At the comment about his birth state, Peter can't help but notice that there are plenty of Arizona residents that look like Peter, and not a single person he'd ever met from Connecticut (not that he's met many) looks anything close to the divine perfection that is Jason McConnell. Maybe his parents had bought a genetically modified son that they could torture into fitting into their tiny box of acceptance. Either way, he would have to send them a card for creating such a perfect specimen. After that, he figures he could throw Jason's father down some stairs. Maybe that would even begin to match some of the welts Peter's seen on Jason's body after spring break, or the way Jason winces when the Terribly Important Mr. McConnell deigns to call and bitch at him about something. Few people in this world make Peter more blindly angry than his boyfriend's parents.

"Art is what I'm going to make when I get out of here," Peter asserts, letting the desire for it to be true swell in his chest. "I think I'm going to take a double-major and just tell my mom I'm majoring in only math." He's thought about this all summer and he's excited to share it with Jason. "It would only take me an extra semester or two and then I can actually do something I like. Maybe theatre or music." He's smiling at the thought, imagining himself in a piano lab or choir or even on stage. Maybe he'd make friends, and maybe those friends would finally get to know his best-kept secret.

"You helped a lot." Peter kisses him again, enjoying the soft noise it makes when they do. "Especially the time that you--" he flushes for a second, laughing, "--stripped. As incentive." He's unable to keep from grinning ear-to-ear.