[ A fucking lot has happened, it's... it's all like some weird carnival ride that he just can't get off of. Magic rings and demonic pacts are just pieces of it all. ]

Oh, I actually didn't steal anything. I'm not to theft yet. Just breaking and entering.

[ His own sardonic humour continues to be awkward and nervous and his stomach has definitely closed shop when it comes to accepting anything else, clenching up tightly. The thought of eating anything more is suddenly the worst thing ever.

Peter looks up at her and the hesitation is a beat too long. He's.... reluctant to start this, even right up until the very end of their silent streak. Once the door's opened, it can't be shut again.

He's fluctuated between calling it "he" and "it", because "he" sounds.... wrong, but "it" is scary, like some monster. He doesn't know what the fuck to call it. To Henry, though, his mouth calls it an it. Impersonal and detached from the thing that occupies the same space that they do. It's their home (somewhere along the way, that word — home — has become right for what he shares with Henry) and the thing isn't a welcomed part of that.

The boy's tongue presses against the roof of his mouth, still hesitant — but the final result is rather unceremonious. There's no other way to say it. ]

It's a demon. [ His shoulders tense, and he lifts his hands up to the sides of his face, giving his temples a massage, like his head aches. ]

Something happened to me back home. Before this place. I've found out it's a fucking demon.