[ He follows after her, and after months of practically living on top of each other in the small space of the Milano, by now, Peter hardly notices when he and Gamora end up side-by-side, or if their shoulders brush as they pass one another one the way from one end of their shared room to the other. Even their brief time with the wider accommodations of the Quadrant left them sitting hip to hip more often than not.
It's easy. It’s comfortable. And with Peter being a tactile person, the quiet points of contact soothe something in him.
Peter’s about to take a seat against the arm of the couch when she asks after the remote, and he purses his lips as he thinks back on it. ]
Uhhh.
[ He drags the word out as he sifts back through to last evening, and he leaves his plate on the small table. Instead of taking a seat, he picks through the pillows on the couch, and— yep. There it is, wedged between the seat cushions. ]
Gotcha. [ As he plucks it up, holding it out to her. ] I’ll let you pick the poison.
no subject
It's easy. It’s comfortable. And with Peter being a tactile person, the quiet points of contact soothe something in him.
Peter’s about to take a seat against the arm of the couch when she asks after the remote, and he purses his lips as he thinks back on it. ]
Uhhh.
[ He drags the word out as he sifts back through to last evening, and he leaves his plate on the small table. Instead of taking a seat, he picks through the pillows on the couch, and— yep. There it is, wedged between the seat cushions. ]
Gotcha. [ As he plucks it up, holding it out to her. ] I’ll let you pick the poison.