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Sometimes, Peter thinks that Matt's an empath and he just doesn't know it. Either that, or Peter's just so laid bare, and Matt's gotten scary good at reading him. Maybe it's a heart rate thing, or a breathing thing, or a pheromones thing. Or maybe it's all three. He's not sure. All he knows is that when his bones are straining and screaming under the weight of the lives he's let slip through his fingers no matter how hard he tries to get them to stick, Matt's there. And he doesn't talk, he doesn't ask questions or press for the answers. They both know what kind of answers he'll get.
“Matt, it's all my fault.”