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

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."

He watches Peter bite his lip, hunger unmistakable in his eyes. If he knew how, he would fix Peter. He would slot all the missing pieces right back together, and even claim the credit. As it is he's not even sure where all his own puzzle pieces have gone off to. He slides his hand back down his side, dragging Peter's along with it until they both rest in the sand. How could he ever walk out on this man when going one minute without touching him felt like torture, and how even still could he sit here and say he wouldn't leave again the second it got too hard. Using Peter's hand as leverage, he's inching in, fully intending to distract Peter from the issue at hand. Or he was, until he stops just barely short, breath in overdrive. If he's supposed to be here, earning forgiveness, shouldn't he earn it?

Peter's always so eager, so open; it doesn't matter when he meets up with him again, it's always the same. He knows now that even without this kiss that hasn't happened, even if it never does--he knows he owns Peter, even after walking away. In his own dream, however, it's not exactly comforting. Adam is hardly a stranger to his own ego. Still, if he can unlock some strange new intel, he's not going to be able to with his tongue down Peter's throat. It didn't take the temptation away, far from. Adam's every fibre is thrumming to burst forward, and steal those crooked lips.

By a hair, he manages to reel himself back, still close enough for it to hurt. His eyes are dark and wanting, heart still threatening to shatter his ribcage, but he's not moving until he has all the answers. "Then tell me how." His forehead wrinkles, voice a weak stage whisper. "How do I go back?"

Fingers digging helplessly into the sand, Peter stays rigidly frozen as Adam moves in, every muscle tensing. Usually in a moment like this, he'd close his eyes and wait for the conclusion or he'd be the one moving in himself. But he can't, he refuses, he's too busy watching Adam move in close enough that he's going out of focus. Or maybe that's just his watery vision, glazed and unsettled from the collective effect of Adam. He's almost struck by the urge to move back just so he can have more time to absorb all the words written across Adam's face. Peter so rarely has the opportunity to see people being truly honest with him, he wants to take it and run with it, store it away for future reference to remember the time he really got to see someone's true colors.

But then it all comes to a sharp halt, his throat tightening, chest aching, everything already hurting so much he doesn't know how he's not falling apart in Adam's hands. He wants to span the distance all on his own, and yet he wants to know what else Adam has to say. This has to be finished before anything else can happen, and Adam can still steal his breath from this far away.

Releasing a quaking exhale, he has no idea what advice he's supposed to be offering, not when it comes to himself. But he's willing to try, to keep giving this his all even when all of him has already been used up. "Give it time, Adam." He'd rub his eyes if he could, but that's just one more way to pull back emotionally and Peter's doing everything he can not to, no matter how tempting. He feels soggy even though he hasn't yet begun to cry, feeling like he's drowning under both his and Adam's emotions. Peter doesn't need an empathetic ability to be able to feel what everyone else is, and there's only so much he can take. Still shaking, he has to struggle to find every word. "It's not going to fix itself just because you want it to, you already know that. But if you... If you just wait it out for a little while. You can still go back."

"Wait it out," he repeats, trying not to sound disappointed. Adam feels like he spends his whole life waiting. When does something get to really happen, instead of racking up failures. On the right side at least, he had a lot of practice waiting, and he had dream Peter to bide his time with. He offers the man not quite a smile, brushing the thumb of his free hand across his cheek. They were already both miserable, they both didn't need to cry too. "I think I can manage that."

It suddenly seemed so silly, how upset he'd been. Or perhaps silly wasn't the word. In any case, he felt like he'd completely overreacted in spectacular fashion, especially with Peter so close now. When he woke, he knows it'll be a different story altogether. "Especially when I know it's worth waiting for."

Also suddenly, it strikes him that this dialogue is a little too Disney for his taste, though it's a little too late to start over. This dream has surely carried him nearly to morning by now. There's nothing left to do but embrace its romance novel qualities, hand inclining Peter's chin as his gaze draws back to his mouth, giving him one last chance to push Adam away. Waiting was his specialty, right?

Eyes nearly falling closed as Adam's thumb moves across his cheek, Peter tries to make a solid attempt to lace himself up. Not closed off, but at least kept together. But once his eyes are wide open again, he quirks an eyebrow, knowing he doesn't need to point out that Adam has more than enough time to spare. Nor should he really be disappointed by the idea of waiting when he was the one who left, but he's going to leave that comment waiting in the aisles, since he's sure Adam's aware of that one too. "I didn't say you were going to have to wait for years. Just... a little while."

When Adam lifts his face, Peter suddenly finds it astonishingly difficult to breath, throat practically swelling shut in the span of a second. He can follow the line of Adam's gaze and his heart's racing fast enough he almost thinks that it's stopped entirely. Peter doesn't want to admit how easy it is for Adam to make him melt in his hands, but the look on his face should make that more than obvious. If the waiting doesn't make him explode, then the conclusion of this surely will.

But he can manage one last sentence, a few more words of hope to offer Adam. He knows that wasn't exactly the answer Adam wanted to hear, but there is no perfect solution, not when it comes to his own jagged emotions. He's already bared himself more completely than he has in months, so why not simply tear the rest of himself open. "Whether or not you believe it, just because you try to leave doesn't make me stop needing you." Voice barely above a whisper, that should be more than enough proof that he has no intention of pushing the other man away.

It makes him want to curse, or at the very least, wrap Peter up in details of just how much those words affect him. But this is the moment beyond words, the moment of truth. He can show Peter his need just as surely as he can profess it, probably to more success. He's only tormenting them both in drawing this out, but it comes with delicacy and planning he wouldn't want to rush. He keeps forgetting to breathe, and it catches it his throat, face clouded with enough need to fill a room. Running over what Peter's just said, it's hard not to take comfort in the words, highlighting that try and replaying it again. He could try to leave, but Peter would always be waiting. He would always be waiting for Peter.

That last leap forward feels like a marathon, an endless road to one ropeless finish. He can only keep driving forward, angling Peter's face to receive his lips. He closes his eyes before he can talk himself out of it, or come up with any more words for Peter to analyze. Rounding the last lap, his mouth covers Peter's, all of himself behind the push.

It almost feels as if he's waiting an eternity, every second that ticks by making his blood boil ever hotter. It's going to be the anticipation that kills him, he thinks, the wait as painful as anything yet. For a brief moment, he wonders if Adam's going to go through with it at all, not for any reason other than Peter's own uncertainty. But it draws him in, his own fears making his mouth go unnecessarily dry while he waits for Adam to make his decision.

And then, as Adam's lips press into his, Peter's eyes finally drift shut and he simply sinks into it. Without having to wonder anymore, the heat finally rushes to his face, practically making the rest of him go numb. Peter was fairly sure that he'd already given all of himself over, but he was wrong otherwise how would he put as much behind the kiss as he suddenly finds himself doing. One of his palms finds Adam's cheek, the other still grounding him in the sand; or at least it's trying to considering attempting to keep himself from falling apart is a wasted effort at this point. All of his focus is dragged into Adam's warm mouth against his and nothing could drag him away. Adam's overtaken him, stolen every single one of his senses -- he can't breathe, can't think, can't do anything but find himself wholly captivated by the man against him.

He doesn't stop, pressing forward further, thumb slipping over Peter's pulse the way he'd imagined. Peter tastes the way he knew he would, their heartbeats intertwining and fading away, becoming the baseline to this moment. Peter's hair smells the way he knew it would smell, though it's tinged with salt and sand. He wants to wear Peter's skin, he wants to feel him in every way there is to feel, and those crooked lips fitted against his feel perfect. They're everything Adam needs and he's steadily losing himself in them, his hand jumping down to snag Peter's waist, keeping them both upright. All his defenses past, this person he's spent centuries building up just crumbles at Peter's lightest touch, an oak tree blown over by a light breeze.

Pulling back just enough to speak, he says the words he's been so petrified of, lips brushing over Peter's as he does. He can remember each person, each moment he's used the phrase, because he can count it on two hands exactly. On one that he meant them, even remotely. Just when he thought he was out, tears sting in his eyes, tracking down his cheeks unnoticed while he leans back in. "I love you."

Peter had almost thought, with some semblance of conviction, that the crying was done with. God knows he'd been trying to hold himself together nearly this entire time, and Adam made it no easy feat. But when he feels something wet slip down across his palm, he opens his eyes half-lidded onto Adam and any part of him that wasn't already demolished simply crumbles.

While Peter had cared about a great many people in his lifetime, those still weren't words he threw around easily. Peter might love a little more freely than some, but that didn't diminish the extent of his emotions, or the meaning. And even then, it wasn't something he confessed to often. Especially as of late, the word had nearly disappeared from his vocabulary.

But when he can feel Adam's words against his skin as much as he can hear them, it very nearly pulls Peter inside out. Suddenly squeezing his eyes shut to keep his own welling tears from falling, he needs a moment to find his way through Adam's words still echoing in his mind. Breath coming in shaky bursts against Adam's mouth, Peter pushes in for his own firm but quick kiss so he can find himself once more, so he can find the breath he needs to speak again somewhere in the depths of Adam's lungs. Pulling back again not a second later, with lips still ghosting against Adam's, Peter finally finds his words. "I love you too, Adam."

For a long pause Adam simply is. He doesn't breath or speak or blink or move. Every moment of the virus was still on the forefront of his mind, though it felt as fake as it was now, china memories to be stored away and never used. Hearing those words bolt him back there and he's suddenly constricting his arm around Peter, pulling him tight against his chest, instantly exiling any thought of those few days. If he can do nothing else, he can at least hold Peter until the morning light. Methodically, he replaces every moment of the virus from one of this dream, erasing each touch and rewriting each breath; reetching each word into his mind. Maybe someday soon he'll be able to make new memories, but for now there was this and this was enough.

Peter knows that he still doesn't understand all of this, and it's likely that he never will. But he doesn't need to, it's not necessarily important to know exact details when he has emotions to sift through, and those are more than enough to inflict on the both of them. Tucking his nose in against Adam's neck and blinking back tears he doesn't want to fall, all Peter can do is stay silent and hope to offer whatever comfort he still can for as long as he's allowed. This right here is more than he could have ever asked for, and eventually his breathing slows to a quiet pace against Adam's skin, the ebb and flow of his emotions relaxing to something a little more manageable. But even then, he's still wound tight, clinging to one of the few things he has left, desperate to believe it won't disappear for just another few moments, needing whatever he can get to make it through.

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

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