[ There’s something about her tone that sets him on edge (even if he’s glad that whatever is on her mind is keeping her from going into “You’re being too reckless, and you need to get your shit together, Peter” mode). He watches as she opens up the capsule, as she explains where it came from, and he wonders for a second why this is making her as weird as it is.
Like, why does she think it’s his? Is it a shrunken head with “For Star-Lord” written on its brow? Is it some weird, embarrassing thing from his past, like a shameful photo or vid? Despite himself, he’s worried as she unfastens the latch, and he studies her face. Only when she turns the capsule toward him does he tear his gaze away, glancing down at the contents—
And he freezes.
It seems he’s forgotten how to breath, how to blink, how to even function, because for a long while, all he can do is stare, still as a statue.
The first thing out of his mouth: ]
That’s...
[ And even this is barely voiced, carried on a croak. It takes a while before he can rally himself again, and he lurches to life, stepping closer and reaching up a hand to the capsule’s base. If his hand rests atop Gamora’s he barely notices, stunned as he is. ]
That’s— that’s impossible.
[ Though even as he says it, he’s marking out the little flaws that identify his Walkman. The tiny imperfections, the little scratches, the slight yellowing of the label on the cassette tape. Mom’s handwriting in blue ink. The spots on the polka dotted giftwrap where the pattern had been worn away by time.
It’s definitely all his, but— he the last time he saw his Walkman, it was crushed into pieces, littering the floor of Ego’s palace.
He feel like he can barely breathe, his throat closing up, his heart pounding in his chest. ]
no subject
Like, why does she think it’s his? Is it a shrunken head with “For Star-Lord” written on its brow? Is it some weird, embarrassing thing from his past, like a shameful photo or vid? Despite himself, he’s worried as she unfastens the latch, and he studies her face. Only when she turns the capsule toward him does he tear his gaze away, glancing down at the contents—
And he freezes.
It seems he’s forgotten how to breath, how to blink, how to even function, because for a long while, all he can do is stare, still as a statue.
The first thing out of his mouth: ]
That’s...
[ And even this is barely voiced, carried on a croak. It takes a while before he can rally himself again, and he lurches to life, stepping closer and reaching up a hand to the capsule’s base. If his hand rests atop Gamora’s he barely notices, stunned as he is. ]
That’s— that’s impossible.
[ Though even as he says it, he’s marking out the little flaws that identify his Walkman. The tiny imperfections, the little scratches, the slight yellowing of the label on the cassette tape. Mom’s handwriting in blue ink. The spots on the polka dotted giftwrap where the pattern had been worn away by time.
It’s definitely all his, but— he the last time he saw his Walkman, it was crushed into pieces, littering the floor of Ego’s palace.
He feel like he can barely breathe, his throat closing up, his heart pounding in his chest. ]
Someone just— gave this to you?