He’s getting less nervous as he goes along. Partially because oh my god Héctor, you can’t just casually say you’re homeless like that. Peter is officially Concerned about you.

“That makes sense,” he says, rubbing at the back of his neck. “That’s how the Avengers phrased it when they found me.” More like they’d been desperate enough to draft a fifteen-year-old but. Details. He has more important things to ask, like —“Why the hell were you homeless? Are you okay?”

Deeply concerned about you, Héctor.