[ it's something. a handle that's more of a makeshift sling for emotion, but peter's always been good about pretending he's more than he is, believing it too. the sad truth is, he can barely contain it, all this grief anf guilt, and no doubt there's bleeding sensation regardless, loud between the both of them. but it's better than juno spilling over without some kind of stopper.

his wrist feels like a vise, but one peter doesn't want to be free from. his other hand catches his elbow. digs a little with his thumb. are you real but without words, just stepping closer because the proximity makes this easier, makes him ache a little less from the mounting pressure. they feel separate but together in a different way now, divided. juno doesn't feel like elliot, wound up in him too tightly to untangle.

it's almost a little disheartening.

peter's fingers flex against him, thumb smoothing out over a gloved hand.

—anyone that died, that's— ]

Beyond your control. [ regretfully, but not at juno, and tenderly than he should probably offer him, but peter can't find it in himself to be bitter or angry or anything but rueful: ] I need you to focus.

[ each word enunciated slowly, clearly. he's no doubt that juno can hear him, doesn't need to be spoken to like a child, but it's to cement the words in his mind somewhere among the guilt the comes off of him. less so than before (but because he siphons it into himself, isn't that so). peter's veil sways back and forth as he shakes his head, clutches onto juno in a way he privately wishes he could have in a moment long past sunrise, but knows wouldn't have been right in the end. ]

Whatever it is that's happening... is not something we can change by fixating on it in this moment. Do you understand?