#11--April 24, 2019
Sweatshirt
Peter rubs his eyes as he sits up, looking around him in confusion. The last thing he remembers is him and Mr. Stark watching the newest Star Wars movie. His eyes focus on a little note card on the bedside table and he picks it up, his eyes sliding over the words blearily.
‘You fell asleep last night and you wouldn’t wake up. You’re in my room since yours is still trashed. Go ahead and pick anything from my drawers to wear.
-TS’
Oh, Peter thinks, looking around the room. Now he can see the picture frames of Tony and Rhodey, Tony and Pepper, Pepper, and even Tony and him. That makes sense. Taking a few more seconds to look around the room, Peter pushes himself off the bed, shuffling over to the only dresser in the room.
Ms. Potts probably has a walk-in closet, Peter thinks to himself, sliding open the top drawer. He’s greeted with the sight of underwear and socks and he immediately shuts the drawer, his face turning red. After a few seconds, Peter opens the next drawer down and is relieved when it’s just sweatpants. He grabs the first pair he sees, some joggers, and searches for a shirt to wear.
Peter opens the second drawer and leafs through the shirts, smiling when he spots a cat shirt here and there, but he doesn’t take anything from it. Instead, his eyes are drawn towards the chair in the corner of the room that he saw when he first woke up. Peter bites his lip as he looks at the article of clothing on it. It’s an old grey sweatshirt with frayed edges and a few grease stains on it. The one thing that really catches Peter’s eye, though, is the MIT logo on it. He wouldn’t mind if I…?
Thinking it over for a few moments, Peter swipes the sweatshirt from the chair and heads towards the bathroom in his room since it’s the only thing that’s not trashed. Some sort of device that Peter had been tinkering with at school had exploded in his room and Peter’s glad that he wasn’t there when it happened since his room is completely decimated.
Doing his business and slipping on the joggers and sweatshirt, Peter pads slowly down the hall, rubbing at his eyes. The lights dim along the way for him and Peter’s glad that he finally told Tony about his heightened senses and how they’re pretty much unbearable in the morning. "Thanks, Fri,“ Peter mutters as he steps into the elevator, waiting a few seconds as it goes down a level before jumping off.
Peter lets the ends of the sweatshirt hang over his hands as he makes his way into the kitchen. He can hear something playing on the television but his thoughts are currently on curing the hunger pain in his stomach. God, when was the last time I ate. Oh, wait… Lunch yesterday. Peter grimaces as his stomach clenches, stopping as he spots Mr. Stark standing in front of the stove, moving something around on a skillet.
Mr. Stark, Peter learned, used to be a horrible cook. The first time he learned that was when Peter was sick and Mr. Stark offered to make some soup. Sure, the broth was fine, but Peter was pretty sure that everything else was burnt. Since then, Peter offered to help Mr. Stark cook when he stayed over since he happened to know how to cook somethings due to Uncle Ben. That also happens to be the reason Aunt May is a horrible cook: Peter and Uncle Ben were the ones who cooked dinner and breakfast, and sometimes lunch on the weekend.
"Whatcha making?” Peter murmurs, standing on the balls of his feet to look at the pan from over Mr. Stark’s shoulders. “Oh, pancakes again! Make me some?”
“Of course, kid,” Mr. Stark says, not removing his eyes from the batter in the pan. “How was your sleep? You crashed pretty hard halfway through The Last Jedi. Tough week?" Peter just hums, starting a new pot of coffee since the one made is nearly empty.
"Slept better than usual last night,” Peter admits.
“No nightmares?” Mr. Stark asks because he knows that Peter has them on occasion. He’s seen his fair share of Peter’s panic attacks and nightmares and he’s hoping they’re not the reason Peter crashed during one of his favorite movies.
“No nightmares,” Peter confirms, pouring them both a mug of coffee. An iron man mug for him and a specially ordered spiderman one for Mr. Stark that he got the man for his birthday.
“That’s good, kid,” Mr. Stark says, adding a few pancakes to a large plate of them that Peter somehow only just noticed. “Go ahead and get us some plates and silverware while you’re at it,” Mr. Stark says, hinting towards Peter setting down their mugs on the kitchen table where the remains of his homework and one of Mr. Stark’s tablets lay.
Peter does as told since his mentor is the one making the food. Usually, Peter would be much more wary of leaving the man to his own devices while cooking, but pancakes are one of the only foods that Mr. Stark already knew how to partially cook. Just a little nudge from Peter sent the man in the right direction and now pancakes have become a staple around the Compound when Peter stays over.
Peter grabs the syrup as Mr. Stark grabs the plate of pancakes, bringing them over to the table. Once Peter sits down with the syrup, Mr. Stark raises an eyebrow at him. “Is that my MIT sweatshirt?” the man asks, pointing a fork with a square of pancake on it at Peter.
“Uh…” Peter says, freezing in his tracks from where he was grabbing the syrup. “You said I could wear something of yours. I didn’t know that I’m not allowed to wear it. I’ll go take it off now–”
“–Pete, it’s fine,” Mr. Stark says, rolling his eyes. “It was just a question. And besides, I have a few others. You can go ahead and keep it." And if the sweatshirt is Mr. Stark’s favorite, he doesn’t show it because the grin on Peter’s face is much more heartwarming than some old sweatshirt.