[ Peter takes the glass with a nod of gratitude, and at her words, offers a quiet hum of agreement but little else. It goes without saying, he figures, that he would prefer the same.
(He hates being in hospitals. It stirs something cold and nervous in him, makes it a little hard to catch his breath, leaves him a little nauseated and shaken.
The sooner they get out, the better.)
He gulps down the water; even with the IV, he’s still feeling parched, and he hopes it’ll help soothe his headache. He glances up when Gamora speaks again, and he hesitates for a second. ]
You don’t, uh. You could— you know. [ He pauses, shifting over a little. ] Plenty of room.
[ ... there really isn’t, honestly, but there’s room enough, if Peter rolls onto his side. ]
no subject
(He hates being in hospitals. It stirs something cold and nervous in him, makes it a little hard to catch his breath, leaves him a little nauseated and shaken.
The sooner they get out, the better.)
He gulps down the water; even with the IV, he’s still feeling parched, and he hopes it’ll help soothe his headache. He glances up when Gamora speaks again, and he hesitates for a second. ]
You don’t, uh. You could— you know. [ He pauses, shifting over a little. ] Plenty of room.
[ ... there really isn’t, honestly, but there’s room enough, if Peter rolls onto his side. ]