There’s a moment between when he knocks on the window and when it opens, a moment in which Peter’s stomach twists in knots and he begins to question whether or not this is the right idea, but he can’t stop crying, and Adora’s place is the closest, and shit he doesn’t know if he’s bothering her or not and what if she doesn’t want him here, he shouldn’t shoulder all his problems onto her, they’re not her’s to deal with, but he’s SHAKING and he needs SOMEWHERE to go. And then there’s the sound of the window sliding open ( NO GOING BACK NOW ), and Peter locks eyes with Adora, his vision blurred and distorted, but he can clearly make out her worried gaze, and through the ringing in his ears, he hears her say his name.
And that’s when he falls right into her room, climbing through the window and before he knows it, her arms are tight around him, fingers tangling in his hair and tracing his back, and Peter LET’S GO.
He’s still wearing his tattered suit, but his fingers slowly let go of the mask clutched in his hand, and it falls to the ground with a soft thud beside his feet. His voice breaks into a fractured sob, head buried in her shoulder, before he lifts it a little.
“I’m sorry– I’m sorry, I didn’t want to– I don’t wanna just– just come here and– but there was…there was a fire, and I tried, I went in I tried to help but rubble was falling everywhere and I didn’t know what to do and it was messing up my senses and– and I couldn’t stop thinking about when I almost got crushed but I got a little girl out and then– and then I heard somebody DIED and I didn’t stop it– I didn’ stop it Adora, and it was just TOO MUCH INPUT and I didn’t know where else to go so I came here and I’m s o r r y-”
The young hero’s burden finally collapses.
He can’t help the way his grip grows tighter, head hanging as he tries fails to hide wetness of his cheeks and the reddish color that rims his eyes. He didn’t mean for this to happen.
𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐒 𝐀 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐔𝐆𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆. he is the warm fireplace on a frigid night, the sweet - sour lemonade on a sweaty summer day. there is something in his hurt that attracts darkness. deep, heavy, unforgiving, darkness. his blame is painful, judgmental, towards no one but himself.
he places his life in the hands of a jury consisting of nothing and no one but his worst fears. they do their job, they find him guiltyguiltyguilty. here, adora is separate. her own jury, her own judgment, unprejudiced towards peter’s mistakes in a way that he can never be.
please stop blaming yourself, peter. please stop hurting. you do not deserve it. you are good. peter, you are so good. good in every sense of the word. better than me. and this is not your fault. you are doing your best and that is enough. please, pete, be easy on yourself.
so many words unspoken, laying over the tip of her tongue ready to spill. adora is walls up, defenses out, unable to be who she wants to be and say what she wants to say.
“ peter ... ” lips pause, take in a well needed breath. “ peter, you can’t ... ” frustrated noise leaves her tongue, all the words she wants to say overloading her system. body pulls away from his, eyes carefully scanning over every aspect of his features. clickclickclick. the seconds pass by, pink lips gently press to his temple. “ you’re safe, pete. ” blue eyes lock in with his.
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