"Mm, babe, I'm yours," Peter promised gently, palm resting on Wade's cheek. His thumb swept under Wade's eye, and Peter's expression turned into a quiet, contemplative frown. "..Are you okay, Wade? Was it...I mean, was it really bad?"

He knew he didn't want to talk about, but Wade just sounded so...melancholy. Which wasn't unusual, after a panic attack like that but something was...just a little different. Peter was probably imagining things.