Aeolist: A pompous person who only pretends to have inspiration or spiritual insight. Ignore the pompous part of this definition, this is just playfulness.
"Where are you calling me from?" Gwen wants to know. "That's not your house."
Peter rolls over and holds the phone above him so she can still see him, but his face is framed against the scratchy bedspread under him, tartan and woolly and utterly miserable fabric. He was of the opinion that it had been used as a torture device in some past life. "And that's not your bed," she continues, "unless you're on some sort of Scotland obsession phase. I'm just going to tell you right now that tartan looks hideous on Spandex and it definitely should not be your next choice for a Spiderman makeover."
"It makes me feel closer to you," Peter says, and Gwen scoffs, rolls her eyes, but he can see a little telltale blush wending its way through her freckles, even through the poor quality of the FaceTime call.
"What's that noise?" Gwen wants to know, and Peter curses the thinness of the walls, at the way she can clearly hear the church bells ringing right outside. "You've even got the chapel stuff all synchronized, haven't you?" she asks, grinning as the same sounds spill through her speakers. "You dork."
Peter shrugs, fighting off a grin and admiring the way her mouth quirks up at the corners.
"Maybe I'm just feeling particularly close to God today," he tells her, even though he's never been particularly religious. "Kind of hard not to, when I'm facing an angel such as yourself."
She blushes a bright tomato colour, and Peter can't help it, laughing out loud and dropping the phone on his chest. He picks it up again to find out he's inadvertently hung up.
He shrugs to himself, massaging the sore spot on his sternum as he hops out the window and stuffs his hands in his coat pockets, his eyes trained on Big Ben in the distance as he goes to find Gwen.