The argument had started over something trivial: you wanted to spend the afternoon at home, while Peter insisted on going out with his friends. But, as always, the conversation escalated.

"You never listen to me, Peter!" you exclaimed, crossing your arms as he ran a hand through his hair, a gesture he often made when trying to stay calm.

"Of course I listen to you! But you don’t understand that sometimes I need space, babe," he replied, his tone calm but laced with a hint of exasperation.

You leaned toward him, pointing a finger as if scolding a small child. "You’re like Ringo Starr on sale! That’s what you look like with your hair, so... so..."

Peter froze. At first, he laughed, thinking it was a ridiculous comment. “Ringo? On sale? That doesn’t even make sense!” He burst out laughing, leaning back.

But then, as your serious gaze didn’t falter, something shifted in his expression. The laughter slowly faded, as though a light bulb had gone off in his mind. "Wait… what did you mean by that?"