(Untitled)

[morelikeasponge]

Peter is brooding. In a dark corner. In a black jacket with an upturned collar. With his hair in his face.

The pink straw in his beer kind of ruins the effect.

He's this close to writing poetry. Stop Peter Petrelli from writing godawful lovesick poetry...save the world.

Comments

[waylostandfound]

Oh man. The thing is? Nathan remembered Peter getting like this. It was worse when he was a teenager.

So there was a hand on Peter's shoulder.

"All right, what's going on now, Pete?"

[morelikeasponge]

Peter looks despairing.

Sullenly: "You wouldn't understand."

[waylostandfound]

"Come on, Peter. Don't do this to yourself." Nathan insisted, "What is it? Something happen back home?"

[morelikeasponge]

He mutely shakes his head. His bangs flop back and forth.

Count down the seconds, Nathan: 5...4...3...

"I'm in love with someone."

[puckishly]

Puck blinks over at him, curiously.

And smiiiiiiiles.

Trying not to look too much as if he's about to dissolve into giggles, he says, "Whatever are you doing, Peter Petrelli?"

[morelikeasponge]

"Nothing," says Peter, listlessly.

He remembers something, and perks up long enough to say, "Oh. Your wife tried to tell me we were married, when I had amnesia. That's not a problem, is it?"

[puckishly]

Puck's lips twitch.

"I am sure our relationship shall emerge all the stronger for it," he assures Peter, deadpan.

[morelikeasponge]

"Okay," says Peter, as though this makes sense in any way.

At least someone's love life is going well.

"That's good."

[hatchingviper]

Deitmar is searching for a peaceful corner himself, backpack over his shoulder.

If he knew there was someone due to perpetrate godawful lovesick poetry, he would probably be committing acts of violence. Anyway, he comes across Peter while looking for a place to sit, and momentarily recoils. It's the angle of the shadowed shape with the upturned collar and hair everywhere. He's seen creatures like that lurking at home.

[morelikeasponge]

Most of those creatures probably lack slumped shoulders, long and immaculately groomed bangs, and tragic eyes.

Peter looks up. The recoil catches his eye. He is, after all, extremely sensitive to rejection at the moment.

[hatchingviper]

The dark corner, alas, swallowed much of the detail.

"Wasn't sure what was there for a moment." Deitmar shrugs. "Drink?"

Hey, if you'd had his evening and gotten the wallet of the person who hit you over the head and read you poetry? You'd be buying drinks for random people too.

[morelikeasponge]

Peter brightens with disturbing speed.

"Thanks."

He's almost done with his pink-bestraw'd beer, anyway.