Just One More Tear to Cry
Peter
Early July, 2027
The apartment was dingy, to say the least. The exposed brick on the far wall was cracking, the large windows covered in a thin dusting of dirt from the city outside. The few painted walls that Peter could see had evident stains left from water damage.
Peter sucks in a deep breath and rubs his chest with his free hand, something his aunt had taught him when he was younger to help with his anxiety. Something he found himself doing more often than not as of late.
His spidey senses tingle at the base of his neck in a low, constant, thrum, causing the hairs on his neck to shift like waves as his anxiety comes and goes.
Peter had thought he had finally gotten control of his spidey senses, finally honing them in to beat Mysterio, but as of late, he’s felt more and more like they were controlling him. He felt so different from his alternate identity, the human weaknesses in him becoming more evident as the years went on.
“Well, this is it. Rent is due on the first of the month. I’m already lenient enough with all the discounts I give on this place so if your rent is late, even by a day, you’re out… Capeesh?”
Peter turns to his landlord, trying to process everything he has just said.
“Um, yes?”
His landlord claps him on the shoulder before turning and sauntering away and down the stairs. They creak behind him as he goes, the old wood bending under his large frame.
Peter should be grateful, really, that he was able to find a place so affordable. After rent had continued to steadily incline after he had moved from Queens to Midtown Manhattan he was forced to find a cheaper place, but so far the reasons for his new apartment being cheap weren’t great.
There is a massive glowing digital billboard right outside his window
The previous tenant had died in it
It was in Hell’s Kitchen
The last part wasn’t necessarily a reason for the apartment being cheap, Peter was just opposed to living in Hell’s Kitchen.
But hey, it’s not every day you can find an apartment as cheap as this one.
Peter puts the box he was holding on the floor inside his apartment, which upon further inspection also presents evident stains in the wood. Stains that he hoped were from water damage and not left from the previous tenant's unfortunate demise.
He still wasn’t sure how she died, but he could feel it all around him, could sense the reaper over his shoulder.
His chest tightened with anxiety once again, the hair on the back of his neck prickling uncomfortably. He turned back into the hallway, expecting to see the looming dark-cloaked reaper, but was only met with the rest of his things.
Unlike when he had moved into his first apartment without his aunt, Peter actually had more than one box.
He had three, plus a suitcase.
He also had a surprisingly comfortable La-Z-Boy chair that he found outside of a dumpster near his last apartment and had spent a week cleaning, as well as a double mattress that he blew his first paycheck on.
He had found a few weak, splintered, wooden pieces of furniture at a second-hand store for him to put stuff in. He didn’t need much really. He had been content in living with so few possessions for the past three years and never found himself needing more. Even before when he was living with his Aunt they never had much more than necessities.
His apartment was simply to sleep in when he actually got around to it. Sleep no longer came easy to him, especially after late nights patrolling.
Peter could feel his mood lift at the thought of patrolling, the tightness in his chest dissipating. He began to hurriedly unpack his boxes, laying out his few possessions on the scratched laminate countertop, which he noticed was also quite stained.
A shiver ran up his back, his lip twitching slightly in disgust.
Note to self, clean the entire apartment from top to bottom.
Peter rummages around in his boxes before finding a large bottle of vinegar and a rag. He pulls it out. It was one of the few cleaning products he owned, something else his aunt had taught him about, and swore by. He glances at the counter, then the yellowed kitchen tiles, and then over at his stained wood floor, concluding that vinegar was simply not enough.
He pulls his wallet out of his pocket and opens it, rifling through a few bills. It would be enough for a few groceries and cleaning supplies.
He removes his key clip from the waist of his pants, his apartment key a welcome new addition to the few other keys that were on the clip.
He had a small cat keychain that Deadpool had gifted him, but other than that the clip was quite boring.
Another note to self, ask Deadpool for more fun keychains.
ANOTHER another note to self, start a list of notes to self.
Peter exits his apartment, turning to lock the door behind him.
He hears the telltale clicking of the door locking and pulls out the key, or at least tries to pull out the key.
The key does not budge, the rest of the keys on the clip clinking loudly together as he attempts to pull it out.
“C’mon,” Peter mutters to himself, making sure to watch his strength. He did not want to break something on his first day of living in the new building.
“Do you need help?” Peter jumps, turning quickly to the person behind him. The hair on the back of his neck stands on end as his spidey senses warn him a moment too late.
A tall, slender, blonde woman stands in front of him, dressed in business attire. A shy smile lights up her face.
Behind her stands a man in a suit, red-tinted glasses resting comfortably on his crooked nose. His face twitches each time Peter's keys click together.
Peter feels a sudden sense of deja vu when he sees the man and tries to jog his memory to figure out where he recognizes him from.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” the woman says, apologetically. Peter shakes his head, looking back at her.
“No no, it’s okay, I should have heard you coming,” Peter replies as he puts his hands on his keys to stop them from clinking, noticing the man's continuous face twitching.
“Are your keys stuck?” The woman asks. Peter nods. She turns to the man behind him.
“His keys are stuck” The man nods in acknowledgement, understanding now clear on his face. Peter notices now the red and white cane that the man is leaning against, and his feeling of deja vu becomes stronger.
“May I help?” He asks. Peter nods, then mentally slaps himself for it.
“Oh, yeah, sure, you can try.” He steps out of the way, his hands knocking against his keys, once again causing them to move against each other noisily. The man shuffles closer, cane slightly extended towards his door. “It’s near your elbow,” Peter explains. The man smiles politely and lifts his hand towards the lock with precision, once again stopping the keys from making noise.
“Got it, thank you.” He replies. Peter turns back towards the woman, who in turn extends a hand. He shakes it, marveling at the softness of her palm and suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious of his own callused one.
“Hi, I’m Karen Page.”
“Peter Parker.” He feels someone tap his shoulder and he turns around to find the man holding his keys.
“Matt Murdock.” The deja vu sucker punches Peter in the stomach and he feels his face contort into a tight smile, suddenly remembering who he is.
“Like the lawyer?” A small surprised look crosses Matt’s face and Peter suddenly regrets saying it.
“Yeah, the lawyer… Didn’t know I was that famous?” His lip quirks slightly at his own joking question.
Peter looks away, grabbing his keys from Matt and clipping them back onto his jeans.
“How did you do that?” He asks, pointing to the door.
“Hmm?”
“Oh, sorry, how’d you get the keys out?”
“Push it in a bit before pulling it out, I have to do the same thing with my door.” Peter smiles, biting his tongue to avoid laughing. He could only imagine the way Deadpool would respond to the first part of that sentence.
He shakes his head to get rid of the thought. He’s been spending far too much time with Deadpool.
“Got it, thanks, I’ll try to remember that.” Matt nods and turns back to Karen, raising his eyebrow slightly. Karen clears her throat.
“We better get going but it was great meeting you Peter,” Karen says politely. Peter nods.
“Yeah, see you around Ms. Page.”