Peter's skin is soft beneath your fingers, a little tattered but soft and smooth, warm. One of his hands gripped your hip, holding you as close to him as possible without him falling off of the couch while his other hand cupped your cheek. One of his legs was pushed between yours, helping him hover over top of you while his lips moved in sync with yours. He tasted of minty cinnamon thanks to his toothpaste. His lips are chapped as they usually were but you never minded. Chapped lips or not, makeout sessions with Peter were nothing but perfect. Well, usually.

As you went to move your hands from under his shirt to his hair, Peter detached his lips from yours abruptly and stared into your eyes.

"Wait. I remembered something." His eyes grew wide and you suddenly became very aware of how sore your cheeks were. "So, fun fact. I read today that people can die from a broken heart and it's actually called broken heart syndrome." Peter starts rambling and you just furrow your brows, your hands barely grasping the fabric of his shirt that hung at his sides. "It's these tiny vessels that help hold the heart together and you know when something really hurts, emotionally, you can't breathe and your chest physically hurts? Yeah, that's why. It rarely ever happens. It usually happens with couples who have been together for a really long time or a parent who loses their child. But, anyway, these tiny vessels, or strings if you will, help with blood flow and the second they snap, the heart isn't able to pump right and the person dies. It's the literal emotional strain and your body doesn't know how to understand it, it just knows it needs to get the pain out. So, you're heart actually hurts."

You stare at the disheveled hair boy above you and shake your head slightly. "Do you ever not kill the mood?" You question with a soft laugh.

"Sorry, I, uh, I just found it interesting and-"

"It's okay." You push up to kiss his cheek before laying back. "But, why did you even read that? Where did you read that?"

"Oh," Peter shrugs. "I wanted to know if it were actually possible to die from a broken heart." His words are nonchalant and you just continue staring at him with complete confusion.

"Okay...but....why?"

"You'll say I worry too much." Peter's thumb rubs against your cheek with his words, the enthusiasm he held seconds ago, completely gone.

"You do worry too much." You scoff. "But I expect nothing less. I'd be worried if you didn't worry. So, what's got that brain of yours so worried about dying?"

Peter licks his bottom lip before bending his elbow to lay on his side, you moving to face him while his arm goes around your neck. "I'm not gonna come home one day, so...ya know...got curious."

You sigh and cup his cheek with one hand. "First of all, you shouldn't think so negatively, it's not healthy and second, I'll always be okay. If you die, I have no doubt you will find a way to either come back completely or sneak up on me in ghost form to yell, 'hey! Fun fact!' and follow it with something about the afterlife." Your mouth tugs into a sarcastic grin.

Peter puts his head against your shoulder, shaking it as he chuckles. "Always the optimist." Peter says after pulling away.

"I try." You peck his nose. "But really, please don't think about dying. It's actually making me sad." You chew on the inside of your cheek with your words. You knew he was right; you knew he wouldn't come home one day but you always pushed it out of your head.

"No," Peter whines, peppering your face in kisses as you giggle. "I'm sorry, never again." Peter shakes his head and wraps his arm tightly around you to bring you into his chest.

"Good." You mumble into him. "Anyway, we were in the middle of something." You lift your head up to look at him and a crooked smile is plastered across his face.

"Right." Peter says before loosening his grasp on you and colliding his lips with yours.