Even Nathan couldn't convince him not to blame himself, and it was just one feeling he didn't want to well back to the surface, especially not right now. There just wasn't any point to wading through that too.

For a few long moments, Peter doesn't know how to react. He's not even sure there is one way, and as hard as he tries, there's way to fend off the near violent rush of emotions. Pushing himself forward while simultaneously dropping his gaze, he stares down at his sand covered palms because it's far easier than watching Adam watch him. He's almost shaking, not from any misplaced anger, but because he's so tired of loosing people, or at the very least loosing the parts of them he can't let go of.

"And then I lost you." Words barely above a whisper, every single time, every person that matters most leaves him empty handed. When he finally looks up from his hands, he's not angry, only struck by an off-balanced sense of longing. Pulling himself together with another wavering inhale, he comes up with an apologetic look for his own feelings. "You were the only one I had when I didn't want to be saved. It was the least I could do... " He manages to sound vaguely sarcastic for a brief moment, his attempt at not being pathetic. "Not that I had to try."

The same rush threatens to bowl Adam over, watching Peter miss him from a breadth away. It's breaking his heart all over again, and it almost feels wrong to see this part. He's struck with the overwhelming urge to take Peter into his arms and yet he's hanging back, trying to regulate his breathing as his fist curls in the sand next to Peter's leg. "It's much too little far too late, but I'm not going anywhere either."

He lifts his eyebrows, doing his best to catch Peter's eyes. He can hardly take the full force of his gaze when it comes, feeling more than a little leveled by the guilt he sees reflecting back. Adam can scarcely breathe as it is, tearing his eyes away from Peter's becoming an impossibility as the glue sets. Every piece of him is in rigor, waiting for Peter's next move, a rare exercise in following.

If he could always dream of Peter, what more could he possibly want for? Even like this, even with the way they're both crumbling in with the sand, he can't imagine another place he'd rather be. His chest is so tight, his face drawn tight from too many tears, and still his only wish is to stay right here.

"It still means something." Peter responds before he even has time to consider, the words only catching up with him after they fall from his lips. His emotions will always be his ruin as much as they'll be his saving grace, this much Peter knows. If only he could take his heart off his sleeve, maybe he wouldn't be used so easily, but then he'd loose himself just as quickly as he looses everyone else.

Now that he's caught Adam's eye contact, he can't drag away from it no matter how badly he wants to. He doesn't hate that Adam can see right through his every thought, pull it apart and match it to his every breath. But sometimes it's tiring to not be able to keep one single feeling to himself. Exhausted by always letting everyone see far too much, Peter just wishes that sometimes he knew how to close the doors to his inner-workings.

Peter doesn't know what his next move is except to stare, to try to find where to put all of Adam's words, to try to understand why it's always so easy for Adam to pull him in so completely. He realizes that he's in control of this situation, as much as he can ever be in control over something, but he's already gotten everything he was looking for. And even though he's in control, he can feel himself slipping, wanting more now that he's been offered a piece. He knows that he's not the one who needed this Adam, which is why he suddenly feels so guilty for wanting him. "It means something because it's you."

This time around there's nothing that can stop the shiver that pulls up his spine, struggling to keep his eyes with Peter's. He hopes selfishly Peter never learns to keep his heart where it belongs, not when he could so easily reach out and grab it. His own heart is pounding, loud enough he's sure Peter can hear, but it's not something he can dredge up concern for, when all there is is this moment.

"Here I was hoping it was because I mean it, this time." He inclines his head, well-established in his not looking away, as difficult as it is to keep feeling that searching stare. For once, Adam feels like one being read, and it's making him thrum with anticipation, and maybe a little fear. Adam can't help the way he finds himself drifting forward again, a question on the tip of his tongue he's not sure he knows how to force out.

It's hard not to draw his eyes over the line of Peter's jaw, imagining the feel of his hair against the pads of his fingers. So close, and yet they may as well be miles apart. While Adam likes to indulge to think he knows Peter well, he doesn't know this Peter at all. Technically speaking - at least not yet, if he were even on the same timeline as the one he knows. Rejection could easily be imminent, or worse: acceptance.

Drawing in a sharp breath, his eyes glide back up Peter's face, suddenly feeling ready to know the answer. His voice is soft and lacking its usual confidence when he asks, "Why?"

He doesn't know exactly what Adam's looking at, but he finds himself spending far too long wondering why the other man's gaze keeps drifting. When he realizes that Adam's eyes are forming paths that fingers do, Peter snaps back to attention, wishing he hadn't seen it at all. He's imagining it, he tells himself, because he can only let himself believe that it's not what it seems. Even in his dreams he fantasizes affection, and yet he can't move away.

Swallowing before he finds his voice again, Peter already knows it's going to be anything but steady. Raw and brutally honest, there's nothing left but this, words and silences and forced breaths he can't even manage. There's so many things Adam could be asking an explanation for, and Peter doesn't have enough time left in his life to give all the answers. Even though he's desperately trying to read into Adam's every question, this one just has too many possibilities for him to reach them all. "Why, what?"

Dropping his face, he stares down at his palms again, suddenly desperate for a distraction and finding it in vigorously rubbing his hands together, trying to get rid of the drying sand, brittle as his own emotions. His nerves are fraying, pulling in opposite directions and all he wants is for Adam to reach inside his mind and find the answers. He seems to do it every other time, why not now.

"Why does it mean something? Why do I forgive you? Why... why do I miss you?" When the only thing left is the barest of grit left between his fingers, he forces his eyes upwards again, bangs falling forward. There's no drifting away from this, not that he could even if he wanted to. "Or something else?"

He can only watch Peter trying to rid himself of the sand, caught between bemused and transfixed. He's sure he could never tire of this, eyes crinkling as they trace every plane and curve of the man's hands. Even if he can't touch, watching Peter's far from growing old. But he can tell Peter's all too close to giving him back the control--or more accurately, giving it over for the first time. He doesn't want it, as uncharacteristic as it seems. He wants to know how Peter might seize the moment; how he would have if Adam had never interfered.

It's not exactly easy, Peter's face tipping towards his, but as long as he keeps breathing maybe he won't shake quite so much. It's even harder forcing himself to process the words, What he had been asking Peter seemed so clear, now fallen away. He couldn't be sure of anything anymore, hand brushing Peter's leg again as he tries to hold himself upright. Only seconds would find him close again, with no memory of how he got there, and Peter was still asking him questions.

Biting the inside of his lip, he reaches up, hand numb and disconnected from himself as he pushes Peter's bangs away from his eyes. "Yes," he hazards to say softly, barely putting any volume at all behind the word.

But Peter can't do it, the towering stack of questions makes him almost want to cry. He doesn't think he can answer one, let alone three or even more. He's not sure he can hand that much of himself over on a silver platter, not when he's already been found lacking. Feeling abjectly pitiful that he can't explain his own emotions, he only finds his way back to the surface when he realizes that it's just that he doesn't want to. There's an explanation somewhere, he just has to find it.

What's even more difficult, though, is trying to keep from letting any of his feelings flicker across his face when Adam pushes his bangs away. In that moment he knows that he'll answer any of Adam's questions, as long as he doesn't have to decide the answer to this one on his own. Peter doesn't know what it is that shows across his eyes, maybe it's desire or fear or sheer uncertainty. All he knows is that he can't move. After another few moments of silence, Peter simply tells himself to start talking and to stop thinking. He used to be able to ramble with the best of them, he can find that again.

"I tried so hard to keep you out. And it didn't work. Even though you only did it to- to use me, you were the only person I had for months. You had all the right answers. You knew what to do, you had the way out. You fixed Nathan, got the plane tickets, got the car. You made it all look so easy. That's just what you do. And I can't--" The words he can't say are that he's jealous, he can't compare, and for a moment his gaze flickers downward. He was never top of his class, valedictorian. He was never good enough.

But Adam was. He picks his gaze back up again, breath tight. "You spent an entire month just trying to get my name. You found me in Ireland. You found me again, you-- Look, I don't know what it is about you and I wish I knew. I tried to figure it out after Hiro disappeared with you. Tried to understand what it was. And I still don't know. It's all of you-- the charm and the smarts and all the things you are that i'm not. I loved that about you, all of it, and that you fixed everything. But even after all of it, after all the ways you found to use me, you're still here looking for forgiveness. Whether or not you wanted it, there was still some part of you that cared."

Peter's not exactly known for being smug, but through all of his fear and heartbreak and loneliness, a slight hint of it starts to sneak in. "And I got to you. I don't know how, but I did. I miss you because of the good parts of what we had. It means something because you're still here, looking for something. And I forgive you because whether or not you want to admit it, you're a human, and you deserve to be forgiven as much as the next person. And I forgive you because I still care about you and I don't know how to stop."

Those words, echoed back at him, break him apart. Not that this Peter knows about that night, has anything but speculation, but it's a fact that all of Peter's words nearly liquefy him, leaving Adam a puddle at his feet. He begins to tear up again, though he's not about to let them fall. Even Peter's smugness just makes him want to be that much closer. He's not afraid of letting his own feelings show, not now, his eyes sliding up over his crooked mouth to Peter's eyes. Shuddering, he's baring all he can, listening to Peter's voice much better than trying to interrupt.

He's leaning a little too close, seeing the words Peter forms before he hears them. He has to get himself under control, each honest declaration ripping into him, stealing another piece. People didn't say things like this about him, he didn't give them the chance. Would if he could start over--though he'd probably do the same thing. Just to have a clean slate, to have more time.

Adam could never see the world the way Peter could, a thing to be cherished; to be saved. For that he'd always been jealous, and always would be. He recognized something Adam could not, and he felt left out, as if Peter had a connection and he was left in the dust. The tables flipped on him for a change. With a shallow breath, he's trying to speak, but words keep eluding him, and he's not sure how much he wants to grasp them at all.

He squeezes Peter's knee instead, soaking up all his words, just barely keeping his lip from quivering. "You aren't the only one."

Worrying slightly at his lower lip, Peter thinks that was more talking than he'd done in the past month, maybe two. And hopefully that fulfilled his quota of spoken words, of thoughts that he had to divulge, for as long as he could get away with. And yet, if Adam even more from him, he'd still happily try to pull more from the depths of himself even though he's not sure there's anything left secret any longer.

But he could say a hundred, a thousand more words, and Adam's five would still knock him off his feet. Heat winds its way up under his skin, hitting his face before he can do a single thing to stop it. Biting down even harder on his lower lip, it's not as if he needs additional encouragement to keep himself from saying anything, he just figures it can't hurt either.

Gaze frozen onto Adam's, any hit of smugness is gone and all that's left is entirely Peter, everything else stripped away. He might be only a part of his former self, but he still makes up a whole, and Adam might be bigger than him, but what's left of his emotions can only begin to make up for the difference. Even so, somehow he feels naked, having shot all his own defenses down with a single breath. All there is, is this. All they have is them, and there's nothing for Peter to hide behind. But he's found himself in the protective hold of Adam's words and as terrifying as it is, Peter tries to find his way back.

"I'm not--" He does it before he even realizes he's moved: found his hand on top of Adams. Swallowing, Peter's offering the control up to Adam, for whatever he wants to do, though he's not sure there's enough of it left between them to even hand over. "I'm not going anywhere. But only because of you."

Peter's hand almost startles him, his eyes flicking immediately to it. Here's where the fear comes in, wide eyes moving to Peter's face and quickly skittering back. He knows what it would be to bridge that last inch, to cover Peter's lips with his own and steal his breath. He knows how Peter's throat would feel under his fingertips, itching to deepen the kiss. He can even hear the sounds Peter would make, know how he would squirm beneath him. Closing his eyes, he's lost; he's back in their hotel room, Peter's breath washing against his cheek.

His eyes open, just in time to see the flush as it creeps over Peter's face. He bites into his own lip, hand shifting under Peter's. It would be so easy to jump back in, permission written in the other man's eyes, but he can't use Peter again, not when he's lost everything. He knows his own face must be reflecting some color by now, but he's frozen to the spot. "Peter.." But he cuts himself off. He's done with words and he can't trust his own.

Because of him. Peter would stay right here because of Adam; because he was here. For once, he's the one with his heart on his sleeve. Everything spills over his expression, every deception, every manipulation, every apology, every reason he loves the man before him; it all melds together and he can't hold the eye contact for long. He looks down at their hands, feeling a lump in his throat begin to rise. For the first time in four hundred years, he doesn't know what to do.

Peter hadn't truly meant to dredge up nearly every possible emotion in existence and splash them across Adam's features. But apparently that's what he'd done because Peter can't even begin to understand what's going through Adam's mind just by looking at him; there's too much there and it would take him far too long to capture it all. He's not even entirely sure what he's trying to do, if anything at all. Anything past keeping Adam here for a few moments longer, keeping him close, and trying to find any way he can to make things easier for the both of them.

Coming to Adam's rescue would be so much easier if he himself knew what to do. Move in, stay put, retreat; they're all solutions to the immediate question, but they all create their own library of problems, none of them any easier than the rest. And yet it's the first time that Peter's felt this close to Adam since he can't even remember when. He wants to revel in the moment, stew in it, do everything he possibly can to remember the way Adam looks before him. As if he's the one who needs to have all the answers, as if he's the one who Adam needs.

"Adam--" He gives the other man's hand a squeeze, and it's of apology and closeness and bears no expectations. The one thing he knows for sure is that he doesn't know anything, that there's no right answer, and that he doesn't exactly want to scare Adam off. Trying to come up with a smile, he's not sure if he merely ends up looking concerned, tipping his face to try to catch Adam's attention. "You don't have to do anything, okay?"

He's nodding before he processes the words, still dangerously close. This one moment is so pivotal, so important there has to be a right answer. Unless it doesn't exist yet, unless in this place out of time they're truly out of time. Adam takes Peter's palm in hand, bringing it up to his lips, a mimicry of the last time they shared this plane. His eyes zero in on Peter's again as he moves the other man's hand, over his chin and down his throat, letting it rest over his pacing heart. Without words he says, this is for you. I'm here because of you.

Peter doesn't have to worry about Adam staying here, even after he wakes up this dream will weigh on his mind until next he sleeps. And then he'll be right back here, seeking out the only person to ever really believe in him, waking or otherwise. He squeezes his hand over Peter's, the steady lubdub of his heart drowning out his own hearing. He feels close to tears again, face not a breath from Peter's own. Peter's wrong about one thing: he can't do nothing. He doesn't know how. That doesn't stop his pleading gaze, or his tightening fingers, or his exploding heart. But it can't spur him into action either, not without a little guidance.

"Can you feel it, Peter?" He's completely busted open, Peter's fingers just barely holding him all together. Peter's lack of expectations only give Adam all the more reason to expect. He wasn't sure before, but he knows now--he'd left the only other person on this planet who could dull the ache, who could make his ridiculously long life mean something. "You save me. Every moment we're together."

Peter stops being able to consider anything at all when he finds Adam's warm lips pressed to his palm, his other hand tracking the beating of the Adams heart. Eyes glazing over, Peter's teeth sink harsly back into his lower lip, his one way left to try to keep any inch of himself contained. Adam's tearing apart his carefully pieced together wall and he can't find it in himself to put it back up, not when Adam's bearing everything and he has his foot already in the door.

Maybe if Peter could remember to breathe, he could speak. But Adam's racing heartbeat has become his own and he can't shake loose, can't free himself from something that's become such an integral part of him. He hears numerous hearts beating every day, so many that he thought he'd memorized the sound, could hear it without seeing the person outside. But this one belongs to him and it makes all the difference. Peter doesn't want to disconnect, he wants to own it, he wants be dragged closer so it's the only thing he has to hear. If he can save Adam, then he wants the other man to fix him, to find a way to help him absolve everyone who's ever done him wrong.

But he still can't find his words. He's run out, mind ground to a halt with Adam's honesty, and all that's left is for him to crumble completely, to let Adam sift through the dust to come up with his own. He doesn't know why now, of all times, he feels closest to crying. But maybe it's because he hasn't felt anyone in what's been far too long. Even this close he feels painfully far away, lost, and without knowing exactly what Adam's going to do, Peter doesn't know how to bear it. Broken apart, eyes wet he's wavering before he even realizes it, shaking from the effort it takes to keep himself from trying to get Adam to do something. "Adam... then don't make me do it alone."

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