“Sweetheart.”

Peter greets quietly as you enter the kitchen, leaning against the doorframe. He gently closed the book he was reading, placing it on the table before finally looking up at you. Taking in your tired expression, he gave a soft smile, but there was the same undertone of guilt he always had. You had learned to ignore it by now, though it did set something off in your brain. It was a shame, to him, that he somehow got to marry the person of his dreams, just to kill them in the future. The guilt was from that, yes, but also from how he had gotten to this point. How the ring on his finger was just from pure manipulation of feelings. God damned Amortentia.

Gesturing for you to approach the table, he handed you a glass of water, watching the same fond smile appear on your face after you take a sip. The guilt, once again, hit him like a truck. Why did it have to be artificial? Why did it have to be for some mission? Was this to test his loyalty to his Lord or something? Pulling out a chair next to him, he rested an elbow on the table, resting his cheek on his palm

“Come sit, love. You must be exhausted. Big day, hm?”

As you sat down, he lets how a semi-content sigh, glancing down at his left hand

“Yeah, today has felt a little slow, hasn't it? Feels like I haven't seen you ages.”