Crinkles outlined his nose as he shook his head in the negative, pulling a face. "Never. Aunt May would have to drag me by my heels to get me anywhere near the garden shed."
Taking the lack of throttling motions as an invitation to sit, Peter pushed at a pot absently with a finger or two as he talked. He wasn't leaping at the chance to plant things right about now, but he couldn't help but fiddle a little. Particularly when he was nervous.
"...Thank you. For..." His lips worked from side to side. This was a hard thing to say. Peter couldn't even work out the specifics of what he was grateful for, or what he felt about the man beside him or even what the hell his opinion on last night as a whole was. There were too many question marks in the equation, and he couldn't help but give an ear to that tiny voice in the back of his head reminding him that this was not a good man. Card carrying villain to his right, don't look now.
And yet every time that voice came up, there was also the blanket stifling it. A universal 'Dude, chill' to the frantic nerves that worked up every time he had to stand still and converse with the likes of the Kingpin, of Norman. He couldn't find it in him to be scared of Harvey anymore.
"...Well, thanks for giving a crap, I guess." So much for eloquence. Peter dropped his head in a hand and ceased all plant-prodding. He was still staring at the ground. "I almost didn't come last night. Not just for - like, everything. The works. Screw the basement. I never want to touch it again."
There was a pause. The words stuck heavily to his teeth as they gritted, ground down on one another. "I'd been hiding behind corners thinking you were going to shoot me."
They weren't bosom buddies. Probably never would be. But, at least on Peter's end, a quiet ease had fallen between the two. Maybe he could trust in that for a while.
no subject
Taking the lack of throttling motions as an invitation to sit, Peter pushed at a pot absently with a finger or two as he talked. He wasn't leaping at the chance to plant things right about now, but he couldn't help but fiddle a little. Particularly when he was nervous.
"...Thank you. For..." His lips worked from side to side. This was a hard thing to say. Peter couldn't even work out the specifics of what he was grateful for, or what he felt about the man beside him or even what the hell his opinion on last night as a whole was. There were too many question marks in the equation, and he couldn't help but give an ear to that tiny voice in the back of his head reminding him that this was not a good man. Card carrying villain to his right, don't look now.
And yet every time that voice came up, there was also the blanket stifling it. A universal 'Dude, chill' to the frantic nerves that worked up every time he had to stand still and converse with the likes of the Kingpin, of Norman. He couldn't find it in him to be scared of Harvey anymore.
"...Well, thanks for giving a crap, I guess." So much for eloquence. Peter dropped his head in a hand and ceased all plant-prodding. He was still staring at the ground. "I almost didn't come last night. Not just for - like, everything. The works. Screw the basement. I never want to touch it again."
There was a pause. The words stuck heavily to his teeth as they gritted, ground down on one another. "I'd been hiding behind corners thinking you were going to shoot me."
They weren't bosom buddies. Probably never would be. But, at least on Peter's end, a quiet ease had fallen between the two. Maybe he could trust in that for a while.