He could feel the sympathy in her voice, the pity; it made his skin crawl and his jaw clench, but he said nothing. He used to watch peoples faces when they found out, searching for someone who understood, and they always started with pity. The pity would only ever deepen into uncertainty and then disbelief, disappointment, scornful eyerolling, because really, vampires? He must be mad, or seeking attention. And Peter hated it, hated the way people looked at him, because no one ever truly got it, until Charley.
Here with Henley, he had to bite his tongue to hold in the defensive snapping at her offer of comfort. He was trying to accept the sincerity in her voice, trying to let himself believe in her believing him. Henley was excellent on the stage, didn't take crap, and was open-minded. To him, they had a comfortable relationship, as far as roommates went. He wanted to trust her, and he almost thought he did, but it didn't come easily. Either way, he didn't like feeling so vulnerable and the back forth of wanting to trust her and wanting to hold back was giving him a headache. So, grim-faced, he just focused on the wound, as though she hadn't spoken. She didn't need more than the bullet points either way.
"I don't know about being good with it," he commented, glancing up at her. "One of the medics would be better, but... it's not exactly standard first aid." He set the rag aside, turning her arm to examine the now cleaned wound. "I'll need to see if I can nick some things from the medic truck, but this'll have to do to start." He looked her in the eye. "I've not got much experience with zombie bites. Best I can think to do for now is keep it clean. Do you know what to look out for for an infection?"