( Whatever's haunting the younger boy has clearly shaken him. Peter's frown deepens as Oscar's fingers grasp onto his own, those little tremours passing through. It's most often he's on the other end of it — so quietly trembling, needing a hand to reach out and take hold of his, keep him connected to something.

Now it's his turn, and it comes strangely naturally for him now. He doesn't even have to think about the way his hand tightens against Oscar's, warm and secure. Protective, even. He wants to protect him from whatever's upsetting him. He's not even sure Oscar knows who he is; it doesn't matter. Things are strange and dreamlike, and he holds onto the younger's hand through it.

And he understands the reply. Peter's dark eyes slowly travel around the room, following that hazy stare. )

No... you're right. I don't think this place is safe.

( There's... something wrong here. Peter may not have seen it for himself the way Oscar has, but the Thing inside him knows. Senses it. If Luna weren't here, Peter wouldn't be able to stay. )

But... right now, on this sofa. This moment. You're safe. I won't let anything hurt you.