Chapter 5
The sound of pointe shoes tapping against the cracked pavement echoed softly as Gwen exited the ballet studio, her duffel bag slung over one shoulder and a light sweat clinging to her collarbones. She tugged at the collar of her sweatshirt, her hair still pinned up, the city’s neon glow washing over her skin. Ballet had drained her in the best way—she felt strong, focused, and light on her feet.
Her phone buzzed.
PETER: “Can’t make it to the rave tonight. Sorry G. Rain check?”
She blinked at the message. “Seriously?” she mumbled, staring at the screen. It wasn’t like Peter to cancel last minute, but… whatever. She wasn’t going to let it ruin her night.
The rave was already thumping in the distance—deep bass rolling through the alleys like thunder. She ducked into a quiet corner to change out of her leotard and tights, trading them for cargo pants, combat boots, and a cropped hoodie. Spider-Woman’s suit was stuffed safely in the bottom of her bag, just in case.
The warehouse was already pulsing when she arrived, lights flickering in purples and reds, the scent of sweat, smoke, and something sweet wafting through the air. She weaved through the crowd easily, familiar with the layout by now. Her bandmates weren’t there tonight, but she didn’t mind dancing alone.
She had barely found her rhythm when a familiar voice came from behind.
“You really do love these places.”
She turned. Miles.
He stood a little apart from the chaos, wearing black with that usual ease—hood up, eyes sharp, lips tilted just enough to look amused. Gwen’s stomach flipped, but she shoved her hands in her pockets and played it cool.
“I could say the same about you,” she replied, raising an eyebrow.
He chuckled. “Touché.”
Their eyes lingered for a moment too long. Gwen finally broke it.
“You wanna get some air?” she asked, the music suddenly too loud, too much.
He nodded once. “Lead the way.”
They climbed the rusted metal stairs to the rooftop. The night air hit them in a cool wave, and Gwen took a deep breath. Below, the city lights stretched out like stars. Music still pounded beneath their feet, but it was muffled here—farther away, more distant.
Miles leaned on the edge of the rooftop, his hands in his pockets, the glow of a red sign catching on his jawline. Gwen stood beside him, trying not to overthink it.
“You come here a lot.” he said after a minute.
“Yeah. It’s… freeing.”
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I get that.”
They stood in silence for a beat longer before Gwen dared to glance sideways. “You’re not as cold as you try to look, y’know.”
Miles smiled faintly. “And you’re not as tough.”
Gwen shoved him lightly with her elbow. “Shut up.”
“You shut up,” he said—teasing, quiet. But then his gaze softened.
Neither of them spoke. The moment hovered. Then, slowly, like they both moved at the same time, Gwen stepped closer. And Miles didn’t move away.
The rooftop lights below flickered in rhythm with the rave’s heartbeat. Gwen leaned against the cold ledge, her face just inches from Miles’s. For a second, the world went still.
Then he kissed her.
It started soft—almost tentative. His lips brushed hers like he was checking if this was really okay. Gwen melted into it, her fingers curling into the fabric of his hoodie, holding him like she was afraid he might disappear.
But he didn’t.
He stepped closer instead, one hand cupping the side of her neck, the other slipping around her waist, and the kiss deepened. Gwen’s heart fluttered in her chest, spinning with the thrill of it, the dizzying closeness, the way her whole body hummed at his touch.
They pulled apart slowly, breaths mingling in the cool air.
Miles looked at her, really looked at her. “Gwen,” he said, voice quiet but steady, “before this goes any further… I need you to know something.”
Her stomach tightened. “Okay,” she said cautiously.
“I’m not looking for anything serious,” he said, the words falling heavy between them. “No long-term stuff. No... promises.”
Gwen blinked.
He was still close—still holding her—but his words sank like a stone in her chest. Her mind scrambled for something to say. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected… but it wasn’t that.
“Oh,” she said after a beat. “Right. Yeah. Me neither.”
She forced a smile, hoping it didn’t crack.
“Cool,” Miles said, his eyes lingering on hers for a second too long—like maybe he saw the lie. But he didn’t call her on it. Instead, he kissed her again.
This time was different.
His lips were warmer, more certain. His hands moved slower, more deliberate. Gwen’s pulse raced as she let him guide her gently down to the rooftop floor, her jacket cushioning her against the concrete.
Every movement was careful, like he was memorizing her. There was no rush, no fumbling. Just heat, and closeness, and the quiet beat of music from far below them like a distant echo. Gwen’s breath caught as she gave herself over to the moment, to him.
And for a little while, it felt like everything was perfect.
She felt wanted. Seen.
But when it was over, when their bodies stilled and her heartbeat finally began to settle, reality crept back in.
Miles sat up first, pulling his hoodie back on. Gwen watched him from where she still lay, shirt bunched near her ribs, hair messy from the wind.
He didn’t meet her eyes.
“Thanks,” he said, like he wasn’t sure what else to say.
“Yeah,” she replied, voice soft.
Then he stood, adjusted his cuffs, and looked at her one last time.
“Take care, Gwendy.”
And with that, he disappeared down the stairs, the rooftop door clicking shut behind him.
Gwen stared at the sky for a long moment, jaw clenched, eyes blinking back something that felt dangerously close to tears.
She didn’t cry.
She just laid there—empty, a little colder than before—wishing she hadn’t lied.
The police scanners blared through Gwen’s earpiece as she zipped across the city skyline, her heart still a tangled knot in her chest.
“Prowler spotted near East 108th and Malcolm—officers en route—repeat, officers en route—”
She clenched her fists tighter as she swung onto a rooftop overlooking the chaos. Cops scrambled below, shouting into radios and forming barricades, and right at the center of it all—like a bad itch she couldn’t scratch—was him.
Prowler.
He stood on the roof of a delivery truck, arms crossed like he was waiting for her. The sleek black-and-purple suit shimmered beneath the streetlights, that damn mask tilted ever so slightly.
“I was wondering when you’d show up,” he called, voice distorted through the modulator but somehow still smug.
Gwen landed with a solid thud across from him, eyes blazing behind her mask. “Don’t you have something better to do than annoy half the city every week?”
“Not really,” he said with a lazy shrug. “Besides, it’s not half the city. Just the parts you show up in.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice playfully. “Maybe I like being wherever you are, cariño.”
Gwen’s face burned under her mask.
Not today.
She was not in the mood for this. Not after everything.
“Save it,” she snapped, already springing forward to throw the first punch. “I’m not here for your crap tonight.”
“Oof,” he said, dodging easily. “Someone’s cranky. Rough day?”
They exchanged a flurry of blows—her swift and sharp, his heavier, more methodical. The streetlights flickered as they crashed against the metal scaffolding of the construction site.
“Seriously,” he said, ducking a kick, “if you needed to blow off steam, you could’ve just called me. We both know I’m better than one-night stands.”
Gwen froze mid-swing.
Her breath caught in her throat.
He didn’t know. There was no way he could know. But that jab hit too close to home—way too close—and for one terrifying second, she wondered…
Her hesitation gave him the opening.
He swept her legs out, sending her crashing onto the gravel below. But she flipped up quickly, shaking off the sting in her spine, fists trembling.
“Oh, you think you’re clever,” she muttered, hurling a web to yank him off his feet.
Prowler tumbled with a grunt but landed on his feet like a cat. “Just a lucky guess,” he said, brushing dust off his shoulder. “But now I’m curious. Someone break your heart, Spider-Girl?”
Her eyes narrowed, and a bitter smirk tugged at her lips.
“No,” she said sweetly. “I just had a really great time without any strings. Maybe you should try it sometime—if you could ever get someone to touch you.”
That stung, and she saw it—just a flicker of a pause.
She took advantage of it. Hit him hard, then harder again, slamming him into the side of a truck.
“Keep running your mouth,” she snarled, pinning him down with her foot on his chest. “See where it gets you.”
Prowler chuckled under the weight of her. “Right here, apparently.”
But he didn’t fight back this time. He just triggered his smoke bomb, disappearing into a cloud of purple mist.
By the time the smoke cleared, he was gone.
But Gwen didn’t care.
Because this time?
She won.
The walls of the studio trembled with every beat of Reina’s guitar riff, but Gwen’s sticks lagged behind just half a second too long.
Again.
She cursed under her breath and tried to catch up.
“Okay, okay—pause,” Lynn called out, raising her hand like a traffic cop. “Gwen, you’re playing like a zombie today. You good?”
Dezi glanced over from the keyboard, twirling a strand of red hair. “Did you forget how rhythm works, babe?”
Gwen groaned and set her sticks down with a clatter, slumping back on the stool. “Sorry. I just—my brain’s fried.”
Reina raised a brow from across the room. “Fried like homework fried or fried like... emotionally combusted fried?”
Gwen sighed, dragging her hands down her face. “Can I just say ‘boy problems’ and have you all nod knowingly?”
The girls immediately burst into a chorus of ooohs and oh nooo’s.
“Spill it,” Lynn said, flopping into the nearest beanbag like she was about to watch a telenovela.
Gwen took a deep breath. “So, I went to the rave last night.”
“The invite-only one?” Dezi’s eyes lit up.
“Yeah, and Miles was there. Again.” She paused, trying to find the words that wouldn’t make her sound like an idiot. “We went up to the roof. We talked. We kissed. And then... it just... happened.”
Reina’s brows shot up. “Happened as in—?”
“Yup,” Gwen muttered. “That happened.”
The studio went quiet. Even the old radiator seemed to stop buzzing.
Dezi finally broke the silence. “Was it good?”
“Yeah,” Gwen admitted, cheeks warming. “It was really good.”
“So what’s the problem?” Lynn asked gently, leaning forward.
Gwen hesitated, picking at a scuff on her drum kit. “Afterwards, he got up, said ‘bye,’ and left. Just like that. No call, no nothing. And earlier he told me he doesn’t want anything serious.” She tried to laugh, but it came out too bitter. “So I guess I got what I signed up for.”
Lynn frowned. “Girl, you don’t have to be chill about it if you’re not.”
“I’m not mad at him,” Gwen said, then stopped herself. “Okay, maybe I am. But mostly I’m mad at me.”
Reina grabbed her drumsticks and offered them back. “You trusted someone, that’s not dumb. That’s brave. Sucks that he couldn’t handle it.”
Dezi hopped up and grabbed her coat. “You know what you need?”
“Food?” Gwen guessed.
“Greasy, cheesy, soul-healing food,” Dezi confirmed. “Come on. It’s girl dinner o’clock.”
The band packed up fast—Lynn humming the chorus of their last song, Reina texting the group chat, and Dezi linking arms with Gwen as they headed out into the street. The neon lights of the city didn’t feel quite as heavy tonight, not with her girls beside her.
“Thanks,” Gwen murmured, not sure which one of them she was thanking.
Lynn bumped her shoulder. “We got you.”
“Always,” Dezi added with a grin.
Reina pulled her into a side hug. “No boy is gonna break our Gwen's heart, okay?”
Gwen smiled for real this time.
They didn’t know the full truth—but they knew enough.
And that was more than enough.
The apartment was quiet when Gwen stepped inside, the kind of quiet that made her chest ache. The only sound was the low hum of the refrigerator and the soft creak of the floorboards under her feet. She kicked her shoes off lazily, letting her bag fall next to them. Her shoulders felt heavy, her eyes tired, and her throat tight from holding everything in.
She didn’t bother heading to her room.
Instead, she made a beeline for the couch, where her dad sat in his usual spot—feet up, glasses halfway down his nose, flipping through the news on his tablet.
He glanced up when he saw her, already reaching to pause whatever headline was playing. “Hey, kiddo. You’re home late.”
Gwen didn’t respond right away. She just walked over and collapsed beside him, curling up like she used to when she was younger. She leaned into his side, burying her face in his shoulder. He tensed, just for a second, like he didn’t expect it.
Then his arm slowly wrapped around her, warm and protective.
“Gwen?” he asked softly.
She shook her head, voice muffled. “I don’t wanna talk. Just…”
“Okay.” He squeezed her tighter. “No questions.”
They sat like that for a while, the only sound now the quiet buzz of the city outside the window. He didn’t move, didn’t prod, didn’t try to fix anything. Just let her exist in that space, held and heard.
After a while, Gwen spoke again—quiet, tired, and almost a whisper.
“A boy broke my heart.”
Her ad’s chest rose and fell slowly. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”
“I thought I could handle it,” she added, her voice cracking. “Thought it wouldn’t matter if it didn’t mean anything. But it did. To me.”
He didn’t say “you deserve better” or “he’s not worth it.” He didn’t even ask who it was.
He just tightened his arm around her and said, “You loved with your whole heart. That’s never a weakness.”
Her eyes burned, and she blinked quickly. “I feel stupid.”
“You’re not.”
“I feel like I should be madder. Or sadder. Or… something else.”
“You’re feeling what you need to feel,” he said. “That’s enough.”
They sat there a bit longer, her breathing slowing against him. He gently rubbed her shoulder with the rhythm only a dad could know by instinct.
After a while, she mumbled, “Can we just watch something dumb and eat popcorn?”
George Stacy smiled and kissed the top of her head. “Already queuing up The Princess Bride.”
Gwen gave a tiny, teary laugh.
Yeah. Maybe things still sucked.
But at least right now, in this moment—home didn’t.