Work Text:
Don’t look. Please. Don’t look,” Spider-Man says, and pulls off his mask with shaking hands.
“Kid,” Matt says, “It’s okay.”
Irony lies thick in the air. Matt hasn’t looked at anything since he was nine years old. The kid’s heartbeat, unique and familiar, is thundering in Matt’s ears along with his shuddering breaths. This close, Matt can feel the heat of him, can feel the way he’s trembling. He can smell the kid’s tears beneath the scent of someone else’s blood that’s so strong it’s almost overwhelming. Matt is physically incapable of looking away, even if he wanted to.
He reaches out, he can’t help himself. He wants so badly to touch, to comfort. His hand flutters uselessly over the boy’s shoulder, he has no idea what to do.
Spider-Man wraps a hand around Matt’s wrist, initiating contact, and turns. If Matt could see, he would see his face.
“I’m not looking,” Matt says, and holds him close. The kid’s suit is so thin, Matt can feel his heart beating against his own chest, can feel his muscles, strung taught as wires beneath the skin. “I’m not looking.”