Chapter Text
4.
The fourth time he sees her is after a long night of quips and crime fighting, sitting silently on the ledge of a towering building. Her gaze is set steadfastly on the horizon, watching the sun peek out from behind the skyline. He likens the view of her taking in the sunrise to a renaissance painting, he thinks to himself, or something else equally poetic, until he catches sight of the frown that mars her soft features, but that's rather reminiscent of some tragically beautiful prose, too. He wonders what about the new day sun and her bursting colours could cause such an expression. He thinks to himself that this must be the sort of thing one might call a muse. The catalyst to a piece of music, a deep ballad, a rich painting. He wonders if he might ever be capable of creation.
He considers moving to her side, asking her to share her worries, before he thinks better of himself and dismisses the idea. Instead, he takes a silent seat next to her, eyes fixed firmly on the scene before them. She watches him settle in from the corner of her eye, hums in acknowledgement, but makes no move to engage him.
They stay like that for nearly an hour until finally she releases a breathy sigh and stands from her place. She looks down at him from behind her mask, her eyes clear and contemplative. A faint smile tugs at her lips. She nods her head at him, turns on her heel, and leaves him to his thoughts.
Peter watches her go with a quiet reverence. He feels content and filled to the brim with… something, though he's not certain how or what or why. A sense in the back of his mind sings to him of significance.
It doesn't occur to him that he's forgotten entirely to ask for her name.