[ Poe has known Peter long enough that the nervous hitch isn't anywhere near as subtle as Peter probably means it to be. He feels the languid little tug of soreness as he pushes himself upright, folding his leg as he turns to face Peter. ]

Hey.

[ Poe reaches out, slides his hand around the nape of Peter's neck. ]

I've got the wiggle room. You don't.

[ And as indulgent and reckless as Poe can be, he also understands practicality. ]

I'll be out of your hair so you can leave on time. Don't worry about it, all right?