There's a flush to his cheeks, his heart pounding in his chest at that question. He wants to argue it, but he doesn't get the chance, because then Roman is lifting him into the air. Peter knows the lift almost as well as breathing, and he move into it. The way that he shifts into Roman just so, that slight movement to his legs as he extends, that tension in his calves, and then Roman's setting him back down, his landing soft, though Peter knows that even more than before, their energy is off.

It's more than that. It's how Peter is hard in his tights, how his face is faintly flushed and his heart is racing, his blood thrumming in his vein like the tempo of Olivia's metronome that she breaks out whenever she feels that they're being particularly ineffective. She hasn't stopped them yet, which is startling, considering that even Peter can tell that they're off worse than usual.

"It doesn't mean what you think it does." Peter reiterates in a whisper. "He wouldn't have let me come, you know." It was half a lie. Because it did mean something. It meant exactly what Roman thought that it did.