The Trials and Tribulations of Trying to Talk while Love Drunk

Peter has always had a tendency to obsess. It’s never been in the same way either: he discovered his passion for chemistry after receiving a toy set for his eighth birthday and fell asleep in the middle of an experiment after stubbornly refusing to go to bed. As a teenager he made it a point to learn every word to Into the Woods, enthusiastically singing along with his Aunt, and early in his college career he became known for leaving clementines scattered around campus, like a long legged and foul mouthed citrus fairy. He’s used to fixating and riding out that obsessive wave until something new and exciting grabs his attention. He’s just never felt that way about a person. 

Sure, he’s had crushes. There was Matt James, who Peter practically fell in love with in elementary school, there was Jill Stacy, Gwen’s older cousin, who took his virginity and had him wrapped around her finger, and even Liz Allen, a senior who noticed him his freshman year of college. But it’s nothing compared to the feeling he has for Professor Parker. 

It’s that obsession. He finds himself completely enthralled by his Professor, so much so that he spends his lectures only barely paying attention to the notes and instead following every flex of his hands (and resolutely ignoring the golden band on his finger). When he goes home, he imagines what those hands would do to him and suppresses his moans and sighs. He feels like a teenager all over again — it’s absolutely ridiculous and downright annoying. 

Gwen thinks it’s funny though. She calls him a love sick puppy when she notices the spring in his step after his chat with Professor Parker and the way he’s suddenly so eager to go to office hours with her. She teases him lightly, but tells him it’s nice to see him so excited again. 

Maybe that’s why she decides to take his love life (or lack thereof) into her own overly capable hands.  

“You know, Harry thinks you’re cute.” Gwen tells him bluntly over a bowl of stir-fry, using the same tone she would use to comment on the weather. She doesn’t even bother to look away from her laptop where they’re watching Glee. It’s become a bit of a weeknight tradition for them — make an easy dinner together and then watch a garbage tv show for some mindless fun. It’s a good way to unwind, or in tonight’s case, discuss boys.

“Harry thinks everyone is cute.” Peter shoots back, very much unphased. It’s not like Harry isn’t handsome or anything, but truth be told, everyone seemed to pale in comparison to Professor Parker lately. 

“Hmm. I don’t know. He asks about you a lot.” Gwen emphasizes a lot and raises her eyebrows to further drive her point .

Peter just shrugs, “I mean he asks you out dancing every weekend, so I wouldn’t put too much thought into it.”

Gwen makes an irritated noise and finally breaks away from watching the show and pretending that she cares about Santana’s snappy comebacks, “That’s not the point! Have you thought about maybe…you know?” Her tone drops suggestively and she waggles her eyebrows with a coy little smile.

“Um. No?” 

“Ugh, you’re so dense.” Gwen shakes her head. “What I'm trying to say is that maybe you should go out with him. Make a move. Do something with all that horny energy you have for Professor Parker!”

Peter gives her a flat look. “Why?” 

“Because pining doesn’t suit you.” Gwen goes back to watching the show, obviously uninterested in his retort. “Besides, it’s not like you can make a move on Professor Parker. I think you just need a little help getting over him. After all, isn’t there a saying: get over someone by getting under someone else? ”

Peter mulls it over for a second because Gwen does have a point. He could try to get over this obsessive and fierce crush on Professor Parker by passing the time with Harry (or anyone else really). Besides, if he squints hard enough, he can see some of the older man’s features in him: the sky colored eyes, silky and soft light brown hair, and fairy-like nose. 

There’s just a pesky, niggling thought at the back of his mind. It’s been bothering him for weeks, and tonight it shifts into place as he toys with the idea of trying to get over Professor Parker through someone else. There’s a small yet mighty chance that this crush runs deeper than just a crush. Peter isn’t quite sure what to call it, but he just feels something that crosses the line and scares him a little bit. 

He had justified his infatuation (no, that’s not quite right either), as being merely attracted to what he couldn’t have, but now he’s not so sure. After spending weeks going to Professor Parker’s office hours with Gwen, he’d gradually moved from simply daydreaming about the man’s hands, face, and unexpectedly well built body (the man had some serious forearms that didn’t come just from writing on chalkboards, okay) to thinking about what it would be like to spend entire days with him and just bask in his presence like a lanky wallflower. 

He hadn’t told Gwen that, though. He didn’t share how sometimes, when he locked eyes with Professor Parker, he felt like he was home and how that feeling left him utterly terrified. 

Instead, he turns over the idea of trying something with Harry because it’s easier than trying to sort out all the emotions he feels whenever he sees Professor Parker. 

“We’re still going out on Saturday, right?” He asks slowly, his brain coming up with a half formed plan. 

Gwen narrows her eyes, shooting him her trademark withering “no-duh” look. “Yeah, I figured we would.” 

“Good. Let’s go out with Harry again.” Peter bites his nail, feeling like he’s standing at the edge of a precipice. “I’ll give it a shot! I’ll make sure to look cute.” He adds a flirty little edge to his words and sends a grin to Gwen.

She beams and gives a squeal of delight as she claps her hands, congratulating herself for being the best wing woman in the world. 

***

“Ugh, I don’t have anything to wear!” Peter flops onto Gwen’s bed dramatically. He’s 3 drinks in and ready to go out, but his stomach is fluttering with nervous energy that has nothing to do with Harry and unreasonably everything to do with Professor Parker. 

Gwen doesn’t glance up from her desk which she has turned into a vanity for the night and instead continues meticulously layering on her eyeshadow. Peter rolls onto his stomach and watches her move onto her eyeliner. He enjoys how careful she is as she swipes upward — the dark color accentuating her green eyes. 

“Could you do my makeup tonight?” 

He sees Gwen’s eyebrow arch in surprise through the mirror. “Wow, you’re really pulling out all the stops. Give me a second, okay?”

He waits patiently for Gwen as she collects her brushes, palettes, eyeliner, and a small pot of something glittery. He sits cross crossed on the bed before turning his head up expectantly, closing his eyes and posing like a Hollywood starlet as he feels the soft flutter of Gwen’s brushes on his face. It tickles. 

“Don’t laugh.” Gwen commands around giggles. “I’m glad you’re going for it, though…It's nice to see you so excited. It’s been a while.” 

Peter cracks open the eye Gwen isn’t currently working on and flashes her a grateful smile. He knows what she’s hinting at. He hasn’t been the same since last spring, and he feels truly undeserving to have such a loyal and caring friend like her. “I know. Sorry I’ve been…a mess. Thank you though, for everything.” 

Gwen returns the soft smile back. “Of course! You’re my best friend.” He’s not sure if it’s a trick of the light, but Peter swears he sees her eyes go a little watery for a moment. “You know, I was a little worried about your crush on Professor Parker.” 

“Hmmm. Why?” 

Gwen shrugs. “I don’t know…it’s just. Okay, maybe this is very much off base, but the way you two look at eachother,” She laughs, half in disbelief and half in surprise she’s saying this out loud. “It’s so intense! I mean, I know you think he’s hot and all but the way he looks at you…” 

Peter feels his cheeks warm up as he sucks in a breath. “What do you mean?” He tries to sound casual, but his mind is reeling as he imagines what those looks might be like. 

“Um,” Gwen scrunches her nose, deep in thought. “Maybe I shouldn’t say this because you’re obviously, like, in lust with him, but he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. I mean, when we go to office hours, have you ever noticed how much attention he pays to you?” 

Despite his best efforts, Petter blinks rapidly as if rebooting his brain. “Excuse me?” He asks flatly, not quite believing what Gwen’s saying. 

“Yeah,” Gwen stretches out the syllable, as if unsure of what she’s saying too. “He’s always looking at you and asking you about your day. I mean, he’s nice to me and everything but the way he cares so much about how you’re doing. I don’t know…it’s weird, right?”

Peter feels himself go lightheaded and for once has no idea how to respond to Gwen. However, his mind is whirling as he replays her words. He knows that he’s oblivious and as dense as his Aunt May’s fruitcake, but Gwen? Gwen is observant and eagle eyed. The fact that she’s seeing these looks means something, even if he can’t quite figure out what it is. Secretly, he’s thrilled. 

“Hold still,” Gwen hisses, spreading little globs of glittery makeup onto his face. She pulls back to assess her handiwork, before giving a nod of approval. “And I’m done! You’re welcome to say, thank you Gwen — I don’t know what I would ever do without you.” 

“Thank you, Gwen. I don’t know what I would do without you,” He mocks, throwing her a rueful smile, before standing up to take in his reflection in her mirror.

Wow. It takes him a moment to process his reflection because he looks good. Gwen really outdid herself by accentuating his dark eyes with even darker eyeliner and smokey eyeshadow, artfully feathering in some soft green and finishing it off with swipes of glitter that extend towards his eyebrows and into the hollows beneath his eyes. He checks every angle in the mirror and feels a little silly at how much he enjoys the shimmer.

“You really do look good.” Gwen says earnestly. It takes him a moment to realize that Gwen has come back from her closet with a satiny teal button down shirt extended in her hand. “Here. This is my lucky shirt — I always have a good night when I wear it out.” 

***

Gwen’s shirt immediately starts doing its magic. The second they enter Harry’s apartment, they’re greeted with some shots being thrust into their hands and from across the room, Peter can feel Harry’s stare and shy smile. He tips the cup back into his mouth, relishing the burn of cheap tequila, and tries not to shiver from the aftertaste. 

He holds his hand out for another shot almost immediately. He’s going to need all the liquid courage he can get tonight.

***

Peter isn’t sure how many drinks it finally takes to get their group ready and out the door. He vaguely remembers the walk to the club, its graffitied doors, and nearly dropping his ID in front of an unamused bouncer. What he does remember is the heat from Harry’s hand on his back, wrist, and waist. 

In the dark space, under strobing blue lights, he loses Gwen and the rest of their group almost immediately but Harry stays by his side. He looks over his shoulder to make sure he’s still behind him as they go deeper into the crowd on the dance floor. His head buzzes at the sweet and dopey smile Harry sends him. 

Peter doesn’t even have to squint to see the resemblance to Professor Parker in here. It’s almost ridiculous how much they look alike in a room that’s already starting to spin and he allows himself to become lost in Harry’s mountain lake blue eyes. 

Impulsively, he grabs Harry’s wrist and drags him deeper into the pit of people, swaying to the beat and mouthing lyrics he definitely doesn’t know. He loves the booming bass, how it reverberates throughout his body, and gets a warm feeling in his chest. He smiles at Harry, finally finding a suitable place to dance and lifts his arms up above his head to fully take in the music. And there it is again — the soft smile that brightens up Harry’s eyes and makes Peter’s already overstimulated brain go on overdrive.  

Things are easy with Harry. He’s nice and sweet, definitely generous given that he’s agreed to host their friends nearly every weekend they’ve gone out, and uncomplicated. That’s why Peter doesn’t hesitate when Harry asks to kiss him. It should be easy, right?

He likes the way Harry’s lips feel between his: soft, warm, and shy. Peter likes that Harry is tentative and that he cradles his face, pausing to run his thumbs over his cheeks, before continuing down his neck. He likes that Harry seems to sigh into him as he settles his hand on the back of his neck, slowly letting their kisses become more eager and unrestrained. 

But there’s something missing. Peter tries to deepen the kiss, runs his hands over the expanse of Harry’s shoulders to try to get that spark and comes up empty. He feels hollow and yet continues kissing Harry because it’s supposed to work . The selfish streak within him doesn’t let up and encourages him to keep going: after all, what’s the harm in going all the way with someone who obviously wants him?

He runs his fingers through Harry’s silky hair, his thoughts full of someone else, and he feels his stomach plummet. He’s not sure how long they stand there, if Harry even notices that he’s just going through the motions, but eventually the guilt of leading him on just to use him eats away at his resolve. 

“Wait, wait, wait. I need to get some air,” He gasps out, breaking away. He waves off Harry’s concerned face and makes an empty promise. “I’ll come back! I just have to take a moment — it’s too hot in here! I’ll see you in a bit.”  

Peter stumbles out of the club, head fuzzy and full of something akin to shame. He feels bad leaving Harry behind, but at least he had been honest — he did need some air. 

He gulps down the cold air greedily, feeling little pinpricks in his lungs as he hazily looks down the street and rests his hand against the building. He waves away the bouncer who eyes him warily with a mumbled excuse. “Sorry, I got too hot in there.”

Without a plan, he ambles down the block, hoping that a short walk will be enough to ground him again. His hands feel clammy and he slicks his sweaty hair back, in a vain effort to look a little more composed. 

As he runs his fingers through his messy hair, Peter feels goosebumps on his skin and shivers involuntarily. It’s getting cold in New York. It reminds him that it’s almost Thanksgiving and the thought overwhelms him in his inebriated state.  

He continues walking along the busy street and almost laughs aloud when he realizes he’s walking toward a church. He’d never been much for prayer even though he technically grew up Jewish with Aunt May and Uncle Ben. His heart twists a little at the thought of Ben and his drunk brain pulls at imaginary threads, wondering if maybe this is some sort of divine intervention. 

Peter feels the ground lurch beneath him and grabs onto the building to steady himself. “Jesus.” He swears and then clamps his mouth shut, vaguely remembering something about saying the lord’s name in vain. He’s not entirely sure how it works, but his scrambled thoughts alert him that maybe now is not the time to test it as he’s a little too drunk and way too vulnerable to godly punishment at the moment. 

He leans up against the church before mustering enough coordination to plop himself onto the steps. Peter props his elbows up on the steps behind him and reclines his head, lifting his face up in a futile effort to see the stars. 

“Peter?” 

He hears his name being called from far away but can’t seem to pull himself up. 

“Peter?!” The voice is more urgent and Peter furrows his eyebrow, trying to place it because it sounds an awful lot like-

“Professor Parker?” He slurs out, somehow managing to command his muscles into lifting his head and upper body up. “S’that you?” He squints into the darkness, his contacts feeling crusty and blurring his vision. 

“Yeah, Peter. It’s me.” Professor Parker comes into focus, blue eyes full of concern. “Are you okay?” He gives Peter a once over, with a frown on his face as if answering his own question. 

Peter waves the question off. “I’m fine.” He hiccups, feeling his whole body bob up, and he knows that’s a lie because he looks like absolute shit. 

Professor Parker only tilts his head. “Okay. Well, I was just taking Sandwich out for his nighttime walk, but I think he’s more interested in making a new friend.” 

It takes Peter a moment to realize that Sandwich (who’s apparently the cutest dog to have ever existed) has trotted over and begun sniffing him expectantly. He reaches out and gives him a tentative scratch behind the ears, smiling as the dog rubs his little head on his palm, absolutely loving the attention.

“Yeah, he’s pretty cute, right?” Professor Parker laughs, walking closer to him. 

There’s a mortifying moment of silence when Peter realizes he said something aloud and he’s grateful that the darkness hides the blush spreading over his face. He nods dumbly. 

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Professor Parker asks again, more softly this time and allows Peter to listen between the lines: no judgment if you’re not. 

Peter feels another hiccup and decides to come clean, shaking his head through another jolt. “Imma be really honest, Prof. I think I’m too drunk.” 

Professor Parker chuckles, “I can see that. Is there anyone you’d like me to call? Or can I get you to your house?” 

Peter pats down his pockets before remembering his phone is in his coat pocket. “Well… funny story. I left my phone with my jacket and I left my jacket over there.” He jerks his thumb over in the direction of the club and sees Professor Parker’s little frown deepen. 

“Okay, how about this. I’ll wait with you until you’ve sobered up a bit and then I can make sure you get your coat back.” 

Peter feels no other choice but to nod, because it’s a pretty good plan (and it’s not like he had had one before this conversation). 

Professor Parker laughs and Peter realizes that once again, he’s speaking his thoughts out loud — which is a very dangerous thing to do. 

“Why’s that dangerous?” Professor Parker lowers himself onto the step next to Peter, looping Sandwhich’s leash around a wrist. 

Peter shrugs loosely. “I dunno. Something about drunk thoughts, sober actions. Also, I just have, like, really dumb thoughts all the time.” He wishes Gwen were here to see him admit that. 

“Somehow I have a really hard time believing that.” Professor Parker looks up at him and Peter feels his breath catch a bit. 

“Oh, that’s because you don’t know me, Professor Parker. I am 100% dumb. Gwen called me a himbo once and believe me, she knows what she’s talking about. Gwen is smart.” Peter stretches out smart to really emphasize his point, which draws another chuckle out of the older man.

“I don’t doubt that. Gwen is incredibly bright.” Professor Parker shakes his head, scrunching up his nose in discomfort. “You know you can call me Peter, right? It feels weird to be called Professor Parker on a weekend.” 

“But, I’m Peter.” Peter points to himself and frowns indignantly. “That’s my name. I’m not sharing my name.” 

Professor Parker — no, Peter — laughs loudly and Peter marvels at the fact that he caused that reaction. “Wow, okay, you really are drunk. But you know what, I’ll let you have the name. I’m also used to going by Parker.” 

“Good.” Peter nods seriously and lifts a hand for a mock handshake. “Well, Parker, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

Parker laughs again and shakes his head in disbelief, but humors him all the same. He grasps Peter’s cold hand and gives it a firm shake. “Pleasure to meet you too.” 

Peter lingers a bit too long on the handshake but, even after their hands have pulled apart, he swears he can still feel the warmth of Parker’s fingers on his skin. They lounge in comfortable silence, occasionally hearing small sniffs coming from Sandwich as he investigates the church’s front steps. 

“How long have you been outside?” Parker eventually asks, taking in the chill in the air. 

All Peter can do is give a little shrug before shivering. 

Parker suddenly reaches over and touches his face. “You’re freezing, you know?” 

“Honestly, I hadn’t even noticed.” Peter mumbles, a bit bemused. “But now that you mention it, I’m starting to get really cold.” He shivers again and tries to rub his arms to warm up. Through chattering teeth, he offers what may be his most brilliant idea of the night, “What if we go to the bar down the street? If I drink more I won’t feel cold, trust me.” 

“You’re not drinking anymore, Peter.” Professor Parker’s voice is firm. “How about this — we’ll walk to my place, I’ll make sure you sober up, and lend you a jacket. If you can remember Gwen’s number, you can call her from my phone.” 

His tone leaves no room for argument and all Peter can do is throw a half-hearted, two fingered salute in agreement. “Aye, aye captain!” He exclaims dramatically, managing to right himself up in one strong push. He sways with the sudden rush of air to his head and only manages to avoid face planting by steadying himself on Parker. 

“Easy there,” Parker is surprisingly coordinated and adept at handling a straining dog and a drunk gangly man. He places his arm under Peter’s and across his back, draping a satin-ed arm over his shoulders. “My apartment is over here.” 

Even though it’s a short walk, it feels like an eternity as they stagger through the streets. Their slow and steady pace reminds Peter of three legged races and he vaguely wonders if Parker would be good at them given how well he’s managing at the moment. He makes a mental note to ask him about that someday.

He’s so distracted by his thoughts that he barely registers being unceremoniously dumped onto a plush couch. He blearily looks around and takes in the small, yet meticulously organized apartment as Parker fills up a glass of water and lets Sandwich off his leash. 

“Here,” He offers up the glass and a gray fleece blanket, before sitting on a chair across the couch. “You should drink something that’s not alcohol.” 

Peter eagerly takes both, wrapping himself up with the blanket before downing the glass of water and feeling a jolt to his senses. “Thank you,” He remembers to say, suddenly very aware of how much his professor has helped him. “Sorry you’re stuck with taking care of me. I swear I’m a lot more fun when I’m not a drunk-o-potamus.” 

“A what?” Parker’s smile causes the corners of his eyes to crinkle a little and Peter feels more drunk than ever at the sight. 

“A drunk-o-potamus. It’s a little joke — it’s when you get so drunk you stumble about like a hippopotamus.” 

“I’ve never heard of anyone saying that.” 

“Well, that’s because it’s a Parker original! Gwen and I went to our first party in high school and got stupid drunk,” Peter laughs through the memory of trying to stumble home with Gwen, singing loudly through Queens. “My Uncle Ben was so mad when he caught Gwen and I trying to sneak in. He said something like: look at you two drunk-o-potamuses, you woke up half the neighborhood! And I don’t know why, but it was so funny. Next thing I knew, Gwen was on the floor laughing and I was laughing and at some point Uncle Ben started laughing because we were just so ridiculous.”  

It takes Peter a moment to realize what he’s said aloud and he suddenly feels the pressure building up in his head. He rubs the heel of his palm into his eyes furiously, refusing to cry, before plastering an overly bright smile and looking at Professor Parker. “So, yeah, you can thank me for introducing drunk-o-potamuses to you.”

The smile is gone from Professor Parker’s face. His head is tilted and there’s a little crease between his eyebrows, as if trying to make sense of the man before him. 

Peter feels his cheeks flush, because there’s something in Parker’s face that reminds him of the pitiful looks he got in the months following his uncle’s death but at the same time it looks an awful lot like understanding. His brilliant blue eyes tell him all he needs to know: I get it, you don’t have to say anything else. 

“I like that.” Parker breaks the silence gingerly, before testing the word out. “Drunk-o-potamus. It’s a good word.” 

Peter hums in agreement and pulls the blanket tighter around him, feeling more underdressed in the apartment than he did when he was outside. 

“You know, it’s been a while since I was a drunk-o-potamus.” Parker starts out hesitantly, trying to sound casual but not quite getting it right. “I think the last time I was out was with my best friend and we ended up trying to climb up a fire escape.” 

Despite the awkwardness, Peter can’t help but appreciate the effort to make him feel better. “Oh yeah? What happened?” 

Parker laughs. “Well this is embarrassing, but I hurt my back. Harry had made it look easy and I managed to grab onto a rung for a second before falling. I think I nearly gave him a heart attack!” 

Peter laughs and feels some of the earlier tension fade away. There’s something magical about Parker and the way he manages to make Peter feel at ease — maybe his calm confidence is contagious. 

Parker squints, almost as if he’s seeing through him. “You know what’s funny? You two look a little alike.” 

“Um. Thanks?” 

“No, no, sorry — it’s definitely a compliment! Harry was always the better looking one of the two of us. Here’s a photo of him.” Parker stands up to pick up a small frame by the television. He looks at it wistfully before handing it to Peter. “That’s him.” He points to a smiling young man with unruly curls, sharp cheekbones, and brooding dark eyes standing next to a smiling and younger Parker. They look like a mismatched pair — his friend is practically a James Dean look-alike and Parker looks like a boy playing dress up with plastic framed glasses that are slightly too large for his face and an ill fitting white button down.

“No offense, but your friend is, like, really hot.” Peter internally cringes after blurting that out, but at least it’s less embarrassing than accidentally revealing his crush on Professor Parker. 

“None taken! I mean, I knew that and that’s why everyone went for him!” Parker puts the frame back, with a sad frown that’s gone in a flash. “How are you feeling?” 

“Umm, a lot better actually.” There’s a lot unsaid there, but Peter hopes Professor Parker — no, just Parker — understands.

The smile Parker sends him could lift up a whole hot air balloon with the way it sets Peter’s heart on fire. He’s suddenly very aware that he’s in his professor’s apartment, dressed in a satin shirt that has somehow magically lost its top three buttons, and has spent the better part of a night talking with him. 

Peter takes it as a sign of sobriety as he’s suddenly able to over analyze every second of their interactions. He almost wishes he could melt into a puddle of embarrassment, thinking about the way he acted on the church steps. 

“You know,” he starts hastily, “I’m suddenly feeling a lot better and I think I can go home now.” He stands up too quickly, feels the blood rush to his head, and the ground once again rushes up to greet him.

“Hey, careful there!” Parker’s voice is strong as his arms reflexively reach for him. He steadies him, and for a second Peter is close enough that he can see a ring of gunmetal gray within Parker’s blue irises and catch the way his pupils expand. Through the thin satin shirt, Peter can feel the warmth of Parker’s fingers from where they grip his arms. They hold on for a moment too long, but it still doesn’t feel long enough for Peter, who’s hungry for it all.  

“Thank you,” He murmurs, his gaze absolutely enraptured by those eyes. 

“You’re welcome.” Parker’s voice is quiet as he backs away, and Peter sees a swirl of emotions that he can’t quite decipher run through his face. 

“I really should go.” Now it’s his turn to be quiet. There’s an unspoken question in there that he wishes he had the courage to ask, though: or would you rather I stay? 

It feels like they’re at the edge of something. Even Peter can feel the tension in the room and he flicks his gaze to Parker’s mouth to see him bite his lower lip before setting his mouth into a firm line. 

“Of course. Let me lend you a jacket.” 

And just like that, the moment is gone. Professor Parker is back, and he keeps his distance as he hands Peter a puffy black jacket. 

“Do you have your wallet? I can lend you my transit pass if you need it. Or I can call someone for you.” Professor Parker offers stiffly.

“No, it’s alright.” Peter tugs on the jacket and wraps his arms around himself, trying to warm up before heading out into the cold. “I’m walking home.” 

He notices the slight look of disapproval on the older man’s face and has the most brilliant idea he’s ever had. “How about I give you my number? I’m going to try to get my phone tonight, so if you message me tomorrow and don’t get a response you can at least let Gwen know that I’ve likely fallen into a ditch.” 

Professor Parker’s mouth quirks up. “Are you sure? I can easily call a ride for you.” 

Peter shakes his head. “No, I need the fresh air. Here, give me your phone.” He amazes himself with the confidence with which he asks, not a mumble or stammer to be heard, and double checks to make sure every digit in his number is perfect before sending himself a text. “I’ll let you know if I’m alive tomorrow.” 

***

The walk home takes over an hour and by the end of it, Peter is sure the tips of his ears are frozen. But that doesn’t matter, after all he’s now got Professor Parker’s number in his phone and his jacket wrapped around him. He falls asleep still wearing it and inhaling the faint smell of Parker that clings onto it.