"Yeah, sure, I'm fine." There's a wave of fingers and he forces a smile, but it's a convenient lie.
No, he's totally fucked, but that's nothing to worry about. He distinctly has that feeling of being the oddman out, here. It's the inverse of the creepy feeling he got with Letha, who always paid too much attention to him. Instead, he's on the other side watching Roman flirt with Lydia. She's a nice girl, or, Banshee, or whatever. Pretty, too.
He's not jealous, so much as he is overcome with a feeling that he ought sit on his hands for fear of somehow putting them where they don't belong. He knows enough to know that sliding away to give them space is about the worst fucking choice he can make. So, he smiles and tries to make it stick.
(He might be jealous; it's just not something he understands.)
"But he's right. It's how we make a living." There's a joke there, in the twist of his lips he uses to downplay that tension that scrapes at what Peter allows himself to notice.
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No, he's totally fucked, but that's nothing to worry about. He distinctly has that feeling of being the oddman out, here. It's the inverse of the creepy feeling he got with Letha, who always paid too much attention to him. Instead, he's on the other side watching Roman flirt with Lydia. She's a nice girl, or, Banshee, or whatever. Pretty, too.
He's not jealous, so much as he is overcome with a feeling that he ought sit on his hands for fear of somehow putting them where they don't belong. He knows enough to know that sliding away to give them space is about the worst fucking choice he can make. So, he smiles and tries to make it stick.
(He might be jealous; it's just not something he understands.)
"But he's right. It's how we make a living." There's a joke there, in the twist of his lips he uses to downplay that tension that scrapes at what Peter allows himself to notice.