The dust settled. Peter looked around, blinking, coughing, almost blind. Where was he? Where was Ronan?
“Ronan?” he called. No answer.
“Ronan!” Still no answer. Shit!
“RONAN! WHERE ARE YOU! ANSWER ME!”
“I’m here,” a voice came from behind him.
Peter spun around too fast, almost tripping over his own feet. There he was. His Ronan. All healthy and well.
Peter slung his arms around his lover and pressed his face against the hard armour of the Kree.
Ronan grumbled lowly.
“It’s alright,” he assured. “I am fine.”
“I know,” Peter mumbled, trembling. “I just-… I thought you were dead.”
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