[ Peter hardly looks certain of that, either, if the slight narrowing of his eyes is anything to go by. His voice is a little more solemn when he speaks. ]

I mean, it’d be gone for him, either way. If that me is anything like me-me, it’d feel about the same.

[ At last he looks down at his Walkman and hooks it to his belt, turning his attention to the gift with its familiar blue ribbon, the slightly yellowed, wrinkled envelope slipped into the loop beneath the box. He knows it’s light – it’s always been light – but it’s always felt heavy to him, laden with history and regret and guilt. His gaze moves over the wrinkled, worn, colorful dots on the paper.

He knows what’s inside – or at least, he thinks he knows what’s inside. If it fell out of the portal, who the hell knows what’s in here? But with everything that happened back home, with the way the shit with his father had soured things, he’s not sure if he wants to peel off the giftwrap to reveal the second of Mom’s mix tapes.

Decision made, he exhales quietly, offering Gamora a small, tight-lipped smile. He lets his hand drop, still holding onto the gift – untouched and unopened, as it had been months ago. If it stays unopened, if it stays as he remembers it, then he can almost pretend none of that shit happened, right?

(He may be falling back on old bad habits.) ]

Thanks. For giving me these.