Chapter 12
It was a little stupid, Gwen admitted. But the sun had set while she was still stretching after ballet practice, and she didn’t want to wait twenty minutes for the next campus shuttle. So she walked.
She told herself it wasn’t far. That she knew the shortcut. That she was fine.
But walking past the quiet alley that cut through two closed-up cafés and a delivery lot gave her a weird shiver anyway. She tightened the strap on her duffel bag and picked up her pace.
Then—behind her, the distinct thwip of a web.
She froze.
“Hey—whoa, sorry!” a voice called out. A blur of red and blue dropped from above. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
She blinked. “Spider-Man?”
He raised his hands in peace. “Yeah. I was doing a sweep. Saw you heading this way alone. Thought maybe I’d—uh, make sure you didn’t get mugged.”
She narrowed her eyes, amused despite herself. “So you stalked me for safety?”
He scratched the back of his masked head. “That sounds way worse when you say it.”
“Bit creepy, not gonna lie,” she said, crossing her arms.
“Okay, yeah, definitely not trying to be creepy. I can go. I just… I noticed you were limping a little.”
She hesitated. Her ankle had twisted during warmups, but she didn’t think it was that noticeable. “You… noticed?”
He nodded. “Little things stand out. And I know how it is. Pushing through pain because ballet doesn’t wait for healing.”
Gwen’s eyes widened. “How do you know about ballet?”
Spider-Man tilted his head like he hadn’t meant to say that. “Uh. Internet?”
She stepped closer before she could talk herself out of it. He wasn’t just tall—he was familiar. The way he stood. The way he spoke. Warm. A little nervous. She could swear she’d heard his voice before. Maybe not here. But somewhere close.
“I’ve always wondered,” she said. “Why do you do this?”
He shrugged, suddenly quiet. “Because someone has to. And I… kind of made a promise.”
She blinked. “That sounds really serious.”
“It is,” he said. “But it doesn’t have to be sad.”
The wind picked up. A chill brushed over her shoulders.
“You should get home,” he said, almost gently. “It’s getting cold.”
“Yeah,” Gwen murmured. “Thanks. For walking me.”
He smiled under the mask. She could hear it in his voice. “Anytime.”
And then, just like that—thwip—he vanished into the sky again.
Gwen stared after him, heart stuttering. Something strange fluttered in her chest, like maybe she didn’t want him to be a mystery anymore.
The lights were dim in her dorm. Amaya was out for the night, some group dinner with her photography club. The window was cracked open just enough for the wind to sneak in, ruffling the edge of Gwen’s notebook on the desk.
She paced. Socks sliding quietly on the floor. Hair tied up messily, face flushed in a way that shouldn’t have been from ballet.
But it wasn’t about ballet.
It was about… them.
Miles Morales. Her physics partner. The guy who gave her lemon tea when she sneezed once and kept doing it every Tuesday since. The one who laughed when she got snarky. Who walked her halfway back to her dorm even when he had a pile of work to do. Who looked at her like she was something brilliant and funny and new.
And then—Spider-Man. The masked mystery who dropped from the sky and noticed when she was limping. Who saw things. Who spoke like he cared without even knowing her name. Who’d caught her attention with backflips and now held it with kindness.
Her brain was screaming. Girl. You’ve got a crush. On two people. At once.
Unless…
Her eyes narrowed. The way they both talked. That same warmth.
“Don’t be crazy,” she mumbled to herself, dropping into her chair.
Still. The voice. The height.
She exhaled, flipping open her laptop instead. If she couldn’t sort out her heart, maybe she could blog her way through it.
Blog Post: "The Problem with Liking Two People (Maybe???)"
Posted by: gwenstagram
So I may have made a tiny mistake.
A small, cute, potentially spiraling mistake.
Which is this: I think I like two people.
One of them is my classmate. He’s funny. Smart. He explains acceleration formulas using analogies that involve boba straws. He gives me tea and doesn’t make it weird. And when I say something dumb, he doesn’t laugh—he grins like it’s the best part of his day.
The other? Spider-Man. Yes. That Spider-Man. He showed up out of nowhere and noticed something that no one else did. And when he talks, it’s like—he gets it. Like there’s something kind under the mask.
Which would be fine, except…
They sound weirdly similar.
And they’re the same height.
And I think I’m losing it.
Anyway. I might be a mess, but at least I can admit it.
Can someone please invent a Spider-Man-to-real-life-boy compatibility calculator? Or at least remind me to stop falling for mysterious parkour guys?
Ugh.
— G
Comments:
ramenfan49: sounds like you’re in a love triangle with yourself
voidtheorygirl: tall, smart, voice like warm honey?? gwen bestie you are doomed
guitar_solo95: I have a wild theory but I’m keeping it to myself in case it’s true…
stardust_saturn: plot twist: lemon tea guy is spider-man.
gwenstagram (author): DELETE THIS
Gwen had a plan. A solid one. Walk in, greet Miles like a normal person, don’t stare at his face, don’t wonder if he can do backflips, and absolutely do not blush when he says her name.
Totally manageable. She’d faced scarier things—like ballet critiques and parents who scheduled her life like she was a show dog.
She walked into the lab with her usual stride, dropped her bag onto the counter beside Miles, and smiled.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he said, grinning that stupidly charming grin. “I brought you something.”
Her heart paused.
Please don’t be lemon tea.
Please don’t be—
He slid a cup across the counter. “You sounded a little stuffy on Monday. It’s lemon honey.”
She wanted to die. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to.”
Okay, Gwen thought. Okay, maybe a little blushing is allowed.
She took a sip and made the tactical mistake of looking at his hands. Big. Warm. Definitely capable of Spider-Man-level wall clinging. Shut up, brain.
“So,” she said, gripping the tea like a lifeline, “what’re we covering today?”
“Projectile motion. Wanna race on who can hit the paper bin with a rubber band from the far table?”
She blinked. “You’re turning physics into a sport now?”
He laughed. “Only if I get to lose to you dramatically.”
Oh no. He was flirting. Definitely flirting. Or being nice. Or both. She was going to melt into the floor.
She tried to play it cool, raising an eyebrow. “I accept. But if I win, you owe me boba.”
“And if I win?”
“…I’ll think about it,” she said, cheeks warm.
They laughed together, a little too long. Long enough for their lab partner to walk in, give them a look, and mutter, “Just date already.”
Gwen choked on her tea.
Miles looked smug.
She wasn’t sure if she wanted to scream or smile forever.
Ganke didn’t look up from his laptop when the door opened. He did pause his game when Miles practically floated in.
“You look like someone just gave you front-row tickets to Beyoncé and whispered government secrets in your ear.”
Miles threw his bag onto his bed. “She blushed.”
Ganke blinked. “Who? Gwen?”
“She blushed, man.” Miles was grinning like an idiot. “And she didn’t even deny the boba deal this time.”
“Okay, back up,” Ganke said, closing his laptop. “I need to understand the escalation here. We went from ‘she thinks I’m just a nice guy with tea’ to ‘she might like me back’?”
“I brought her lemon honey tea again, she accepted it, and then we did a rubber band competition.”
“…romantic.”
“No, no—listen,” Miles said, flopping onto the bed. “She was smiling the whole time. And when our lab partner walked in and said, ‘Just date already,’ she didn’t deny it. She choked but didn’t deny it.”
Ganke whistled. “That’s at least a third base in the teenage romance rulebook.”
Miles rolled onto his side. “You think I should ask her out?”
“Not yet,” Ganke said, thoughtfully. “She’s definitely into you, but she’s also the kind of girl who might overanalyze one boba drink into a whole thesis on doomed romance.”
Miles groaned. “I know. She’s got that thoughtful-sad-ballet-girl energy. I don’t wanna mess it up.”
“Then just keep being tea guy,” Ganke said. “But maybe next time, add a sticky note that says: ‘I like your face.’”
Miles threw a pillow at him.