[ Though it's only been a few weeks, Peter's physical appearance has seen some improvement. While still a little tender, his nose no longer looks painfully swollen and bruised, and he's been able to stop wearing the bandage across it.
His psychological state is... a different matter. When there's a knock at the door, he freezes, eyes wide with a heart that can't sit still. His housemate wouldn't need to knock, she has keys, and they rarely have visitors.
It takes a little while for him to answer, and it comes in the form of the door very slowly creeeeaking open, inky eyes peering around the corner of it, dark fingers wrapped against the side. Is it a haunted house that Diarmuid's come upon? It could seem that way, with the quiet ghost of a young man blinking at him from the shadows.
Then his mouth parts softly in surprise. It's the boy. From the dome, with the wounded arm, his gentle comrade for those few hours, against the predators.
The door opens wider, Peter taking in the boy's atypical appearance, his attire something the devout wear. Both of them are quite a different sight from before, Peter almost seeming the picture of an average teen in his tee-shirt and pajama bottoms, socked feet. Neither of them stained with blood this time. ]
It's... it's you. [ A hitch of breath. His eyes drop to the cast upon his arm. He's had medical attention, that's good, but Peter still asks, eyes searching him. ] You... you're okay?
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His psychological state is... a different matter. When there's a knock at the door, he freezes, eyes wide with a heart that can't sit still. His housemate wouldn't need to knock, she has keys, and they rarely have visitors.
It takes a little while for him to answer, and it comes in the form of the door very slowly creeeeaking open, inky eyes peering around the corner of it, dark fingers wrapped against the side. Is it a haunted house that Diarmuid's come upon? It could seem that way, with the quiet ghost of a young man blinking at him from the shadows.
Then his mouth parts softly in surprise. It's the boy. From the dome, with the wounded arm, his gentle comrade for those few hours, against the predators.
The door opens wider, Peter taking in the boy's atypical appearance, his attire something the devout wear. Both of them are quite a different sight from before, Peter almost seeming the picture of an average teen in his tee-shirt and pajama bottoms, socked feet. Neither of them stained with blood this time. ]
It's... it's you. [ A hitch of breath. His eyes drop to the cast upon his arm. He's had medical attention, that's good, but Peter still asks, eyes searching him. ] You... you're okay?