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Peter felt the ocean jostling side to side in his stomach. No, maybe he was like a full sippy cup being carried by a running toddler. Either way, his stomach was rolling, his hands were sweaty, and he felt like he was about to pass out.
Why, you ask?
Because for the last week Tony had been avoiding him. No sex, barely any kisses, and he hadn’t hugged Peter in four days. When Peter’s down in the lab (which isn’t that much now) Tony wasn’t asking him to hand him tools anymore, and wasn’t eating the food Peter brought, but rather got his own when Peter wasn’t around. At night in bed, he stayed way on the other side, and wouldn’t cuddle Peter. He was distant, and still polite when he did talk to him, which is what made everything so much worse. It made it feel like it was all in Peter’s head.
And now, Peter had been hiding out in his old room, the room he used before Tony had asked him to share his, and waiting for the inevitable. Which, when Friday had called that Tony wanted him to come to the dining room, he knew had arrived.
The steps of his feet on the wooden floors echoed in his ears, for what little he could hear of his racing thoughts. The whole penthouse was freezing, or maybe that was just Peter’s anxiety.
And in the blink of an eye, Peter was standing in front of the archway that opened to the living room, looking at the back of Tony sitting in a chair.
Tony jumped, and spun around, one arm coming to the back of the chair. “Peter!”
Peter stepped into the room slowly, scared, walking to Tony. He didn’t say anything, leaving the silent floor open for Tony.
Tony took a deep breath and stood. “I’ve tried my damndest to hide it from you, but knowing your genius, you already know why, but, um- we need to talk for a second.”
Peter felt the floor drop out from under him. Tony had done it. He’d finally had enough. Dressed in a full black shirt/black suit, what Peter had always found most attractive, his hair done, hell when Peter stared down, Tony even had his nails properly done and cleaned. What the fuck? Tony had gotten all dressed up just to break up with him? Maybe he wanted to look nice for the security when he called them up to talk Peter away. As his mind raced, Peter couldn’t help the emotions started to peek out, the trickle before the pour.
Peter looked back up at Tony, a few tears coming over. Tony looked startled, scared, and rushed up to wipe Peter’s tears away. “Peter, baby, what’s wrong?” There was fear in Tony’s eyes, fear Peter didn’t want to recognize. He was probably just scared of Peter taking his money when they broke up.
Peter felt the crying get heavier, his lungs straining against his ribs. “I’ve known. I’ve known for a while.”
Tony visibly pulled back. “If you’ve known for a while then, why the tears? Why didn’t you say something?”
And with that, Peter knew. There was no doubt. “You called me here to tell me you don’t love me anymore, didn’t you?”
The wine glass Tony had on the table crashed to the floor and shattered, staining the white rug red as Tony yanked back, hitting his chair way too hard against the table. “W-what?” His voice was breathy, like he didn't have enough time to pull air in to talk.
And the choked gasp that had been straining against Peter’s lungs yanked free. Peter had caught him out, leaving Tony to look shocked. “Y-you did.” It was all the confirmation Peter needed.
Tony was in shock staring back at Peter, and he knew it was because Peter figured out Tony’s truth long before Tony had. “Peter, what?”
And with another strangled sob, Peter spun on his heel and ran.
He practically fell through the doorway, and took off running down the hallway, knocking over a fancy vase, but he didn’t stop as it fell and shattered hard on the ground. The elevator was right at the end, and Peter could hear Tony running after him, their steps thudding against the floor.
“Peter! Come back!”
Peter reached the cold doors of the elevator, his hands touching them as he nearly ran into it. He pushed the button, too choked up to use Friday and jumped in, pressing the lobby button.
“Peter!” Tony yelled again. Peter looked up at Tony, who was red in the face and his suit disheveled. “Peter! Where are you going!”
Seeing Tony’s face and watching as he got closer was enough. Peter pushed the close doors button, and watched as Tony’s face was cut from view.
For a measly seven seconds, Peter was left in silence except for his heaving breath.
Until the doors opened again to the very busy lobby. People were everywhere- at the waiting area, the charging stations, the ATMs in the corner, the front desk. In line for the elevator was to his right, because Tony’s private elevator (the only one that went up to the top five floors) was right next to the two public elevators. Tony didn’t usually come out this exit, since the penthouse had two elevators, one for a back entrance that came out in Tony’s garage underground, and this one; so naturally, when it dinged, everyone stopped what they were doing and looked, since they might just see the famous Tony Stark -
But they were wrong. All they got was a sobbing Peter, pushing his way around and through people, not even stopping to let out a “sorry.” All they got was Tony rushing out of a public elevator, yelling after him, barely avoiding knocking people over.
“Peter! Come back here!”
People began to whisper as Peter rushed by, the lobby feeling longer and as if it was growing as he ran. Peter wanted out, the stares of the people were too much. The public had only known about their relationship for a year or so, despite the length of time they’d dated in total, and ate up anything they saw from the two.
“Peter! Peter!”
Finally, the glass doors of the lobby loomed in place in front of Peter. He was free. It was pouring rain, and the colors and designs of umbrellas covered the sidewalk in front of the doors.
Peter loved the rain. It was his favorite time of year, when it rained everyday, even though the majority of new yorkers hated it. It was cooling, calming on his senses oddly enough, and reminded him of so many happy memories spanning his entire life.
But now, Peter hated it. He despised the rain splattering against the ground, the rush it made the new yorkers take. Peter hated it as he ripped open the glass door, rushing out through the people and into the street so crowded it didn’t even move, and far off, getting as far as he possibly could from the penthouse.
Tony’s chest was unbearably tight as Peter gunned it through the glass doors, in only a t-shirt and jeans, sobbing. “Peter! No!”
But it was too late, Peter was long out the door.
A small shred of hope lit in Tony, the one that didn’t want to go out no matter what, and it spurred him on to run out in the rain after him, to scream his lungs out for Peter.
He could feel the stares off his back, the whispering from the people in his lobby and out the door, the people on the sidewalk, but they didn’t matter. Peter thought that Tony didn’t love him anymore, which was the farthest from the truth he could’ve gotten.
But all he could feel was the asphalt under his feet, the rain drenching his suit and hair, the utter confusion and fear in his heart. Tony reached into his pocket, and felt for the velvet box, small, fitting into his palm, and pulled it out, opening it to stare between it and the looming distance where he could no longer see Peter.
Because if Tony had loved Peter enough, Peter would have never doubted it.
Because if Tony had loved Peter enough, he would have the ring, light and hopeful, on his finger, instead of in Tony’s pocket.
All he could feel was the weight of the heartbreak in his chest, and the straining weight of a diamond ring, that used to feel so light and hopeful, now as heavy as the rock it was compared to. All he could feel was the rock in his chest, where Peter’s love fills his heart, unsure on if he’d ever get that love again.
Within hours, the people of New York would be clueless, wondering in chaos.
Media outlets would upload pictures of a sobbing Peter running in a blur, but the main photo gracing the front pages of news stations and articles would end up being a clear photo of Tony Stark, his suit and hair drenched, standing in the rain right in front of his empire. He was crying, which was shocking enough for people.
But what was worse, was the engagement ring open in his hands, as he stood completely and utterly defeated. A hero brought to their knees.
When people reached out to Peter Parker for an interview, he wouldn’t respond.
And nearly two days later, his picture plastered Times Square, a clear photo of his face taken at his last gala, Tony on his arm. It asked for one thing.
Call 911 to report any tips on Peter Parker. If found, reward possible.
Peter Parker was missing.