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Summary
And then—
“…Peter.”
Spoken low. Almost like a breath.
Peter froze.
Not because it was his name. But because of the way it sounded—gritted, quiet, like the shape of it caught on the edge of something that meant.
Not Hale. Not “you bastard.” Not the usual contempt he wielded like a shield. Just Peter.
Intimate.
Heavy.
Peter didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just watched.
Series
- Part 3 of Petopher Oneshots
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