Peter's hands reflexively gather the broken glasses where they're pushed at him, dropping his gaze to look down at them. They're ruined, in the way precious things are -- maybe the hinge can be fixed, the lenses replaced, but then they wouldn't be his dad's glasses anymore. And he feels upset about that, small as it is in comparison to someone dying, and he can feel it rising in his chest, but.

That's the nice thing about being around someone who is crying like a child. It kind of forces you not to come close to the same.

"No, Harry," he says. Renewed conviction. "No way, I wouldn't do that, okay. I'm not gonna do that." He remembers that Harry has been drinking, too, forces himself to remember that. "We should go back to level one, I think, and. Talk about it."