The nearest neighbor being a mile away-- it's something Peter hadn't actually noticed on the drive in. He'd been so exhausted, so mentally strung out from the after-effects of imprisonment and breaking out of the Company cells. The knowledge has him gusting out a sigh of relief.
He doesn't know how big the radius is of Ted's power. Nathan had been thinking a specific figure, somewhere in the millions, Peter had heard the whispers of it in his mind. It means the explosion would have been pretty fucking big. Big enough that a mile distance wouldn't help much.
Still. It's something.
After Adam pulls his hand away, Peter's skin aches in the wake of it. He has to stuff his hands between his knees to force himself not to reach out again. Months in that cell has him so starving for human touch he barely knows how to handle it, and Adam is warm and gentle and his voice is so soft, and the emotional feel of him is so steady and reassuring. Fuck.
"Are you kidding? No, that bed's big enough to fit five of us, we can share," Peter insists. He puts his plate aside, and starts closing up containers of food. He's stuffed, too, and all he wants is to sleep, and he kind of immediately regrets the offer to share because now he can't stop thinking about the ramifications of sharing a bed, but it's the right thing to do. "Besides, you were in that cell for decades. You deserve a proper bed."
Seriously. Decades.
"I promise I'm not an annoying sleeper," Peter adds, a half-grin quirked at the edge of his lips.
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He doesn't know how big the radius is of Ted's power. Nathan had been thinking a specific figure, somewhere in the millions, Peter had heard the whispers of it in his mind. It means the explosion would have been pretty fucking big. Big enough that a mile distance wouldn't help much.
Still. It's something.
After Adam pulls his hand away, Peter's skin aches in the wake of it. He has to stuff his hands between his knees to force himself not to reach out again. Months in that cell has him so starving for human touch he barely knows how to handle it, and Adam is warm and gentle and his voice is so soft, and the emotional feel of him is so steady and reassuring. Fuck.
"Are you kidding? No, that bed's big enough to fit five of us, we can share," Peter insists. He puts his plate aside, and starts closing up containers of food. He's stuffed, too, and all he wants is to sleep, and he kind of immediately regrets the offer to share because now he can't stop thinking about the ramifications of sharing a bed, but it's the right thing to do. "Besides, you were in that cell for decades. You deserve a proper bed."
Seriously. Decades.
"I promise I'm not an annoying sleeper," Peter adds, a half-grin quirked at the edge of his lips.