don't think at all
it’s a hollow type of feeling.
a gentle lull in the dark; completely quiet when your eyes are open, but unbearably loud when you blink.
it’s the loud echo of roaring voices around you when you stand in the middle of the room.
you don’t check your phone now, not because you don’t want to, but because there’s always a fear that he’ll have tried to call you, or finally texted you back.
you feel replaced, replaceable, jealous, envious of every gentle spout of laughter you hear through the halls.
you have emotions, so impactful, that sometimes you worry that their punch will knock you out for days. it’s an irrational fear, an irrational emotion, but once your brain goes spiraling there’s no way to stop it.
you’ve heard that emotions only last 90 seconds. so, each and every time you hear that mournful laughter, you count down, waiting until the hollow feeling comes back.
because that’s what it is, to lose a best friend. to not know why.
you see peter; smiling, just as he always should be. laughing because he’s always seen the world through a ludicrous lens.
and yes, you wish him the best, but, there’s a gentle pain–anger–behind your eyes that try to prove your brain different.
you’ve decided that you don’t like space very much. not at all. but unfortunately, that was the only thing left to fill the hole that your best friend left.
*
it’s scarcely dark outside–dark inside your room, with only the soft light from your computer providing any proof that you’re still awake.
you’re scoffing at an email, rather than sleeping.
it was a welcome distraction. just minutes ago, when you were trying to forge any reason not to close your eyes–not to listen to the rageful voices filling your ears.
it was a wonderful change of pace–actually getting an email. an openly accepted letter from may.
your lips curled into a smile as soon as you saw it, delivered hours ago from warmhearted hands.
but that smile began to fade minutes later when you got to the end.
…peter hasn’t been bringing you over. you should stop by. i know he would enjoy that, and you know i would love to see-
and that was enough to dissipate any pleasant feelings that had taken over. enough to push you back into your body, the very place of punishment.
you couldn’t believe that peter hadn’t told her that he-
more than that, more than the prickling feeling building itself up in your stomach, you couldn’t believe that you were upset about it.
peter was secretive, he was grieving, he was just doing his best to get by, and…
he was being unfair. he was shutting more than just you, out. he was asking for space in all sorts of directions, and, he wasn’t talking to may?
you shook your head and moved your computer off your lap, not willing to read any further. she hadn’t mentioned being worried about him but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t.
and none of it meant that you should be.
it was dark in your room with the computer facing away from you, dark in your room with your figure sitting up in bed, trying to breathe through the panic filling your body.
you were almost used to this now–panic, and all its glory.
the hollow feeling that liked to take its place after 90 seconds.
you began counting, up and down, back and forth, eyes darting across the room when your blaring silence was interrupted.
a gentle, tip-tap, on your window.
your eyes shot up, adjusting to the light of the outside.
and still, it wasn’t hard to see the person waiting outside the window, in flashing colors.
the tapping resumed, a knocking of knuckles you saw now. you couldn’t tell if he was looking in, or looking out.
still, hesitantly, you slid out of bed, moving to the window to unlock it.
and then your quiet was filled with a gasping breath. a body falling into your room.
you jumped back, surprised by his entrance.
you didn’t think that you and spider-man were familiar enough to rationalize this yet.
“are you okay?” you asked, listening to the gasping breath of a crumpled-up superhero, soaking wet from something outside. your eyes turned to the window, but you didn’t see any rain. “spider-man?"
"i figured you’d be up,” the man whispered, voice trying to joke, moving to sit up on his knees.
it allowed you to notice the cut near his clavicle, the blood dripping down his suit, a deep red taking over his classic color.
your eyes widened as you moved to crouch down with him, reaching a hesitant hand out towards him.
“you’re bleeding."
the man laughed. "really?” he groaned and moved to sit down with his back against your bed. “i hardly noticed."
"what happened?” your eyes cautiously observed his shaking body.
there was a beat before he answered, hands twitching at his sides.
“oh, you know,” he began, hand going to touch the wound near his neck. he hissed in pain as soon as the fabric made contact with his skin. “tiny stab wound."
your eyes snapped up from his neck to his face, serious. ”stab-“
"do you have any neosporin?” he wondered, cutting you off and tilting his head towards you.
your brows furrowed, watching him, confused. “no,” you said, shaking your head, unamused. “i don’t typically make it a habit of getting stabbed."
"mother-” he trailed off, voice rough as he threw his head back against your bed. “don’t have any neosporin, i can’t…” he continued to mutter something else under his breath as you stared on, disoriented with his appearance in your house.
your head stretched up, eyes checking for the clock on your nightstand.
he seemed agitated. and of course, you might as well drag that on.
“does the city require you to keep certain hours?” you asked, interrupting his monologue of muttering.
“what?” his voice came out exasperated, amused, head tilting back towards you to very clearly stare.
it was strange not to see this person’s face, to not know what their eyes looked like.
“well, every other time i’ve seen you it’s around now, so…"
spider-man probably thought you were crazy. or he must’ve because a gentle scoff came from his throat, interrupting the breathing exercises he was practicing.
"no, i was at home earlier i just-” he sighed and let his voice draw off, gentle tapping his head against the bed he was carelessly leaning on. “it’s a coincidence,” he told you, head staying back.
“okay,” you whispered back, dubious.
you both sat there for a moment, you contemplating how guilty you would feel if you kicked a broken spider out in the middle of the night. spider-man breathing steadily, whispering something unintelligible from as far away as you were.
your eyes drifted to the only light in the room, your computer, an email sitting there unanswered.
and the feeling came back, the panic, the reminders, the thoughts of distractions, the reason for not sleeping at night.
you sighed a shaky breath out, beginning to count while the two of you sat in silence.
and then spider-man spoke again. “i don’t either, you know."
your eyes moved back to him. "what?"
"i don’t make it a habit of getting stabbed,” his voice, a little bit stronger now, joked. “it just happens."
"you just accidentally get stabbed?” unamused, you stared at him, eyebrows raising.
he shook his head, slowly, back and forth. as if he was rolling his eyes manually. “they’re always hiding a knife in their pockets."
you almost laughed, a gentle smirk building on your face, when you caught onto the word always.
"this has happened before?” your voice was suddenly concerned, eyes turning down to the wound that was still bleeding, looking even darker now.
“it’s a part of the job description,” spider-man laughed, stretching his hands out in front of him. “in big bold letters ’caution: expect knives’"
with no smirk on your face, you stared at the slightly delirious man in front of you, eyes still concerned. though, now it was mostly for his mental stability and less for his well-being.
”i’ve never stabbed you,“ you retorted, a question without a question.
spider-man nodded, pointing at you. "you’re generally more sane than most of the people i meet this late at night."
and at that, you burst out with a laugh, sharp against the quiet air around spider-man.
his head tilted, face kept towards yours.
you rolled your eyes, staring back, wondering how this stranger had ended up in your room past midnight. wondering why you were allowing this conversation to continue without any reserves.
why you felt strangely comfortable around him, not just now, but every time he’d spoken to you.
you shook your head, pushing the thought away, but your questions seemed to drift across the air because he was nodding again.
"i’m sorry i came here, tonight,” he whispered, looking towards the window. he looked back at you, head straight. “i didn’t mean to disturb any sleep."
you smiled, a bit bitter. "it’s okay, i wasn’t…” your voice drifted off as you looked away from him, towards your bed.
“i don’t know why i headed this way, i just…” a gloved hand went to scratch at his head, seemingly surprised when there was nothing to scratch. his head shook, the motion a bit bewildered. “i kept slipping, and i don’t even remember how i got wet,” he laughed, looking back to you. “anyway, i just knew i…couldn’t keep going. this was the closest place.”
you were staring, confused. watching red and blue hands begin to shake.
“or, at least, i think it was.” his breathing seemed to pause there, chest falling in a gentle motion.
spider-man leaned back again, a sharp intake of air coming from his mouth as he stretched his shoulders.
your mind began to turn again, concern from earlier, morphing into action.
“i’ve got some warm water,” you said, lightly. “and some paper towels.” you gestured towards his collarbone, letting your eyes trail down the drip of blood.
spiderman’s head moved to look with you.
“that’ll do,” he nodded back, but you were already getting up.
moving away from him at a steady pace.
mind racing, you retrieved anything to clean his wound, letting your mind ridicule you for letting this happen as you did it.
because, really, who lets a strange man sit in their room while they go get things to patch him up?
in the deepest corner of your mind, hidden under denial so potent you could touch it–you think that it’s because you appreciate his unimportance. his strange humor in the middle of the night when it’s always hardest for you to breathe.
you won’t let yourself think it but you know that he’s been a distraction. just something to think about instead of the pounding, waiting, questions sitting on your shoulders.
even tonight, he came in at exactly the right time.
your hands are steady, your breathing is quiet enough as you head back into your room.
“okay,” you say, just to alert your presence.
you watch as his head snaps up, shaking, as if trying to acclimate himself back to the light you’ve just turned on. his head tilts as he watches you.
you set the bowl of water down next to him, crouching while you wet the cloth.
spider-man clears his throat. “you’re going to do it?” he asks, face closer to yours than expected when your head snaps up.
you hadn’t really considered that.
“well,” you start, drawing the word out. “i can’t let you steal my towel."
really, you don’t let yourself think, you’re just worried that he’ll leave too fast.
"your towel?” he asks, voice full of doubt.
“it would be bad for your reputation."
he moves up, sitting so he can lean the wound closer to you. you smile at him thankfully, moving your hand up towards his shoulder.
"y/n, i’m more concerned that you think i would just steal your towel.”
you pause your movements. hands stilling as you stare at him, eyes widening. “how do you know my name?” you ask quietly, heart picking up.
he tilts his head, curious at your reaction, and then points to the other side of the room.
“that paper,” he answers simply, not missing a beat.
you follow his hand to the application you’d forgotten about pinned to the wall. your name is the first thing on the paper.
“you can see that?” you wonder, voice with disbelief.
spider-man merely moves his head back and forth in a zigzag motion, letting his movement answer for him.
you look away, confused, slightly suspicious. your hands fall back into the bowl of water, resuming whatever you were doing before.
he’s staring at you as you lean closer, holding the towel up, a question without asking, and he nods.
you begin to wipe at the blood, trying to keep your hands from shaking. when spider-man hisses at the feeling, his body moving back involuntarily you look back up at him.
“sorry,” you whisper, trying to offer him a smile.
he nods, waving a hand in the air, and then shakes his head again.
and, to be honest, you can barely comprehend that, but you continue to wipe at the wound anyway.
there’s a couple minutes of silence between the two of you. you, gently wiping away blood from his suit, adding more water, and then repeating the process.
spider-man watching you, only looking down to observe occasionally.
another minute goes by before he breaks the silence, voice cautious.
“earlier, when i came in-” he pauses when you look up from his shoulder, eyes waiting. “you seemed…” he draws off, letting his silence fill in the words.
worried, upset, hurt, angry.
you look back down, pursed lips, a way of getting him to move on.
he doesn’t.
“are you okay? is there-” he stumbles, head ducking down. “was there something wrong?"
there’s just the tiniest bit of movement from your head. you don’t dare move your eyes away from the task at hand, but you can feel your chest, a gentle hollowness falling away.
you’re almost angry that he’s ruined your distraction.
you shake your head again, a bit firmer, when he doesn’t continue. trying to assure spider-man, and yourself, that you’re okay.
"good,” he whispers, just enough.
and then you look back up at him, morphing your face into something like a smile. “are you cold?” you ask him, letting your voice tease him.
he throws his head back, a playful groan escaping spandex.
he shakes his head as he moves it back up, the hand opposite of you moving to cradle his forehead.
“is it that annoying when i ask you?"
a gentle smirk falls on your face, blocking out everything else.
"yes,” you promise him, laughter lighting up the dark.
*
you’re contemplating your existence in life when the tapping on your window resumes.
it’s three days later; three days of contemplation, of questioning your own sanity, of wanting to know how quickly his wound healed.
of wishing for another distraction.
well, wish granted, apparently, because your eyes perk up as soon as you hear the noise.
it’s light in your room tonight, you’re sitting with a textbook, letting the words escape your mind.
you move over to open the window, smile on your face, different than every other night.
today, spider-man does not fall into your room. he merely swings himself through the window, feet quiet as they hit the ground.
he stands in front of you, silent, keeping his mysterious facade.
“what’re you doing here?” your eyebrows raise up at him. it’s less of a serious question, considering that you don’t mind his presence.
he left you with a lot to think about three nights ago.
“are you avoiding me?"
you take a step back, moving to sit on the bed while he leans against the wall.
"hmm?"
his back pushes against the wall, legs crossed in front of him as he gestures towards you with his hands. "you haven’t been out walking,” his voice carries a hint of suspicion. “there’s no one to swing home."
you let out a bewildered sort of laugh. you can’t see his face, but you’re vaguely certain that he’s pouting.
"no, i guess there isnt,” you say slowly, shaking your head in amusement.
“did i scare you off?” he wonders, moving over to the bookshelf on the wall and peering at all your books. making himself at home, you suppose.
you let the silence drag on, wondering, not aloud, if he just came here to ask you that.
the question jogs your memory.
“did your cut heal?” you hadn’t noticed any damage to his suit before, but you weren’t looking very closely.
spider-man turns back to you, clapping his hands together, restless movements drawing attention to him.
he nods, looking down to where the wound was. “the next morning.” he answers, simply.
“is that a part of your…” you draw off, looking for the right word. “spider-ness?"
he throws his head back, laughing and nodding at the same time.
you feel giddy at his reaction, at making him laugh, though you’re not sure why.
your textbook is forgotten, your brain is captivated by this strange, charismatic man in your room.
"they never last long,” he says, moving again to stand by the wall.
you let him stare for a moment, before lifting your head to observe him. “is there a reason you’re here?"
"well, i had to make sure that you weren’t avoiding me."
his voice is teasing, but you’re listening closely, for an answer.
"and,” he tilts his head. “i was wondering if you were in the mood for some wandering around?” his voice tilts the words, morphing them into something else.
you raise an eyebrow. “i thought you said that was dangerous?"
he clicks his tongue, raising a finger up. "no,” he says. “i said that it was cold, and you were all alone."
he moves forward, to the back of the door, where you keep your coat, grabbing it from the hook.
"you won’t be either, now,” he promises, voice softer than before. moving forward to hand you the coat, making sure to keep his distance.
you stare up at him with funny eyes.
“feeling lonely, tonight?” you ask, meaning more than you speak.
you find his proposition peculiar, his manner even more strange. you think his sense of humor is something to be thrown away forever, and you think that his sense of boundaries is broken.
and still, you find yourself smiling at him, waiting for his response.
“it’s quiet,” is all he says, voice a bit rough.
and yes, you think, you agree.
“okay,” you whisper, grabbing the coat from his hands and slipping it on.
you walked around before to be alone. a change in pace might be good.
big white eyes watch you, waiting until you’re ready, and then, he holds a red and blue hand out.
you take it, no apprehension in your mind.
*
and then, there’s school.
it’s a different kind of quiet, to walk through the halls knowing that peter could be just around the corner.
it’s a hollow type of feeling.
a gentle lull pushing you forward, making your steps tentative every time you move.
it feels strange to see him, now, when you know his eyes less, and you feel like there’s something different about him every time you catch a glimpse.
it hurts when he watches back, eyes the same color, different.
but still, you’ve been trying to keep your head up more, lately. you’ve been trying to avoid his eyes, but not avoid the feelings that come with them.
he’s asked for space, and you think that maybe this is what the acceptance stage feels like.
but then, in the quiet, being lulled, feeling that piece in your chest punched out with the same amount of force it would take to swing a bowling ball–you see him.
and there’s no more acceptance, there’s no more anger, there are no emotions at all as you look at him.
there is only fear, only apprehension filling your throat to the end of the line.
you miss him, you won’t deny, but somehow you don’t think it’s the same him that you used to look at.
you think that your peter–the one who used to steal your backpack at lunch, making you chase after him just so you could get it back, the one who used to try and make you laugh in class just so you would get in trouble–you think that he would never have treated you with such stagnant glances.
you think that you’d never felt this way before, when he was still the same.
and yet, this time, when you’re walking through the halls carrying the weight of a thousand hollowed-out holes, tripping on your own feet because you’re not paying attention–you don’t think any of those familiar thoughts.
it’s different, somehow. after you’ve spent a night out, far too late, and your eyes feel a different kind of tired.
when you look at him, you just think, i miss him, you just think, i want to talk to him.
you just don’t think at all.
and you walk a little bit closer.
you don’t think about the person who hasn’t answered your texts, who hasn’t so much as smiled at you in weeks.
you don’t think about the person that’s keeping secrets from their aunt, flaunting new friendships right in front of your eyes.
you don’t think at all, and you’re walking almost right next to him now, lost in the missing thoughts in your head.
you almost smile at him, almost walk so close that you bump into him.
and peter looks up, warm brown eyes, a flickering of emotion lighting up his face.
and then he looks back down, playing with something in his hands that you don’t care to note.
and when he looks back up, he smiles a gentle smile–familiar.
he watches your face for a moment.
he moves a bit closer.
you’re not thinking at all.
his eyes widen, his cheeks twitching.
“hey,” he says, losing his smile, dropping his eyes.
and in a moment, he’s walking right past you. a different person from the one you knew–different from just a moment ago.
he’s walking away, again, and you can’t help but think now–god, now that you can think–that you're such an idiot.
peter walks away from you, after a single word.
as if he hasn’t just grabbed a piece from your chest, leaving you hollow.
*
you’re pleading for a distraction.
you’re begging for anything to take your mind off of today, off of one sweet word that you want to hold onto until your ears go numb.
you want anything to remove the stupidity from your mind, the genuine hope that peter might actually say something to you.
you’re pleading for your friend–new and strange–to come knocking at your window with his strange laughs and overwhelming presence.
you want nothing more than that.
except, you deny, maybe peter to call you, to apologize–i was wrong, he’d say–and ask you if things could just go back to normal–i miss you, he’d whisper.
but no knock comes to your window, not even after midnight.
and no call comes to your phone, not even after weeks.
you want to scream into your pillow, want to cry until your eyes hurt, want to disappear into a semblance of non-existence.
but you don’t really want any of that. you’re a liar.
and finally, after lying to yourself for another hour, you decide to get out of bed.
you throw on the first coat you can see–not noticing how thin it is, nor the clouds in the sky.
you grab your shoes, your phone–feeling reckless, feeling like being a little bit stupid right now, just on purpose this time.
and you leave.
you walk outside, eyes adjusting to the streetlights.
the view from outside your building is the only thing that stayed consistent, the only familiar thing you can think of.
you begin to walk, no destination in mind, except for maybe peace.
you walk until your hands go numb, because really, it’s cold outside.
you walk, and you know–really, you know–that you’re only waiting for one thing.
someone to come and stop you. to tell you to go home. it’s late, he’d say.
but no voice comes from behind you, and no flashing suit pops into your peripheral view.
so you keep walking, head down finally because today you’ve moved past acceptance.
you’re something else entirely.
and you pass the cold off as a side effect, as a cruel symptom of feeling hollowed out.
you barely noticed your hands, losing feeling as each second passed.
you barely notice that you can’t open your eyes now.
you barely notice that you’re about to fall asleep, right then, right there.
and you barely notice when the person stops beside you, reaching a gentle hand out to touch your shoulder.
clearly, he isn’t expecting you to jump away as if he’d just attacked you.
your eyes open–so you can actually see–and you’re surprised by the familiar white eyes, staring at you very plainly in the dark.
“what are you doing?” he demands before you can take a breath of air, voice harsh, concerned, and soft all at once.
you blink, just staring at him, still surprised.
he’s moved his hand away, now holding it closer to your face, as if to make sure you’re real, or that you’re okay.
and well, you’re not really sure that you’re either.
“you came,” you whisper, almost in awe, delirious in your lack of sleep.
spider-man catches onto that more quickly than you do.
“you look like you’re about to drop on your feet,” he says, only slightly irritated. “why are you walking outside so late?” he asks, but doesn’t give you a moment to answer. “it’s freezing out here.” he exaggerates his point by moving his hands to rub his arms.
and then he looks you up and down, latching onto your eyes for a moment, and then continuing.
“you’re wearing your thinnest jacket,” he observes, sounding even more annoyed now. “i’m taking you home."
immediately you shake your head, the first movement you’ve made since you spoke. you don’t want to go home, you don’t want to be alone for the rest of the night.
the cold is a welcome solace.
"y/n, you can barely open your eyes."
still, you shake your head, frown forming. "i was waiting for you."
his body falls at that, relaxing immediately, almost in relief. he breathes out, still.
"i’ll come with you,” he promises, as if he knows it’s what you need to hear. “i just don’t want you to freeze to death.” his voice is joking, but his words come out as a plead.
you look around, blurry eyes, cold hands, frozen feet. you’re not sure how late it is anymore, but you sort of wish you had grabbed your other jacket.
spider-man watches you look around, moving slowly, with desperation.
“please,” he says, bouncing on his feet. “let’s get you home."
you look back at him, relieved to see him again. as if you’d forgotten he was there.
and as soon as you even begin to nod, he’s latching onto you, holding an arm around your waist tightly and pulling you into the sky with him.
the next minute, or two, is a blur–literally and figuratively–and you’re surprised as soon as spider-man is opening your window, pushing you inside with a gentle force.
you almost fall in. but gentle hands keep you up, hold you steady as you touch the ground.
and within an instant, you notice how cold you are. you strip yourself of your jacket, throwing your shoes somewhere else.
it takes a moment for you to register the person watching you.
as soon as you look up he’s speaking: "are you okay?"
you stare at him, blinking, until you’re finally awake again, finally thinking for the first time today.
and immediately, you’re irritated.
"you didn’t stop by tonight."
it’s an accusation, it’s a sentence you almost wish hadn’t left your mouth.
"i didn’t realize you were expecting me to,” he answers, head tilting. his voice is too soft, too concerned to dissipate any of the anger that’s suddenly hit your chest.
“of course i was-” you stop and shake your head, knowing that whatever you were about to say, it was wrong.
spider-man stays still for a moment, and then takes a step backward, waiting for your eyes to meet his again before he says anything else.
“are you mad? you seem mad."
you roll your eyes, moving away from him to go climb into bed. you’re still freezing, despite the red hot anger filling your chest.
you’re irritated–not necessarily at him, but he’s definitely a factor–at your irritation. mad that you’re mad.
contrast meets contrast.
"i’m not mad.” your voice is insistent, final.
he nods, watching you, clearly doubtful.
he moves around, going to sit on the bed at your feet. this has become a casual setting for the two of you over the past week.
he’s taken you on four walks, each one a needed break-free from everything else.
you shouldn’t be mad, not at him, when you’re really just mad at yourself.
you almost wince at the realization.
“you can leave,” you say, trying to smile. “if you want."
spider-man moves as if he’s taken back. a small puff of air coming from his suit.
"why would i want to leave?"
you shake your head at that, making sure not to scoff aloud.
"i’m not exactly the best company, i had-” you sigh, bringing a hand up to your face.
this all feels ridiculous now. your anger, your desperation.
“yes?” his voice is patient, his face is turned towards yours.
you groan and move your hand, looking at him, eyes annoyed. “i had a bad day and, i guess i just wanted a distraction, so when you didn’t show up…"
he stares at you as if he’s waiting for you to continue. he clears his throat when you don’t.
"sorry,” he says, leaning a bit closer to you.
you close your eyes. “it’s not your fault,” you promise, shaking your head with the words. you look back at him, apologetic. “i have attachment issues."
you’re trying to joke, trying to be amusing when you still feel so cold.
and it’s not because of the jacket, now.
neither of you laughs.
”…do you want to talk about it?“
your head jerks back, a small, confused laugh escaping you. "my…attachment issues?"
"your day,” he clarifies, breathing out a laugh with you. a hand goes to scratch his head. “it might help to talk about it."
you watch him, wishing, not for the first time, that you could actually see his eyes. you might be able to read him better that way. might actually guess what he was thinking.
"it’s late,” you say, a non-answer. “i don’t want to keep you."
an actual laugh escapes him now, and he begins to lay down on the foot of your bed, hand holding his head up. "you’ve scared the sleep away for tonight,” he says, sort of reassuring?
you wince. “sorry."
but you can feel his smile from as far away as he is. "i’m listening,” he promises, prodding you to continue.
you take a deep breath, completely aware that you’re going to tell spider-man–who you don’t really know at all–all the things you’ve been shoving down your throat to muffle your screams.
but the realization feels less scary than allowing him to leave.
less scary than letting yourself push it down some more.
“my best friend-” you start, pausing and shaking your head. you swallow. “or, a while ago my best friend asked for some space."
you’re hit by a memory, robotic eyes staring while peter repeated what he wanted in a monotone voice. space, he said.
"space?” spider-man repeats.
you nod. “and that’s fine,” you tell him, because it was. “there were a lot of things going on and i thought that…" he needed someone, he was grieving, he was being beaten from the inside out. "if some time to himself was what he needed, then i could wait. i wasn’t-” you laugh, a bit bitterly. “i was never angry with him for needing that."
you don’t look up to see spider-man still, watching you, a frozen body waiting for your words.
you look up and he moves back into action.
"okay…” he pushes you along, letting you know that he’s paying attention.
“but it’s been a couple of weeks, and he hasn’t said anything.” you purse your lips, your mind pleading for brown eyes and soft smiles again. “and he’s got-” you choke on the words, closing your eyes and not wanting to see anything but the darkness behind your eyes.
you’ve never thought this aloud, never told anyone, never spoken to a stranger.
you’ve never been this mad at peter.
“he’s got a girlfriend now, or maybe just a friend, i don’t know-” you rush the words out, trying to move over them as quickly as you can. your head snaps up, eyes insistent as you tell him more. "and that’s fine!“ you say. "really- i want him to be happy. that’s all i want."
the words ring true into the air, a gentle pleading wish into the world.
"i just wish…” you say and you know that there are no words to vocalize what you wish, what you want, but you’ve started this story and you might as well finish it. “i’m so jealous of her. and, i just miss him, every day, and today he was-” you stop. take a deep breath.
you look up to the man inside your room, the man whose head hasn’t moved since you began his story. whose focus has never shifted.
you look up and smile, trying to lighten your voice. “today was just a bad day, is all."
"and that’s why you needed a distraction?” spider-man asks, voice quiet.
you nod your head, sighing into your hands. “it’s been a hard couple of weeks and you’ve…"
you look up at him, your friend, and smile.
"you’ve definitely improved some of it. even when you were trying to follow me home."
there’s a beat and then:
"i was not following you home,"
you smirk, watching him move up off of his arm to look at you properly. you’ve hit a soft spot.
"you practically made me tell you where i lived just so you could show up and bother me whenever you wanted."
spider-man scoffs. "you told me of your own free will."
you nod your head, rolling your eyes playfully. "and now you’re exploiting my trust."
spider-man gasps, bringing a hand to his chest in mock offense. "excuse me?” he asks.
you shrug, lips twitching as you look away from him.
he shakes his head and scoffs again, looking away from you too, thank you very much.
both of you are silent, teasing smirks off of your lips quietly.
finally, he huffs. “well you fell asleep on the subway, so…” he trails off, shaking his head as if he was personally attacked.
you stare at him. “what does that have to do with anything-"
and he laughs at you, again, keeping the smile on your face for the rest of the night.
a welcome distraction.