[ Ordinarily, Peter wouldn't ask. Not to a stranger, not when he's already so afraid. But this.... most definitely isn't Peter, not fully, anyway. And though this persona (if that's what it could be called at all) is shy in its ways, also wary of strangers, it's less filtered by social norms and strangeness. It wants a hand to hold, needs it, and this man seems safe, as safe as a stranger possibly can, anyway.
The boy gives another slight movement of his head forwards, not quite a true nod but perhaps meant as the gesture. Before his fingers wrap gently around the other's pair, with a grasp that's almost feather-soft at first, timid. Then it tightens just a little bit, holding on childlike, and very willingly letting himself be guided by the man. The clear instruction that Midnight gives helps immensely, a warning of things to come. Step by step, a path to follow. It soothes certain pinpricks of anxiety within Peter, of the unknown.
So he walks with the man, shuffling slowly forwards, body remaining tense as he looks nervously around the unfamiliar area. Nighttime makes everything seem worse. Scarier — so many places for things to hide. Shadows warping the true shape of things, stretching them out longer and more strange. It's difficult to know what's real, but there's one thing that certainly is. The grasp of the other man's hand, solid and real in Peter's fingers.
And perhaps it grounds him a bit, helps clear some of the fogginess in ways. He's frowning quietly in thought, speaking up again after several long moments of silence. ]
Was there... a train? I was on a train...? Were you?
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The boy gives another slight movement of his head forwards, not quite a true nod but perhaps meant as the gesture. Before his fingers wrap gently around the other's pair, with a grasp that's almost feather-soft at first, timid. Then it tightens just a little bit, holding on childlike, and very willingly letting himself be guided by the man. The clear instruction that Midnight gives helps immensely, a warning of things to come. Step by step, a path to follow. It soothes certain pinpricks of anxiety within Peter, of the unknown.
So he walks with the man, shuffling slowly forwards, body remaining tense as he looks nervously around the unfamiliar area. Nighttime makes everything seem worse. Scarier — so many places for things to hide. Shadows warping the true shape of things, stretching them out longer and more strange. It's difficult to know what's real, but there's one thing that certainly is. The grasp of the other man's hand, solid and real in Peter's fingers.
And perhaps it grounds him a bit, helps clear some of the fogginess in ways. He's frowning quietly in thought, speaking up again after several long moments of silence. ]
Was there... a train? I was on a train...? Were you?