The crash.
Peter had been settling into his new life. A dimensional trip and fall, no way home, and a whole lot of repressed emotion exploding out of him later, and he was finally settling in. Hell, he’d even found himself a job at the Gotham Gazette. He’d been working predominantly as their main photographer for big events and had steadily been attempting to bring in the many many photos of the vigilantes and their take downs. He hadn’t worked up the courage to do so yet however, as he didn't really understand how Batman would feel about it. He’d even gotten a shot of the Batman with Robin, Red Robin, and Nightwing underneath his cape. Maybe if he ever ran into them, worked up the courage to go up to them, he’d give it to them.
That's part of the reason he wound up in the library. He wanted to print out some photos to turn into his boss. He’d gotten the shots they had requested of the Wayne family and some other important socialites from the gala held the other day.
Peter had taken it upon himself however to catch them at their absolute brightest. He knew too many papers often had photos of them spilling drinks or hell even blinking or god forbid mid sneeze.
It was insulting to Peter's honor as a photographer to go out of his way to make someone look bad. That shit is easy, making them look good though? Now that was a pleasant challenge.
He was particularly fond of the photo he’d gotten of some socialites dancing together. The two were in the center of the dance floor. The lady in the photo was wearing a beautiful floor length purple dress. The lighting had managed to hit her just so that her eyes sparkled like her dress was under the crystal chandelier of the hotel venue. Her dance partner's cheesy grin and vibrant blue eyes were equally as bright under the lighting.
Peter remembers that when he circled the venue for shots, he had found the two to be particularly striking. Seeing the photo in front of him on the computer screen now, he can't help but preen at how lovely his shot had turned out.
Even the other dancers in the shot looked perfectly posed and poised. He can’t wait for Ms. Garth, his boss, to see the shot. He loved hearing her compliments. It was one of the few differences he quite enjoyed about this universe. Here, his boss didn't yell at him.
Small blessings.
As it finishes printing, Peter takes in his other photos with a hum.
Mr. Wayne was a very handsome man. Peter was a tad wide eyed when he’d seen him speaking on stage. He sort of understood why the man's name always seemed to be in rotation during games with his coworkers about who was the hottest in Gotham. Even during games like fuck, marry, kill. The guy always seemed to be on Gothamites' radar.
He took a shot or two of the man speaking and frowned slightly. They were good shots sure, but they were so..boring. He's glad he went out of his way to try to take different shots of Mr. Wayne throughout the night. The printer continues to churn out all of the photos as Peter hums to the song playing through his headphones.
As he clicks away through the shots, he finds one of a belly laughing Mr. Wayne center shot. Peter grins. This shot of Mr. Wayne seemed more real than his earlier shot of business Wayne, as he’d fondly dubbed him in his head. He was even spilling some of the champagne in his glass while laughing, clutching onto the shoulder of a tall and handsome man in glasses beside him.
It was definitely better but it still didn't feel like his best shot of the guy.
Click….Click…Click. Pause. There!
Peter beamed. Now this, this he could safely say was his favorite of Mr. Wayne of the night. Mr. Wayne was nodding along with a serious look on his face, even as his eyes crinkled like he was smiling, against the back wall of the party. His head was turned down to face who Peter recognized as his son, Damien(?). Who had a frustrated look on his face as he yanked at his tie. Another one of Mr. Wayne's sons’, Tim(?) was laughing at his younger brother's frustration.
Peter huffed a small laugh at the intimate moment on his screen. Maybe he’d mail this one to Wayne Manor with whatever shots don't end up in the paper.
Peter continued his clicking and printing and finally finished three hours later than he’d wanted to. Peter unplugged his camera from the computer, signing out, and picking up Little Legs gently. Little legs was a small robot that would “bite” into a computer and create a safety net for Peter should any virus or malware be on these public computers.
No offense to Gotham, but he wouldn’t put it past some people to put malware on these computers and no way in hell was Peter going to risk his art with that. He placed him in his pocket as he continued packing up.
He moved to the printer and picked up his, admittedly, large stack of photos. He’d printed some of his personal shots of the cityscape as well. Sue him for wanting to fill his meager apartment with pretty things.
He moved to the front desk and smiled at, a quick read of the name tag later, Barbara sitting behind the desk. Shouldering his headphones off his ears he offered her a small smile.
“Lots of prints! Wow.” Barbara huffed a laugh at his large stack of papers.
“Ah. Yeah," Peter smiled awkwardly, placing the stack on the counter. No matter how much he tried he could never really catch his bearings enough to actually make small talk after hours of work. His brain is too fried to even attempt more than a quick, ‘hey! How are ya? The Weather's nice, eh? Have a great day! Bye.’ Like any reasonable person could.
Barbara seemed to get the memo though as she smiled and asked how many papers he'd printed. How many used colored ink, etc.
Thirty dollars poorer later, Peter fixed his headphones in place, offered Barbara a small smile and wave, grabbed his huge stack of papers, and quickly turned to exit the library.
Maybe he’d make himself some nice Cacio e pepe. He was in a mood for pasta as he often tended to be after working for so long.
Smiling to himself at the thought of pasta, he didn't see the man coming toward him and he slammed right into him. His pictures created a small explosion that rained down over Peter and whomever it was he’d bumped into.
Shit.
The soft sounds of paper falling all over the floor surrounded Peter.
Peter should’ve been paying more attention. He apologized profusely as he fell to his knees to pick up his many, many pictures off the floor. He pouted slightly and winced whenever a particularly rude passerby stepped on one.
Fuckers didn’t appreciate art. He sent them middle fingers internally, as he rushed to pick up each of his pictures and stack them back up.
He finished with relative ease. That's weird. Weren't there like, way more photos on the flo- his thought cut as his hand landed on top of another as he reached for his last photo on the floor.
Peter's eyes followed up the leather clad arm and his breath caught when he made eye contact with the hands owner.
Holy shit.
Peter's breath caught in his throat and he made a small noise of surprise.
This guy was a dream.
His green eyes were absolutely gorgeous. His face is so… warm in the library's soft lighting. His black hair with a rather pretty white patch at the front is tousled gently from the presumed wind outside.
His nose slightly crooked and scars all around the man's handsome face. A soft pink dusting his soft looking cheeks and the bridge of his nose. The guy looked like he was sculpted from marble, he was so breathtaking.
If Peter looked closer, and he could always look closer with his enhanced senses, he could count the freckles and beauty marks donning his already beautiful face.
20 ish freckles and three beauty marks.
One by his left eyebrow, one on his right ear, and the last one underneath the left side of his lip. It was so faint Peter almost couldn't make that last one out.
And speaking of his lips, god, hislips.
The soft pink of his lips and the slightly parted look they donned were almost too pretty for Peter to keep looking at. His top lip had a cute cupid's bow, his bottom lip almost plump but not quite. The skin was slightly cracked and broken along the bottom. A piercing was beautifully wrapping around his bottom lip. A simple silver ring. Placed right above where the faint brown beauty mark hid itself in his skin.
It was breathtaking.
His eyes flipped back up to his eyes, those eyes. It felt like hours gazing back into those green eyes, but it was probably only seconds. Peter and the man seemed to realize their staring as the two quickly went up to their feet, hands still holding atop the same picture, and other arms carrying their small stacks they'd picked up.
Their hands were holding above one of Peter's city shots. It was one of the city glowing pink and red in a rare sunset for Gotham.
Peter quickly shouldered his headphones off his head.
“Ah…Thank you.” Peter's voice came out much softer than he meant. Those eyes. They felt like the kind of pretty Peter tried to capture in every shot of the city he took. The kind of beauty he saw in the city when it was alive at night. Or when the city was met with the soft warmth of the sun. Or the gentle spraying of rain.
Especially the beauty Peter saw in those days in his crumby apartment when the sun would make a rare appearance and don his bedroom in a honey glow. It made his room feel much warmer than it did.
He let out a small breath as he continued staring.
“Oh. No problem..” Green eyes replied back, voice equally as soft as Peters. Even his voice was beautiful. A beautiful and rich baritone. There was a slight rasp to it, a smoker maybe?
The two continued to stare back at one another. Peter's heartbeat is slow and soft, like the click of the clock in the background of his senses. Slow like the rise and fall of his chest as he tries to breathe in and out. Distantly Peter was sure he could hear the soft laughs, the pages of books turning, and the muddled conversations of the other patrons in the library.
With much difficulty Peter's eyes fall to the stack of his photos in the guy's left arm. Within a second of doing so the stack is being passed to Peter.
Peter laughs softly when in his rush to pass the photos back to Peter he trips slightly and winds up taking a step closer to Peter. There's a red tint to the guy's ears now Peter thinks pleasantly. It's cute.
“Crap. Sorry about that, and for,” Pretty green's breath catches for reasons Peter can’t figure out as he catches his eyes when Peter looks up at him in their new close proximity. He was taller than Peter. “For crashing into you in the first place. I wasn’t looking where I was going.”
“It's no worries. I wasn't paying any attention either.” Peter smiles up at him softly. Distantly Peter squeezes the stranger's hand he's still clasping, trying to shake the energy filling his limbs. He can hear the man's heartbeat pick up slightly and Peter laughs again.
When Peter finishes his random bout of laughter he looks back up at the guy. There's a soft smile donning his face and it makes Peter's knees weak at the sight. His green eyes crinkle and he huffs out a soft laugh of his own.
Peter feels like it's the prettiest thing he's ever heard in his life.
The two pause again. Peter takes in the soft scent of him, now that he's a bit closer. Although Peter could’ve smelled him from miles away if he pushed himself. There's a slight tobacco scent coming from him. He was right about the smoking then. There's hints of leather, gunpowder, and sweat. Peter moves just a tad closer, something else just out of his nose's reach, eyes never leaving the pretty green ones. Ah. Lavender. There's a lavender scent to his clothes too.
Peter hums. His eyes once again with much effort leave the green ones before him and turn to their touching hands.
Pretty green’s hands also have scars all over. Peter rubs his thumb over one of them distractedly. Pretty. Pretty. Pretty. Peter thinks mutely.
He feels a soft tremor run through pretty greens hand.
With much difficulty, Peter removes his hand from his and pretty green pauses to look at his picture before he places his sunset cityscape photo atop his stack.
“Sorry ‘bout that.” With a blink Peter turns back to look back up at pretty green.
“No worries.” Peter smiles at him again. Neither of them move and their gazes stay firmly on one another.
Peter hears the clock clicking again and the soft heartbeat of the man before him.
It’s so lovely. Peter wants to drown himself in this guy's sound. His heartbeat is so steady. It’s comforting. Peter has half a mind to press his ear against the man’s chest to listen to it better. To feel pretty green’s heartbeat against Peter’s skin.
“I..I should be going.” Fuck. Why did Peter say that?
“Right. Right.” Pretty green nods back. A flicker of something crosses his gaze. His nose wrinkles softly. Peter huffs a laugh and painfully, like his legs are encased in jello, he takes a small step out of this guy's proximity.
“Thanks again.” Peter says softly.
“Of course.” Came the soft reply back.
With a small wave and quick moment of hesitation Peter fixes his headphones again and leaves the library.
It could be his imagination, but the Gotham air feels colder than it did earlier.
He misses the warmth of the library already as he runs to the bus stop, careful to hold his stack of photos close to his chest.
His heartbeat thrumming painfully against his chest.
Later as Peter collapses into his bed he realizes he never got pretty green eyed boy's name.
Shit.
As Peter falls asleep he hopes he’ll be able to run into the guy again.