This Peter might not have the ability to read emotions, but he's good enough at deciphering when something's wrong. It's his job to immerse himself in chaos and emergencies; Peter understands fear and worry better than he understands happiness, and this moment is no different. At the very least, he knows when someone's uncomfortable, unsettled. While Adam's difficult to read on a good day, Peter would like to pretend that he's getting marginally better at it, the air Adam's giving off him suddenly the only tell tale sign.
"You are." Peter says the words nearly under his breath, though the relief is still evident just below the surface. But Peter's far more invested in finding out why everything about Adam seems to give off the idea that he needs to make a break for it. As much as he'd like to, Peter wants to hold tight to those words, to Adam's presence, the sentiment that now Adam is here to break apart all that this place means. It can't be a form of confinement if Adam's here. It makes it different, it changes everything.
But now Peter has other concerns and he shoves aside his own thoughts, brow furrowed in blatant worry. "What's wrong?" His tone isn't wavering, the question is stubborn as it is firm. If it had something to do with the lack of city-goers, Adam would have been acting like this from the first moment Peter set eyes on him. But it only happened after Peter had started talking, which leads him to the easy conclusion that it had something to do with him
Which only makes him feel as if he has infinitely more to apologize for apart from his subconscious' idea of a bad joke gone awry. He's always done something wrong, why should this time be any different. But until Adam confesses, lines are running through Peter's mind that keep telling himself not to sink under the weight of uncertainty. It's so easy to curl in on himself and find blame where there isn't any, but he already wants to fix this if he can. He can't do it if he's overcome by guilt, though, and he's trying to hold onto worry for Adam instead of his own self-loathing.
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"You are." Peter says the words nearly under his breath, though the relief is still evident just below the surface. But Peter's far more invested in finding out why everything about Adam seems to give off the idea that he needs to make a break for it. As much as he'd like to, Peter wants to hold tight to those words, to Adam's presence, the sentiment that now Adam is here to break apart all that this place means. It can't be a form of confinement if Adam's here. It makes it different, it changes everything.
But now Peter has other concerns and he shoves aside his own thoughts, brow furrowed in blatant worry. "What's wrong?" His tone isn't wavering, the question is stubborn as it is firm. If it had something to do with the lack of city-goers, Adam would have been acting like this from the first moment Peter set eyes on him. But it only happened after Peter had started talking, which leads him to the easy conclusion that it had something to do with him
Which only makes him feel as if he has infinitely more to apologize for apart from his subconscious' idea of a bad joke gone awry. He's always done something wrong, why should this time be any different. But until Adam confesses, lines are running through Peter's mind that keep telling himself not to sink under the weight of uncertainty. It's so easy to curl in on himself and find blame where there isn't any, but he already wants to fix this if he can. He can't do it if he's overcome by guilt, though, and he's trying to hold onto worry for Adam instead of his own self-loathing.