Spending any amount of time in his room was enough to make Peter cranky. He was continuously shuffling things around that belonged to him but didn't; newspapers with faces removed and ones that were cut to shreds, clippings that had been taped onto the walls. Strings that had been balled up while others seemed to try to tell tales of timelines that belonged to everyone he knew. Apparently he goes insane in the future, and sometimes all Peter can do is sit and stare at the man who's him and yet not; all the pieces that made this person's life. All the things that made sense to him and didn't, along with his own souvenirs shoved into the corner - a sword in the corner that was everything Adam had ever been. Save for the vial which he kept in his pocket.

Everything had shifted however, with the return of another bout of memories, ones that sat oddly at the pit of his stomach. Another father that had left him - not him - behind, brothers that made as much sense to him as aliens probably would. It left his temples aching, discontent if only because he related too much. it always stung that much worse when he could relate. It always made him feel as if he needed to make sense of it, find the other person until he understood.

Apparently he wouldn't have to go out to do that much.

A knock at his door and Peter was up onto his feet. He'd never had so many visits as he'd had as of late, and honestly, he told himself not to be too terribly surprised when he opened the door to someone he'd never met before. "Something tells me that you're the guy inside my head."

"No, you don't--" Peter shook his head all too suddenly, not wanting Ned to have to apologize for something that wasn't his fault. Despite having someone else's feelings, memories, crammed inside his head, no one needed to apologize for it.

"You don't have to be sorry, come on in."

Waving Ned inside his room, the place was nearly empty save for everything that was crammed over to one side -- all of his future self's shit. From balled up paper and yarn to newspapers cut to shreds, it was a slight mess, however contained. Not to mention a pile of black clothing pushed even further away. His own things were on the opposite side. All and all, not excessively cosy. But Peter still sat down on the bed containing the heaped up mess, leaving the rest of the room available.

"It wouldn't even be rude if all of this wasn't going on. I'm from New York, everyone drops in on everyone else unexpectedly."

Peter shrugged, trying to be easy going about this whole thing even if it continued to be awkward with... pretty much everyone. Even if he knew, logically, it was no one's fault, it was still a strain on his emotional wellbeing. A fact that he was keeping buried because nobody needed to care - needed to know - but being stuck with memories that practically twisted in around his own made it that much stranger. As if it was suddenly had to decipher who he was amongst all the other things he had to keep track of.

"Besides, it's not like I don't know why you're here." Trying to be evasive was stupid. Peter just stretched his legs out in front of him, looking at Ned - he'd passed the proverbial talking stick along. Now it was Ned's turn.