Work Text:
In which Peter Parker sees Serena Van Der Woodsen, but he isn’t quite sure if she see’s him.
{~~so I look in your direction, but you pay me no attention, do you?
Oh, I know you don't listen to me
'Cause you say you see straight through me, don't you?}
Peter can never tell if he’s alive in front of her.
He sees her everyday during his walk from Algebra to Gym; a poised figure, leaning against the lockers talking to a group of girls whose hairstyles are worth more than his entire month's earnings; but then again, with the rate Jameison was paying per picture, a month's earning wasn't exactly very much.
It's always an awkward stumble, and for some reason or the other her eyes always meet with his.
Most days he'll look away instantly; perhaps out of shame? Out of timidity? He doesn't know. But his head hangs low, as he finds the dirt on his sneakers much more interesting than the young socialite girl whose gaze he feels piercing the side of his head.
But on some days things are different.
some days, when he feels a couple dollars richer and a couple kicks less bruised, he'll hold his ground; hands stuffed in the pockets of his old trouser, as he attempts to smile towards her.
It is, of course, to no avail; she just doesn't see him. She'll look towards him, of course; but that's it. There is no hint of recognition in her smile, nor warmth in her eyes. He could've been made out of stone for all it mattered; cold, and inanimate, and dead.
And it's only when he bends down to tie his shoes, and sees his bruised knuckles from an eventful late night patrol, that he remembers otherwise.
~~~
{~~"I'll be waiting in line, just to see if you can... oh, don't you shiver?"~~ }