Chapter 44
The rooftop air was starting to chill when Gwen finally stood to go back inside. She sniffled once, not from tears—but it was close. The building door clicked behind her, and she was halfway to her dorm room when—
fwip
A web snapped to the ledge beside her, and a familiar voice called, breathless, “Wait! Gwen!”
She turned, eyes wide.
Miles landed, slightly off balance, chest heaving. His suit was half-zipped down, revealing a white shirt with the top button undone and a black tie dangling loose. His blazer was caught under one arm, and his pants were proper prom black slacks—torn a little on one knee.
“Miles?” she blinked.
“I’m so sorry,” he panted. “But I have something. A surprise. Like—a real one.”
Before she could answer, he stepped closer, holding up a soft black ribbon.
“…Is that a blindfold?”
“Yeah.”
“You want to blindfold me.”
“Yes.” He gave her a half-grin. “Please. Trust me.”
She stared at him. Then sighed. “Fine. But if I end up dangling over the Brooklyn Bridge, I’m haunting you.”
“Noted.”
He gently tied the ribbon over her eyes.
“Okay,” he said, voice lower now. “Hold tight.”
And then—fwip—they were flying.
When her feet touched the ground, she felt grass beneath her heels and cool night air on her skin.
“Ready?” Miles murmured behind her.
He untied the ribbon slowly.
Gwen blinked.
They were in the middle of a park—secluded and quiet, fairy lights strung from tree to tree in soft yellow arcs. A small, round table sat under them, draped in a white cloth, takeout containers served on actual plates, mismatched wine glasses filled with soda.
There was music playing from a speaker—some jazzy instrumental she didn’t recognize—and a slightly-crumpled bouquet of tulips rested on her seat.
Gwen gaped.
“You did all this?” she asked softly.
“I know I messed up,” Miles said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought you’d like something private more than the prom… so I kinda put together this tiny anti-prom thing instead?”
She looked at him.
Then smiled, so wide and so full it hurt. “You were absolutely right.”
Dinner was full of laughter and teasing—Miles told her about almost getting chased by a bird while webbing through Central Park, Gwen told him about how Camila got scammed into buying fake lashes for thirty dollars.
They ate with real forks, drank soda from fancy glasses, and talked about everything and nothing.
Then, Miles offered a hand.
“Dance with me?”
There was no one else around. Just them. Fairy lights. Soft music. The stars.
Gwen kicked off her shoes with a wince. “Only if you carry me back after.”
“Deal.”
They danced in the grass. Miles stepped on her toes at least three times. Gwen laughed so hard she nearly fell over. Their foreheads touched, their hands stayed tangled, and for once—everything was just quiet.
True to his word, Miles carried Gwen all the way back to the dorms—her heels swinging from her fingers, her dress slightly wrinkled, her smile refusing to fade.
At her door, they lingered.
“I still feel bad,” he admitted.
“Don’t,” she whispered. “You gave me my favorite night.”
There was a pause.
Then Gwen said, so softly it barely reached his ears, “I love you.”
Miles blinked.
Then his grin exploded. “I love you too.”
They both giggled.
Like actual children.
“Night, Spider-boy.”
“Night, Prom Queen.”