Soup is food. I mean, you're talking to a guy who's eaten a condiment sandwich on more than one occasion, so this is gourmet to me.

[He doesn't mind getting lectured. He's used to it from anyone who's ever known his secret identity. Plus, she's noticed his injury, even if she doesn't know the extent of it.]

I think I can handle it. Same with you sitting on the bed. My leg is fine.

[He tries to move it to prove that he's okay, but he still ends up moving more gingerly than he'd like. Peter takes the lid off of the cup of soup and takes a sip of it, sighing as the heat seeped into his chest.]