"It's something alright," Peter says with a shrug of his shoulders, stealing a glance at the blond on the other side of Lydia. It's easier not to think about how he feels about Roman, to be perfectly honest, so Peter is just going to keep doing that. If he doesn't think about it, it's less confining, less like the weight of caring about what someone needs.

When it comes to Roman, calm goes pretty much right out the fucking window, so Peter settles for affected disinterest instead. They could be anywhere, and the fact that he's an armslength from Roman with a redhead between them is neither here nor there. She tucks her legs against him and he thoughtlessly drums a twitchy rhythm into her ankle.

Too much goddamn history was what it was.