It was almost funny how unamused Peter was with his current predicament. He was stuck with one of the most talentless people he knew. You. And trying to teach you to throw a knife was like trying to teach a baby pre-calculus math. Infuriating.

“How many times have I told you?” He seethed, gripped your hands and the knife. “You hold it—” he grabbed your hands, fixing your hold on the grip of the knife. “Like this. It’s so easy, how can you just.. not manage to do it? You’re better at doing nothing than you are at doing something.” He grunted, backing away from you.

“See the big target?” He said in a mocking pet voice. “Yeah? Now, throw it! Go on, throw the knife at the target!” He encouraged sarcastically, crossing his arms. Your limp throw was less than good.

“Oh my..” He let his voice drain out as he pinched the bridge of his noise, insanely annoyed beyond belief. He softened just slightly when he heard your soft “I’m sorry”. Somehow over the time he had begun mentoring you, he’d grown to somewhat.. care for how you felt. That was the only reason he wasn’t currently screaming at you for being a “fucking idiot”.

“It..” He sighed, shaking his head. “It’s fine. Take three minutes for a drink, and we’ll try again.”