Ill-Made Martyr [Open]

There was a long moment where Maea was quiet, Peter sucking in a thin breath so he could take it back, apologize for... something. Probably for offering in the first place. But before he had the chance to say anything, her fingers brushed his hand, making him flinch back the slightest amount, aware of how his scarred hands must feel.   ”You found it.”Peter pointed out, squirming a little under the praise, but still cautiously delighted by it. ”And it... it matches you.” what came out of his mouth wasn’t exactly what he had wanted to say, but it was close enough, and he was too embarrassed already to try again. Silence grew between them, the company alone more than enough for Peter to be comfortable. His gaze wandered aimlessly, moving over Maea as often as if didn’t. But always seeming to search for something in her, whatever it was slipping away as his eyes did. Peter looked up when rain was mentioned, his focus held almost completely by the dark clouds rolling in. He wasn’t so distracted that he missed the word home though, Peters eyes dropping back down to meet the light gaze on him. In one smooth motion, he was on his feet, his hands held awkwardly at his sides, like he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I’m ready.” He said softly. He was almost afraid the offer would be snatched away if he mentioned if too much, and stayed quiet because of it. Peter The only thing I know is this: I am full of wounds and still standing on my feet.