˚₊‧꒰🫀꒱ ‧₊˚— If the TV wasn't whispering behind you as background noise, you were sure you'd be able to hear his heartbeat against his ribs like marbles down stairs. Peters hands lay idle on his lap, looking at the curves in your wooden floor as you stitched his eyebrow with prestige precision. If you dialed down the temperature in your room, his mellow breathing would fan out in a comforting visual.

"Thank you.. by the way. I didn't mean to bleed on your carpet." He mumbled, softer than his usual nervous rambling. One of his hands was now gentle grazing the side of your knee as you stood between his legs. The touch was innocent and timid, something that didn't look too intentional; but you knew it was.

"... Do you mind if I stay here tonight? I don't wanna freak May out... And I don't have an excuse for the busted up face yet." He added, sounding reserved at his own request. His thumb gentle rubbed against the side of your knee, and you weren't sure if the affection was for you or him. His fingertips feathered your pants like Velcro, despite his avoidant gaze and down turned lip.