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The hardest thing about the breakup, Peter realized, were the things that caught him off guard.
He’d go hours, days even, without thinking too hard about it, and then something would smack him in the face with memories and he’d feel that wound, fresh and stinging all over again.
He’d done all the right things at first, had unfollowed but not unfriended Tony on social media, blocked his web browser from showing any articles that mentioned him, tried his best to create some space for himself to not be bombarded by Tony’s image and memory.
He’d done everything he was supposed to do to heal after a break up he’d never wanted. But how the hell was he supposed to escape Tony Stark when Iron Man was everywhere?
He’d retreated back to his apartment in Queens with Aunt May, the Avengers compound too full of memories and reminders, but he found that his room was crammed full of things that made his heart clench every time he saw them.
Tickets to the Dodgers game that Tony and Steve had taken him to, pinned on his bulletin board next to a poster about a lecture Tony had given 3 years ago at MIT, before any of this had started. An old tie that they'd left haphazardly on the floor, unfashioned too roughly from Tony's neck after the gala they’d gone to last month. And about a million other things on top of that.
He’d tried to coexist with it at first, had hoped that if he didn’t disturb the items, didn’t box them up like he knew he ought to, that it wouldn’t actually be real, that maybe they’d still get back together. He knew it was in vain, but he hoped.
They hadn’t texted since that night, hadn’t exchanged one goofy selfie, or good morning text, or a single update about how their day was.
It felt like a whole chunk of his life was ripped out, his phone silent and boring. Ned and MJ and May and the other Avengers had all tried to check in on him, all tried to support him through this. But he found himself resenting their messages of well wishes and support. He wanted his phone to chime with a text from Tony. Wanted an apology for making the biggest mistake of his life. A desperate plea for forgiveness.
But instead he had nothing from him for 5 days.
And it ate him up inside.
He found himself searching for Tony’s name online, wanting to find signs of the man missing him. But each time he scrolled through Twitter and Instagram, his heart broke just a little more.
There was nothing for the first couple days. That had made sense. Peter got the sense that Tony hadn’t told a lot of people about ending things. And besides, they were never able to be very public online, the potential for public backlash and scrutiny too high for them to risk in their newly budding romance.
It had made sense at the time. But now it hurt that no one beside his closest friends really knew.
He didn’t want to be dramatic and childish by broadcasting his heartbreak all over Facebook, but it hurt that all these acquaintances from high school and distant relatives thought he was fine, that everything was smooth sailing as usual. It hurt that none of them really knew.
And then, after a few days of obsessively checking and breathing a sigh of relief that there were no new posts, he started seeing signs of activity. Likes on their mutual friends posts, comments here or there, Tony posting a meme onto his story and a selfie on Snapchat.
The world kept turning, and Tony was moving on.
But Peter’s heart broke all over with each self-sabotaging click on Tony’s name.
Peter tried to keep a level head. Knew that whatever he posted would speak volumes about how well he was handling this to everyone in the know. So he posted once or twice a day, sometimes a selfie with a vague but positive caption, reblogged a funny post about Steve's hair.
He wanted to prove he was doing okay to the outside world, but especially to Tony, if he was seeing Peter's posts. He didn’t know if it actually worked, and he was too scared to ask.
He knew it wasn’t healthy, this compulsion to check on Tony’s Snap story or make sure he hadn’t unfollowed Peter on Instagram, but it was all he had. The last tangible connection to the life he’d been building with Tony. And as much as it tore him open each time and salted the inflamed skin, he couldn’t stop.
Deep down he didn’t think he wanted to stop, he wasn’t ready to let go.
The first message from Tony in nearly a week had been practically transactional, about exchanging their items.
He’d cried that night, suppressed sobs that wrenched from his aching lungs and chest, trying to stay quiet enough to not wake up May and worry her.
But he’d eventually pulled himself together and dutifully packed up Tony’s items, the five months of their relationship together fitting neatly into one medium sized box. It felt kind of nice, actually, to fold up each sweater or undershirt and say goodbye to yet another piece of Tony.
But it also felt so pathetic, how little space Tony's things took up in his tiny bedroom when he put them all together. He said goodbye silently to them, and kept it together the rest of the afternoon, smiling and chatting with May, pretending that he wasn’t bleeding inside from the pain of it all.
And then he’d broken down on his way to the subway; a poster of Tony on a gigantic billboard that caught him off guard, made him feel like he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t stop feeling the knife digging in deeper and deeper. It was mortifying, and no one on the crowded sidewalk gave him a second glance, let alone stopped to ask him if he was okay, they were all too busy with their own thoughts. No one cared that his life was burning down around him.
Eventually he pulled himself together once more, got on the subway, and rode it to the stop he knew so well. He felt numb, but that was better than feeling everything, numb was better than the gut wrenching loss he’d been living with for 6 days now.
At least he hoped it was.
God, he really hoped it was.
And then he finally saw Tony, coming down into the lobby of his building. It was the first time he’d seen the man since that night, when he’d sat with Peter on his tiny bed in Queens and told him he didn’t see a future with him and that he wanted to cut things off before it went any further.
Peter knew Tony had tried to do the right thing, tried to respect Peter enough to not lead him on any more than he already had. But it didn’t stop it from hurting. Didn’t stop Peter from feeling numb when he laid eyes on Tony now.
He’d awkwardly handed off the box to him, and Tony invited him up to the penthouse to collect his boxes. Of course he had more stuff to lug back home than he’d brought. He’d spent practically all his time at the tower, Tony's bed was nicer, and it was close to his university.
It had made sense at the time.
They stopped in the hallway, Tony asked him about some mundane television show that was suddenly popular and for a very brief moment, it felt like old times, like they were just Tony and Peter, catching up after a long day and about to go grab dinner.
It felt nice... comfortable even, and he found his hope rising like the traitor it was, but it was over all too soon, and suddenly Tony was helping him carry the second box down stairs and out to a car he’d called for Peter. Peter cracked a bad joke that rang too true for the pain he was feeling and he winced, embarrassed and angry at himself for not playing it cool. They awkwardly wished each other a good night and that was it, the culmination of 5 months of his life with Tony.
He cried on the way home, tears slipping fat and wet from his face as he called Ned and began to sob.
And now it was weeks later, Peter still didn’t quite know how to function with this Tony shaped hole in his life. He still felt the whiplash of seeing something that reminded him of a good memory together, still felt the compulsion to look him up online, but he tried his best to resist.
Most days it didn’t work, but it was getting incrementally easier to handle the wave of panic that hit each time he saw something that proved Tony was moving on, was leaving him and the love he thought they’d shared behind.
He missed being touched.
Sometimes he wanted to be fucked senseless, to not feel any of the feelings he couldn’t shove down.
Sometimes he just wanted to be held and caressed and loved in the way only a boyfriend could.
Most of the time he just missed not feeling alone. Nights were the hardest, too quiet and hardly anyone awake to chat with and keep his mind occupied. Nights had been their time, and it still hurt most then,
He didn’t know when he’d be okay, be at peace with it. But he was still trying, still trying to be kind to himself and to the people who loved him. He was still trying to be better everyday. He hoped it would get better soon, he really missed the bubblegum feeling of being happy and in love.
He hoped he would get better soon, he deserved to be happy, he kept reminding himself.
Peter was so grateful for the people in his life who listened and encouraged him, so glad to be feeling a little better each day, but it was the little things that caught him off guard and made him feel sad and alone all over again. It would get better soon, he told himself.
He truly hoped it would get better soon.