[ Peter watches the way the words flit across her — like something tangible. Though he doesn't know exactly how they're affecting her (he's not quite a mind-reader just yet...) he understands that they are. He understands how words are physical things, how uncomfortable it can be when they touch upon the skin. Even good words can feel like that — soft nails tapping. A whisper upon the cheek. For a moment, he's afraid, just slightly, lips parting to start to say something to reassure her that she isn't cornered. Because words can corner you, trap you, and maybe he's done that to her now. He's about to remedy that: 'It's all right, you don't have to. It's okay.'
But then Luna smiles, and looks away, and the anxiety coiled in Peter loosens; he exhales, soft, as he watches her. He knows shyness, too, and it surprises him to see — but in a strangely pleasant way. The soft flush to her white cheek. He stares there, at her cheek, and then his own eyes drift away as though to give her privacy, or space. Those little human things — smiles, flushes, tendernesses. He's still shy to them, too. They're still new for him.
He sees the lapse in her shyness, something else taking hold — but subtly. And then Luna's agreeing to stay, in what she says next. 'It's fine— it's perfectly good to me.'
Relief eases out of him that Peter hadn't been aware he was withholding. If she were to leave, that would be all right — he'd insist on walking her back, so he'd be able to make sure that she got there safely, but... but there's something to the fact she's staying that feels right. Because that means he can watch over her directly for a few more hours.
He means the offer to let her use him as comfort however she needs, sitting there near the wall, and then Luna directs him to stay where he is, and Peter does. He stays as she moves closer, and then — up and into his lap, turned so that her thin shoulder is a soft pressure against his chest, and Peter doesn't breathe for a moment. It does surprise him, stuns him into silence for a moment. There is that part of him that feels a certain timidity to this level of intimacy with someone else — once again, an average teenage boy, inexperienced, distanced from others. Someone in his lap — a girl no less — is a new experience that would usually shake him to the core. (Not in a bad way. This isn't bad. ...It's actually quite nice.)
But the him that exists now, the one who isn't only a teenage boy anymore, feels the intimacy in a different way. A... vulnerability. She rests childlike against him, tucked inwards, letting him hold her. The last time someone had been bundled up in his arms so small was when Charlie had—
—he doesn't think of it. He can't. Some part of him knows it, but it's buried down too deeply.
Peter's arms are slowly going around Luna, slowly accepting, drawing her in, inviting her towards himself ever-so-slightly. He isn't good at comfort. He doesn't— know how. But he feels her small frame, how weak and tired, and he wants to help her. He wants to hold her the way he often needs to be held. ]
This is okay. [ He replies softly, lips barely moving, his heart feeling an odd ache of witnessing her vulnerability. It isn't the first time. He'd felt her trembling against him that nightmarish evening in the forest, saw Luna trapped somewhere awful. But this is— different. Neither of them are caught in the whirlwind of their terrors, grasping each other desperately, fingers digging in. This is.. a choice, a plan, a decision made by both of them, to hold one another. Something swells in his chest, and Peter lets it.
Then she's reaching to take his hand and he watches her, hardly moving, not wanting to disturb her as she rests against him. It takes him a moment longer to notice it than she does — he's simply blinking down, wordlessly watching as she turns his hand, explores his digits — and then the boy notices it, too. Red, glinting. A string. It would be enough to frighten him usually, but he's making this discovery with Luna, and something to that fact makes him... braver, makes him okay. The feeling blooms so subtly that he isn't aware that it's spreading outwards once they both see the threads, that the connection between them sparks, that something strengthens. ]
I see it too, [ he murmurs, almost... awed. Peter gently turns his hand, watches the thread vibrate softly, connected to her. ] What... How is that...? [ ...working? How could it possibly exist? It's intangible, and yet it's clearly there; they're both gazing downwards at it. He looks up to meet her moon-eyes then, confused but— not afraid.
There's something else there. He feels it before he sees it, cotton-soft. Melodic, whispers of thoughts. Not his, but in his mind. He should be afraid of this, too, and usually he would be, but— not this time. Peter reaches for Luna's hand then, slips his fingers into hers. The act is almost subconscious; he grasps onto hers both to seek support and to give support. To anchor both of them. The red threads are brought together in the act, caught between their palms. ]
Do you hear that? Someone— talking? Or... almost talking?
[ It's Luna's thoughts, or snippets of them, though he doesn't know yet. 'What is that?' he thinks, and his own mind is a little louder, uncertainties drifting through. ]
no subject
But then Luna smiles, and looks away, and the anxiety coiled in Peter loosens; he exhales, soft, as he watches her. He knows shyness, too, and it surprises him to see — but in a strangely pleasant way. The soft flush to her white cheek. He stares there, at her cheek, and then his own eyes drift away as though to give her privacy, or space. Those little human things — smiles, flushes, tendernesses. He's still shy to them, too. They're still new for him.
He sees the lapse in her shyness, something else taking hold — but subtly. And then Luna's agreeing to stay, in what she says next. 'It's fine— it's perfectly good to me.'
Relief eases out of him that Peter hadn't been aware he was withholding. If she were to leave, that would be all right — he'd insist on walking her back, so he'd be able to make sure that she got there safely, but... but there's something to the fact she's staying that feels right. Because that means he can watch over her directly for a few more hours.
He means the offer to let her use him as comfort however she needs, sitting there near the wall, and then Luna directs him to stay where he is, and Peter does. He stays as she moves closer, and then — up and into his lap, turned so that her thin shoulder is a soft pressure against his chest, and Peter doesn't breathe for a moment. It does surprise him, stuns him into silence for a moment. There is that part of him that feels a certain timidity to this level of intimacy with someone else — once again, an average teenage boy, inexperienced, distanced from others. Someone in his lap — a girl no less — is a new experience that would usually shake him to the core. (Not in a bad way. This isn't bad. ...It's actually quite nice.)
But the him that exists now, the one who isn't only a teenage boy anymore, feels the intimacy in a different way. A... vulnerability. She rests childlike against him, tucked inwards, letting him hold her. The last time someone had been bundled up in his arms so small was when Charlie had—
—he doesn't think of it. He can't. Some part of him knows it, but it's buried down too deeply.
Peter's arms are slowly going around Luna, slowly accepting, drawing her in, inviting her towards himself ever-so-slightly. He isn't good at comfort. He doesn't— know how. But he feels her small frame, how weak and tired, and he wants to help her. He wants to hold her the way he often needs to be held. ]
This is okay. [ He replies softly, lips barely moving, his heart feeling an odd ache of witnessing her vulnerability. It isn't the first time. He'd felt her trembling against him that nightmarish evening in the forest, saw Luna trapped somewhere awful. But this is— different. Neither of them are caught in the whirlwind of their terrors, grasping each other desperately, fingers digging in. This is.. a choice, a plan, a decision made by both of them, to hold one another. Something swells in his chest, and Peter lets it.
Then she's reaching to take his hand and he watches her, hardly moving, not wanting to disturb her as she rests against him. It takes him a moment longer to notice it than she does — he's simply blinking down, wordlessly watching as she turns his hand, explores his digits — and then the boy notices it, too. Red, glinting. A string. It would be enough to frighten him usually, but he's making this discovery with Luna, and something to that fact makes him... braver, makes him okay. The feeling blooms so subtly that he isn't aware that it's spreading outwards once they both see the threads, that the connection between them sparks, that something strengthens. ]
I see it too, [ he murmurs, almost... awed. Peter gently turns his hand, watches the thread vibrate softly, connected to her. ] What... How is that...? [ ...working? How could it possibly exist? It's intangible, and yet it's clearly there; they're both gazing downwards at it. He looks up to meet her moon-eyes then, confused but— not afraid.
There's something else there. He feels it before he sees it, cotton-soft. Melodic, whispers of thoughts. Not his, but in his mind. He should be afraid of this, too, and usually he would be, but— not this time. Peter reaches for Luna's hand then, slips his fingers into hers. The act is almost subconscious; he grasps onto hers both to seek support and to give support. To anchor both of them. The red threads are brought together in the act, caught between their palms. ]
Do you hear that? Someone— talking? Or... almost talking?
[ It's Luna's thoughts, or snippets of them, though he doesn't know yet. 'What is that?' he thinks, and his own mind is a little louder, uncertainties drifting through. ]