Webs In Ink

When we walked into my dads apartment, Peter b-lined it to the couch. I closed the front door behind me and walked to my room quickly. We had made it a plan to get here early but us being us, we missed the train. We got to the apartments at one and the internship meeting is at 2:30 pm.

I didn't know what to grab at first. I just looked around at my room absent-mindedly. Then I walked to my dresser and started pulling out the clothes I would need. And I remembered what my dad used to tell me when we traveled. More underwear than shirts, more shirts than pants if they were good ones. Simple.

"Hey, Peter?" I called out, looking at the closed folding doors of my closet. I heard a hum from down the hallway and I thought a little longer.

"What?" He yelled back. Then I heard a sigh with the sound of footsteps following shortly after. "What?"

I turned to him silently, looking at him then my closet again. His face slowly grew more concerned. His eyes darted to the closet too, nodding at me as if to ask 'what's up?' . 

"How much of my clothes are at your house?" I asked as nonchalantly as possible, keeping my eyes on the closet.

"Umm…" Peter trailed off curiously. "I think I have like two pairs of jeans and a hoodie."

I nodded steadily, my heart starting to beat harder in my ears. "That's it?" I looked at him. He nodded as I walked to the closet slowly. Then I felt his hand grab my elbow. He shook his head and he walked to the closet instead.

He slid open the right door. Nothing but jackets, dresses, and hoodies hung up on the rack. I let out a sigh of relief and staggered over to Peter. I shook my head as I wrapped my arms around him in a hug. He promptly hugged me back, tightly wrapping his arms around me.

"What's going on, AJ?" He asked quietly as he rubbed my back. I stayed silent and just shrugged. "You're on edge. What's up?"

"I'm always on edge," I laughed nervously. He pulled out of the hug, putting his hands on my shoulders.

"No, not like this," he said, looking down into my eyes softly. "C'mon, talk to me, Alina."

I swallowed hard, his big brown eyes making my heart flutter. "My dad sounded worried. Like… really worried," I explained. He nodded encouragingly, his eyes darting around my face. "He said he'd call me later today but… I dunno, something was off."

Peter nodded thoughtfully. "And you think it's strange he asked for you to stay with us," he concluded. I nodded, feeling so small under him like this. I wasn't short, but with him, like this… it made me feel so small. "I'm sure he's paranoid. It runs in the family."

I let out a breathy laugh. "Guess you and I do you have something in common after all," I joked, taking his hands off of me and turning around to grab the small suitcase from my closet.

I walked over to the foot of my bed and laid the suitcase on the floor. "I think we had a lot in common," Peter said, coming over to sit at the foot of my bed.

I scoffed sitting down on the floor with the suitcase, "5'11, white male, skateboards-"

"You make me sound like every other teenage delinquent," Peter laughed, watching me strategically put things into the suitcase. I just grinned up at him. "What about you? 5'6-"

"5'7," I corrected, looking at him pointedly.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, "5'7… half-latina, sarcastic ass, and best-friend of the aforementioned delinquent."

I snorted before I got up and walked over to my closet again. This time, I bent over to grab a pair of Vans that looked very lived in. I looked at the worn outsoles warily. I turned and showed them to Peter who just stared at me strangely.

"Take, yes or no?" I asked, examining the heels of the shoes. I scrunched my nose when I realized the bottom of the shoes had no real wear pattern anymore.

"What happened to the new pair you just got?" He asked me, his face mirroring my own expression. I lifted my foot to show him the pair almost identical to the ones in my hand. "Get the Converse."

I rolled my eyes and spun back around to set down the Vans and pick up the pair of classic Converse. Peter had gotten them for my birthday last year but I barely wore them. They felt too hard to break in. But they looked almost exactly like his, just less worn.

"I think that's everything then."

Peter left after he made sure I secured the suitcase to the back of the bike. He needed to catch the train and I needed a moment to collect myself before riding the glorified mode of transportation again.

It had been too long since the last time I drove it. Months maybe. At least since I got the license right after my birthday. I was shitting bricks the whole process. But I passed with flying colours.

Now, actually going wasn't the issue, it was feeling like I wasn't going to get pulled over every time I saw a cop. And in New York, that was every street. In traffic, on a busy street, on a non-busy street. Everywhere.

But then, I got a hang of it again. And all I could think about was the cold air on my body. The wind blowing past my face and making my clothes blow back. My muscle memory kicked in, I knew where I was going. And it was like I was flying.

It felt like the first time I even got on a bike. I was finally old enough to reach the foot-pegs and my dad immediately bought me a helmet. He was so excited and I was too. I'd seen him do it for so long and I just wanted to be like him.

That day, I truly felt like I was flying. Like nothing else mattered except going fast and not falling off. Which I had managed to do with the help of my dad. Except the one difference then is that there's an actual purpose to riding the bike, not just for the license or to learn. I finally knew how and I had the freedom to do what I wanted.

But, I went home. Peter's home. My second home.

I was sitting in Peter's bed, absent-mindedly going over physics notes. "Ohm's law… kinetic energy formula… frequency…" I smiled to myself before whispering, "Yeah! Science!"

I sighed and closed the binder, setting it aside to lay down on his bed. I never usually laid in Peter's bed. Strangely enough, I felt a little weird doing it. He never had a problem with it, sometimes even asking if I wanted to sleep in his bed instead of on the small inflatable mattress.

I can only recall doing it twice, once as a kid when we were really young. Back when Harry Osborn was still allowed to spend time with us. But then I felt like it was too weird, waking up with them on Peter's flood. The other time was when my mother had finally bailed on us and I realized she wasn't coming back.

It was 8th grade. My mother had never really been in the picture after my 6th birthday, visiting when she needed to but never staying for an award ceremony or the holidays. So, when she stopped answering my calls on holidays, then weekends. Then when I called her on my birthday and she failed to answer again, I realized she didn't care anymore. She had left for Italy with her new boyfriend and forgot about me.

I had spent that birthday weekend with Peter calling and calling. Hoping she would pick up. But she didn't. So, I cried to Peter. He just held me and let me cry it out. I ended up falling asleep in his arms, in his bed. Maybe it was too much for an 8th grader like Peter to handle, but it brought it closer. Harry had just left a few years prior and we were still shaken up about it. Now, looking up at the ceiling, it looked the same as years passed. Not that a ceiling could even change much. But it really hadn't.

Neither had Peter, aside from the physical aspect. He had gotten better at articulating words and finding what was best to say in a situation. And he had very particularly never gotten better at calling when he was going to be late or even to inform where he was.

The amount of hours I've spent waiting for him over the years was an embarrassing amount. But I was alright with waiting. Even as came into the house loudly by slamming the door closed.

I got out of the bed quickly, hearing him greet Aunt May and Uncle Ben downstairs. I shuffled out of his room and went down the stairs. When I rounded the corner and stepped in closer to the dining room, I saw Peter holding something in front of May's face.

She looked behind Peter at me with a shocked expression. "That's a fly, Peter," She told him as he turned to look at it in his hands.

It was like he snapped out of a trance when he let go of it, shaking his hand strangely. "Yeah…" He muttered, watching it fly around before looking back at May. "I'm so sorry… I kept you guys up." He turned to look at me, nodding with his words. "I'm insensitive. I'm Irresponsible… and I'm hungry."

He leaned down and gave May an aggressive kiss on the cheek, handing her a half of his broken skateboard. He then b-lined it to the fridge. I stepped closer and watched with Ben and May as he grabbed a plate of May's meatloaf.

My eyes widened when he unwrapped the plastic wrap and took a large bite of the meatloaf. He moaned at the taste and leaned against the fridge as if it were the best thing in the world.

"Drinking?" May asked us. Ben and I shook our heads. I heard Peter mumble a 'What is this?' as he slowly realized what he was eating.

"This is your meat loaf!" He muffled out. "This beats all other meatloaf's!"

"Something is very wrong," May said as she hugged the skateboard to her body. I nodded as Peter started stacking more tupperwares onto the plate of meatloaf.

"Yeah," Ben started slowly. Peter started grabbing things from the freezer now. "Nobody likes your meatloaf."

May deadpanned and turned to glare at her husband. "Okayyy, Pete," I said, walking over to help him as he shut the fridge. "Let's go to bed."

"Mhm…" He hummed, letting the freezer door close behind him. He slowly walked towards me, his eyes glancing over my body for a second. I grabbed the other half of the skateboard from May.

Just as Peter walked past Ben and May, the tupperware of The Macaroni and Cheese tumbled down. It slotted itself into the crease of his elbow just as May went to reach for it.

"I got it," he said simply, slowly stepping towards the stairs as he kept his eyes in the direction of Ben and May.

I sighed and grabbed the tupperware, roughly setting it on the dining table. "Throw that away." I told the two of them pointedly.

"Are those new?" Peter asked as he continued to walk towards the stairs, inciting me to look down at the shorts I was wearing. They were short, sleep shorts that I hadn't worn around Peter yet.

"Um… no?" I waved to Ben and May as I slowly followed him up the stairs. Making sure nothing fell out of his arms.

"Huh…" he huffed breathily. He glanced behind himself to look at me. "They're nice."

"Thanks?" I said more as a question. Peter shuffled into his bedroom, setting down the food messily on his desk. He looked around for a second and huffed again.

"I think I'm gonna go to the bathroom…"