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Perry’s never quite been sure where he stands with Peter. They mean a lot to each other, or at least, Peter means a lot to him. That’s part of the issue, actually, how Peter is such a brick wall that even Perry, someone who’s known him since they were kids, can’t get a read on how he feels.
Regardless, Peter really does mean something to Perry, and he’s fairly sure he means something to Peter, too, even if that something isn’t what Perry feels for him. They’ve got a good thing going, have since that second year of high school when their relationship changed from strictly platonic into something more in-between.
At the time, Perry had thought maybe they were moving more into solidly romantic territory, but… well, Peter’s always been sort of weird about things like that. He remembered Peter driving the two of them to his house after school, how they would quickly greet his foster parents and run up to his room. Perry always sat on the bed, even though he knew Peter hated the disorder it caused; he was an exception to the rule, he was special because he was Peter’s. Or, really, he wasn’t Peter’s, but he sort of wanted to be, and Peter knew that and didn’t hate it. Perry thought maybe Peter was one of those types of guys, the type that messed around with other guys but would never commit to actually being with one long-term.
He got rid of those sorts of thoughts quickly; Peter could be noncommittal, but he was still a good guy, and it’s not like they were together. And anyways, Perry wasn’t sure Peter was the kind of guy who wanted to commit to anyone long-term, regardless of if they were a guy or a girl or anything in-between.
So really, Perry’s not sure why it bothered him so much, that weird distance between them that he could never quite get rid of, or why it still bothers him. It’s been a long time since high school, since they first ditched class together to get lunch at a new place Peter had off-handedly mentioned once, since Peter had helped him bleach and dye his dark black hair into his signature teal, since the first time they’d kissed, briefly, and Perry had wondered why Peter had allowed it, allowed any of it, and decided he didn’t care why if it meant it would keep happening. All of it, even the bad parts when Perry tried to subtly steer conversation towards their relationship and Peter gave him his blank, neutral stare until he’d drop it. It was all important to him, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything–anyone–else.
He’s reminded starkly of that fact again, ten years after they’d graduated high school, seeing Peter at work. Here, now, their relationship comes rushing back to him. He tries not to let Peter in on the waves of emotion washing over him, tries to channel that stoicness that always came naturally to Peter. He’s not entirely sure he’s successful, but if he does show something on his face, Peter has the tact not to mention it. He just nods at Perry, like he’s just some regular coworker and not- not-... not whatever they are to each other.
And then he’s walking past Perry, and he realizes that this is it, if he wants to reconnect with his not-even-ex, he actually has to reconnect—he can’t keep waiting for them to get assigned on a mission together, or hoping he’ll see him at the diner, or typing and deleting texts or emails or even faxes that one time and praying that Peter somehow understood Perry wanted him, just the same way he always had. Peter had never understood that, that Perry wanted him; he didn’t understand how anyone could want anyone, and Perry knew that if he wasn’t the one to reach out that Peter never would, it just wasn’t how he was wired.
And so Perry does something impulsive, not at all behaving how a secret agent should, or even just a regular adult. He whips around, grabs Peter’s arm, and drags him out of the hallway and into his office.
Peter doesn’t stop him; he doesn’t even look surprised, really, although he was never one to freely express his emotions. He just follows Perry into the room. He even closes the door behind him, and then locks it, probably sensing Perry’s emotional dysfunction and wanting to keep their interaction private. That thought warms Perry’s heart, just a little, Peter’s simple acts of thoughtfulness reminding him why he liked him so much back then; why he still, somehow, after ten whole years, likes him even now.
Peter turns back around, and Perry opens his mouth to speak, except—he has no idea what to say. How does he even begin to explain what he feels for Peter, this complicated, all-encompassing emotion that isn’t really love but can’t be described in any other way? How does he tell Peter that he thinks about him all the time, randomly, in the middle of the night when he wonders if he’ll ever find love? How does he make Peter understand the depth of his emotions, and more importantly, how does he make him stay?
He’s silent for too long, clearly, because Peter tilts his head at him inquisitively, and god, isn’t that a trip down memory lane. Peter always did that, even back in elementary school, before Perry had learned the sign for a question mark. He used to do it when, in middle school, the science teacher would allow the class to select their own partners for lab projects. He would even do it in high school, catching Perry staring at him while he drove them home, and Perry would resist the urge to tell him he loved him, knowing they were too young for all that, and knowing that Peter didn’t feel the same.
Perry was snapped out of his train of thought by Peter slowly signing a familiar question: Are you okay? He smiled, wryly, which Peter returned, though only barely. It still makes Perry feel lighter, a bit like his first cigarette high, which Peter was also there for, just like practically every other milestone in his life.
“Yes,” he finally answers, voice coming out quieter than he intended, more intimate. He still fumbles a little, opening his mouth a few times before finally forming a real sentence. “I… wanted to congratulate you.” Peter’s eyes are squinting, just barely. “For your assignment. Seattle seems… nice.”
Nice isn’t the word Perry wants to use. What he really wants to say was something more like “Why are you leaving? Isn’t Danville better than Seattle? Aren’t I better? Why can’t we just go back to how things used to be?” But he knew Peter wouldn’t respond well to that: he’d never been good at seeing Perry get emotional, he always sort of just shut down until Perry could get himself together.
Peter was still squinting. Perry didn’t blame him; he wouldn’t believe himself, either. He sighs, not bothering to pretend like things were fine anymore, and instead tries a slightly more honest approach. “I was wondering… to celebrate, we could go out sometime. For lunch?” Peter’s face relaxes, and he nods once, a quick motion.
I’d like that, he signs, and Perry can breathe a little easier, knowing he hadn’t completely fucked things up between them with his awkwardness. When are you free? And that was—a loaded question, honestly, because when wasn’t Perry free for Peter? Not wanting to sound desperate, Perry tries to give a reasonable answer.
“Is next Tuesday good for you?”
Tuesday works, and Perry tries not to smile too much, just letting his mouth twitch up slightly at the corners in the way he knew Peter found funny. Do you have my number? Perry nods, maybe a little too quickly, but Peter doesn’t seem bothered by it. Text me the details, then. And he turns to leave, and Perry suddenly wants more, he wants so much more than just to have a last lunch with Peter, so he calls out as Peter’s leaving.
“I’ll come pick you up!” He immediately feels embarrassment creeping in, but Peter turns back to nod and gives him that slight smile again, and that makes it worth it, so Perry just smiles back and watches as the man he loves walks away from him and thinks maybe he really is fine with this.