In a strange way, he's almost glad he gets to see this. Interesting perhaps isn't the word Peter would use, but he had spent years alone here with his brother's killer. Matt Parkman certainly hadn't fallen far from that tree, but that's not the only reason Adam finds the whole thing drawing him in. It's Peter, unsurprisingly, that makes this space interesting. That he still allows it to torture him, to plague him even while he sleeps. Peter can say it isn't his choice, and perhaps for him it isn't, but Adam would never dream of something like this. He doesn't have the capacity for the sort of self-loathing reflection it requires. He isn't sure if interest quite covers what he's feeling, reverent respect perhaps.
Seeing the familiar apartment complex shouldn't inspire anything like the churning his insides are doing just now, and yet here he is, feeling small as he looks up at the comparatively short skyscraper. It's almost funny, and he stifles a dry laugh, his nerves frayed in the space of a minute. "Good thing," he repeats, almost forgetting to speak as he forces himself to follow Peter into the building. It's such a silly thing, but most human insecurities are, and he had never made himself revisit one.
He's calming as the familiarity of it overpowers his own guilt, and he steps into the elevator, pressing the button before he remembers he was supposed to be waiting for Peter's direction. It's a small oversight, but it's still telling, and he reminds himself again to hang back and wait for Peter. Which brings him back to the conversation, really. He's not one to get lost inside his own head nearly as much as Peter, and yet here he is grappling for words while Peter's seem effortless compared to their usual hesitation. Or maybe it's only his nerves that make it seem that way.
"I'm sure I'll manage, couch or no." It doesn't exactly help, and he's racking his brain for something more, up to his usual verbal athletics, and still coming up empty. He couldn't have waited and he wants to say so, but even to himself it sounds desperate. Small talk is off-limits here, and the glasses are wearing a hole in his pocket. He's lost, and utterly without direction. And so he merely looks to Peter, his attention appreciative and patient as the man unlocks his door.
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Seeing the familiar apartment complex shouldn't inspire anything like the churning his insides are doing just now, and yet here he is, feeling small as he looks up at the comparatively short skyscraper. It's almost funny, and he stifles a dry laugh, his nerves frayed in the space of a minute. "Good thing," he repeats, almost forgetting to speak as he forces himself to follow Peter into the building. It's such a silly thing, but most human insecurities are, and he had never made himself revisit one.
He's calming as the familiarity of it overpowers his own guilt, and he steps into the elevator, pressing the button before he remembers he was supposed to be waiting for Peter's direction. It's a small oversight, but it's still telling, and he reminds himself again to hang back and wait for Peter. Which brings him back to the conversation, really. He's not one to get lost inside his own head nearly as much as Peter, and yet here he is grappling for words while Peter's seem effortless compared to their usual hesitation. Or maybe it's only his nerves that make it seem that way.
"I'm sure I'll manage, couch or no." It doesn't exactly help, and he's racking his brain for something more, up to his usual verbal athletics, and still coming up empty. He couldn't have waited and he wants to say so, but even to himself it sounds desperate. Small talk is off-limits here, and the glasses are wearing a hole in his pocket. He's lost, and utterly without direction. And so he merely looks to Peter, his attention appreciative and patient as the man unlocks his door.