A mock-thoughtful expression accompanied Peter’s breakdown of the pitfalls of apartment relations before he sipped at his beer, answering the other man’s (probably rhetorical) question with a shrug of his shoulders. Apartment-philes hadn’t been a phenomenon he’d run into before, but he’d also time traveled and was technically a copy of himself in an alternate universe. Stranger things had happened.
“Yeah, it’s great. More than enough room for two. Can’t imagine how you guys managed--well, I guess Rocket’s pretty small.” But that didn’t account for the rest. Scott didn’t know how many Guardians there were, officially; it wasn’t “can fit comfortably in a two bedroom apartment” numbers, that was for sure. Hopefully they’d found somewhere that could accommodate them all - or that this universe hadn’t swallowed them back up. Peter’s past-tense made him hesitant to ask.
Luckily, a knock at the door spared him from having to. “Oop, hold on.” He crossed the kitchen and approached the door, greeting the delivery guy and thanking him as he took custody of his food. When he returned to the counter, he laid out the fries he’d said he’d share - a man was only as good as his word, right?
“So you work for Stark too, huh? Is there a scholarship I should be applying for, or.. ?”