one
Peter wakes up and he immediately wishes he hadn't. He's so tired, tired in a way that no amount of sleep could ever fix. But he has to get up, has to smile and show Aunt May that he's fine.
So he does. He sluggishly sits up, looking over at his alarm clock that's two minutes from going off, and drops his face into his hands for a few moments.
He closes his eyes, just breathing and telling himself he's fine, he can do this, everybody else in the damn world can do it, so he should be able to too.
A loud, annoying beeping begins blaring from his alarm clock, and he squeezes his eyes shut tighter, his hands moving to his ears as he presses against them tightly, frustrated and irritated.
"Peter! I know you're awake! Turn off your alarm and get your butt out here!" His aunt calls from the kitchen, her voice taking on a joking tone, and he sighs.
Peter turns off the alarm. "I'll be out in a minute!"
She doesn't reply, so he assumes she heard him and gets up, shuffling his way to his closet and pulling out a random hoodie and pair of jeans.
For a moment he wonders if he should shower, but brushes the thought aside. Later. As he changes out of his two-day old clothes and into his new outfit, his eyes land on his right thigh, where at least a dozen small scabs are close to healing. He remembers before he got his powers, when it took weeks for the wounds to heal. He kind of misses it.
He doesn't think more on it, finishing changing and tossing his dirty clothes to the chair by his desk. Before Peter closes his closet door, his eyes catch on his suit, hanging discarded next to his jackets.
Peter hasn't touched it in over a week, and a stab of guilt flashes through him before he turns away, opening his door and shuffling down the short hallway toward the kitchen.
May smiles at him from her spot standing near the counter, and her eyes flick over his appearance. She raises a brow. "When was the last time you showered, young man? Your hair is as greasy as the oil in that pan."
Peter follows his aunt's gaze to a dirty frying pan in the sink, and then to the trash where the remains of what must have been some sort of bacon lie.
"A few days ago. I'll shower tonight," the teen says dismissively, and he plops down at the island, where a plate of toast sits.
"For me?"
May rolls her eyes fondly, snorting. "No, that's for my other nephew."
Peter cracks a grin at that, and it strikes him how stupid it is that it was hard to smile. He begins nibbling at the charred toast in front of him, not even bothering to butter it, and watches May lean against the counter in front of him.
"So, I noticed you haven't been out as Spider-Man lately. Something wrong?" She questions, a suspicious look on her face as she watches him eat.
He's quick to pull a confused face for a second, laughing. "What? I've just been taking a small break because I have homework," the boy assures, shaking his head as if even the idea of something being wrong is absurd.
She watches him for a moment longer before sighing. "Okay, baby. If you're sure. I've gotta get to work so I'll probably see you tonight, okay?"
May walks over to him, brushing his curls out of his face and pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "I love you, Peter. Goodbye," she murmurs, and he returns the statement, watching her leave.
He sets down the piece of toast in his hands and stares at the plate for a few minutes. Peter wants to go back to his room and lie down, wants to curl up and just forget about school for once.
But then he thinks of how his grades will drop and how May will be so mad, and he sucks in a shuddering breath. He takes another deeper, smoother breath. "I can do this, I'm fine," Peter tells himself, and he dumps his food in the trash, slipping on his shoes and grabbing his bag from the couch.
With one last glance at his closed bedroom door, he sets off for school.
When Peter gets to his locker, Ned is waiting there like always with a smile. He copies it, reaching out to do their handshake, before he puts his bag in his locker and begins to grab his books from it.
"Dude, did you hear they're releasing another Lego Star Wars game?" His friend asks excitedly, and while that normally would have made him perk up, just as excited as Ned, it just. . . didn't. But he needs to show Ned he's okay, so he grins even brighter.
"No, seriously? When?"
They start down the hall together, and if Ned suspects something, he doesn't show it, rambling on about the new game.
At lunch, he sits in his usual spot across from his best friend, but he notices that MJ is sitting a few seats from him today instead of at the other table.
"Oh, hey MJ! How come you're sitting over here?" Ned asks, and Peter is sort of relieved he doesn't have to. He doesn't know why, it's not like he doesn't like MJ. He does like her, she's becoming one of his best friends, right up there next to Ned, but sometimes he just doesn't want to talk at all.
For a few seconds, he wonders what it would be like to never talk again. He wonders how long it would take people to notice.
"I felt like it," the girl responds, shrugging. She has a book in front of her and an apple by her elbow. She doesn't eat lunch often. Peter only noticed it because Ned pointed out one day that he and MJ both hadn't gotten lunch and he was wondering what was wrong with them.
He always got lunch after that, and Ned never noticed that he didn't finish it.
Peter pokes at the school mashed potatoes with his spoon, his chin resting in his hand, and he feels a small flare up from his Spider Senses, flinching as a balled up piece of paper collides with the back of his head.
"Hey, Parker! Do you not have a shower anymore? Are you so poor that your water had to get shut off?" Flash called, his voice a mocking sneer.
His hands clenched into fists and his nostrils flared in anger, but he didn't say a word. "He doesn't have a butler to turn the shower on for him. Forgive him if he's a little slow," Ned spits, clearly angry for his friend.
MJ gives them one of her rare smiles, before tossing her apple at Peter and not looking the least bit surprised when he catches it right away. "You do look like shit, though."
It doesn't make him mad when it comes from her, but it does send a flash of insecurity through him before he brushes it off. He doesn't have the energy to care about his appearance right now.
When the bell rings, he throws the apple away with his lunch.
In his last class of the day, Spanish III, Peter feels anxiety clawing its way up his throat from the second he walks in the door. He hates this class, has for as long as he can remember, but he has to keep taking it otherwise he won't have the credits to graduate next year and he has to graduate-
"Mr. Parker?"
Ms. George is standing in front of him with her brows raised, and his whole face flushes red in embarrassment. "W-What?"
"The homework from yesterday, Peter. The Unit 26 worksheet?" She repeats, a small frown on her face, and of course there was homework yesterday.
He probably would have done it if he hadn't completely forgotten and cried so hard he couldn't breathe, dragging a blade across his thigh so many times that blood was streaked on his hands.
"I must have forgotten it at home," the boy lies, and Ms. George sighs, moving past him. He can feel the gazes of his classmates on him and he hates it.
A few moments later, she's back, handing him a worksheet. "Finish this tonight, okay? For now put it away and pay attention to class."
It's no surprise that he's immediately overwhelmed, staring down at the paper and trying to pay attention at the same time, just wanting to get it done, but he doesn't understand it.
It's based off of a story he was supposed to read days ago but he doesn't remember a single word from it, and he doesn't understand half of the words on the page.
By the time class is over, he hasn't written down a single thing, and he's angry at himself, wanting yet again to just never do his school work again. Releasing an aggravated and stressed sigh, Peter puts the paper with his other stuff and is about to leave, when Ms. George calls for him.
His heart pounds in his chest at the thought of being in trouble or getting lectured, and his palms begin to sweat.
"Peter, is something going on at home? I've noticed that you've started to fall behind a lot lately. I'm being as lenient as I can, but you're missing multiple assignments, and those you do have done have little to no effort in them."
Peter wants to scream at her, he wants to cry and tell her he did put effort in, he put so much effort. He had literally been contemplating killing himself because he fucking hates it so much, but he didn't put any effort in?
"Nothing's going on. I'm sorry about my grades, I'll try to bring it up," he whispers instead, and with another disappointed sigh, she let him go.
As he pushes open the doors to get outside, he's still thinking about the stupid Spanish homework, and he almost doesn't see Happy's car. He spots it just before he was about to turn to walk home. He couldn't start walking home then turn around to get in a car, he'd look so stupid.
It's Friday, which means he has a lab day with Mr. Stark, the days he usually stays the night, and if May allows it, the weekend too.
He can't, though, because he has to do his homework, and if Mr. Stark sees him struggling he'll think he's so stupid-
Peter reaches the Audi, and pulls open the back door like he's used to, sliding in and slipping a smile on his face. "Hi Happy! How was your day?"
"Fine," comed the man's expected response, and Peter shot one more fake smile at him before looking to his bag, where he knows that paper is sitting. He looks away, and as Happy starts driving, he lies his head against the window, just thinking.
He thinks so much, that sometimes he just wants to remove his brain from his head and take a break. Scratch that, not sometimes, all the time. The brunet snorts quietly at the thought, and he suddenly notices that something feels weird. Different.
His eyes travel to the window partition and he realizes. It's not up. It dawns on Peter that he hadn't talked Happy's ear off this time, and when he meets the older man's eyes in the mirror, Happy looks concerned.
Shit. "Did you get much sleep last night, Happy? I didn't, I was working on homework for hours," the teen converses, a small smile on his face. Something changes on Happy's face then, because he rolls his eyes.
"I slept fine, Kid."
"Do you live at the tower? I just realized I can't imagine you in a house, it's a weird mental image-"
The partition goes up, and instead of the small pang of hurt he usually feels, Peter lets out a sigh of relief. He doesn't want to pretend anymore. The thought sticks in his head for a little bit, and a real smile tugs at his lips as he thinks of how ironic it is.
He doesn't want to pretend at all anymore.