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Maybe the sky is falling.
Maybe he's only now noticing.
Peter didn't remember locking himself in the ship's bathroom, but he was still living out why. Breathing erratic, hands shaking, mind running a million miles an hour. He couldn't even recall why he was panicking, but now he was panicking over panicking.
Fucking perfect.
His head was spinning, he knew it was getting worse. He didn't know why. He never knew why. If he could just know why he'd be fine. He clutched the sink.
"It's fine." He repeated to himself. "Everything's fine. Everything is fine. Everything should be fine. I need to-"
There was a knock on the door.
"Peter, darling?" It was Buddy. "Could you let me in?"
He let out a breath he didn't realise he'd been holding. Cliche as it was, he didn't want Buddy to see him like this. He didn't want anyone to see him like this.
"I'm fine, Buddy, I promise." The shake in his voice gave him away.
He eyed his reflection in the mirror. When had he cried? His mascara had run down his face, his lipstick was smudged to hell and back. No one should see him like this.
"Peter." She said, voice stern and steady. "Open the door."
"I don't think I can."
"Fine." She said, and with one swift kick she'd knocked the door open.
Peter's eyes flickered from the door to her in disbelief. Her amber hair was pulled into a ponytail, and her usual satin dress was replaced with a nightgown. Right, it was late. He'd half forgotten. Most of the crew had changed after the mission.
"H-how did you-"
Before he could say anything, she jumped up on the counter beside the sink.
"Tell me what's going on, Peter."
Peter laughed, a short and inauthentic thing.
"I don't know where to start." He said honestly.
"We have all night."
Maybe the sky is falling.
Maybe it doesn't matter.
Maybe people will help him with the aftermath.