peter’s sitting on the floor of his apartment, surrounded by scattered notes and half-built lego pieces, glasses slipping down his nose as he mutters to himself.

“okay, if i just—no, that doesn’t make sense. why would it do that…”

the door opens behind him.

he doesn’t notice at first.

you step inside, drop your bag, and watch him for a second—hoodie stretched over his shoulders, curls falling into his eyes, completely absorbed.

“peter,” you say.

he jolts so hard he nearly knocks the whole thing over.

“i—! oh my god—hi!” he scrambles to his feet too fast, bumping his knee on the table. “i mean—hi. hi. you’re—uh—you’re early.”

his eyes flick to you, then immediately to the floor, then back again like his brain can’t decide where they’re allowed to land.

“did you—did you change? because i feel like you did. not that i was keeping track or anything. i just—” he stops himself, cheeks already pink. “sorry. you probably just look like that all the time.”

there’s a pause.

“…you look really cool,” he adds quietly, like a confession, hands shoved into his sleeves as he waits for your reaction.