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There was something about the middle of the night.
Peter hardly ever spent it inside a house. Ever since the spider bite, it became his official working hour, since criminals didn't always do their crimes in broad daylight. Not all of them were politicians or business moguls.
But it wasn't just that. It was Peter's thinking time. If the night was slow, he would swing around and tell himself everything that troubled him just to try and fix it. He would lay on rooftops and gaze at the sky, imagining the stars behind the gas clouds of New York. He would ask the moon if it was so bad that he humiliated Flash in front of his friends, if he was an idiot for not accepting the money from the contest and opting for the backpacks instead, if he was missing something when it came to Harry.
And right then, he was staring at it through the balcony window, head resting against the back of the bed, a white sheet carelessly draped on his body.
"What am I doing here, Moon?" he asked out loud.
Ever since he laid eyes on Felicia, his life took a wild turn and his brain kept shutting off. When he wasn't with her, he kept thinking about what he's doing with a criminal, he kept promising to himself that he would turn her in because she's not different. What did it matter that she didn't hurt anyone and made his heart race?
But then he would see her and all his doubts would crumble to dust and travel far away with a strong wind. I'm on command now, his heart would say, and he would do nothing to change it. His spirits lifted with the quirk of her lips as she said, "Hey, Spider," just to avoid calling him by his name. Something weird happened inside his chest whenever she was in his thoughts, or in front of him, or under him.
"Why do I like it here?" he asked with desperation in his voice.
He tried to convince himself out of it. He pretended that he was vulnerable after MJ broke up with him, and there was no other reason why he had sex on a rooftop with a woman he had just met. He was sure she didn't leave his brain because it was all a big, steaming cup of adrenaline, and he needed a change, just once. Or twice. And then he wanted to take her out because he was happy she returned that painting he saw the first night at her place. He merely wanted to help her change, or be friends. It was nothing romantic.
He felt her fingers trace the back of his hand.
"What's up?" she asked quietly. "Trouble with sleeping?"
Peter automatically smiled when he looked down at her. "Something like that."
She stretched her arms and sat up, scooting closer to him. "Want to talk about it?"
Peter took a breath and slowly let it out. "I don't know."
His breath hitched as Felicia leaned in and her lips brushed with his. He inched closer and kissed her, softly but with passion, and the butterflies in his stomach grumbled because they had to get up and flutter all around again. She wrapped her arms around him as she climbled on top of him, and his heart rate sped up about a thousand times.
He was breathless when she pulled away, but then again he always was when he laid eyes on her.
"It's okay," she said. "But I'll be here. It's my house after all."
Peter could only nod.
Felicia's lips formed a half-smile. "What, aren't you going to question if it even is my house?" she asked and pressed her forehead against his.
Peter placed his hands on her waist, drawing circles with his thumbs. "I don't really care. I-"
He stopped himself. It had only been a month. He could feel something, but he didn't know how, or want to, not yet, put it into words. He was scared. Still, when Felicia looked right into his eyes and kissed him whenever he was stressed and offered cuddles and a cup of tea, he felt safe. Somehow, his tense nerves calmed down and his shoulders fell whenever she was around.
"I like it here," he said at last. "With you."
She flashed a smile. "Yeah, it's not that bad."
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"Tell me something about yourself."
Felicia looked down at him. His head was on her lap, and he was laying on her giant couch. They were watching Lord of the Rings because Felicia insisted they were good movies. Peter never really cared much about them but he liked watching them that way.
"Like what?" Felicia asked.
Peter's lower lip jutted out. "I don't know. Anything."
"I'm really flexible."
Peter let out a laugh. "Heh, I knew that already. I meant..." He shrugged. "I don't know, something not many people know."
Felicia raised an eyebrow. "I know who Spider-Man is."
He made a show of blinking slowly. "You're so funny, Felicia. Look at me, I can't stop laughing," he said, intending to keep a straight face, only to actually laugh.
She winked. "See? It's not that hard to make a joke."
Peter sat up and positioned himself next to her, so his legs went over hers. "You say I'm not funny but you laugh with my jokes. Admit it, I am funny," he said, narrowing his eyes as he leaned closer.
Felicia cocked her head to the side. "Maybe I laugh because I like that little satisfied smirk on your face."
Peter put his hands on either side of her face and peppered her with kisses: on her lips, her nose, her eyelids, her forehead, her cheeks. Felicia complained that it tickled but he kept going as she played with his hair, tugging at it slightly. That would usually lead to more explicit activities, but right then they just wanted to be in each other's company.
Peter climbed on Felicia's lap and she let out an "oof". "Will you hold me?" he asked, as if he couldn't tell by her eyes that she would do anything for him.
"You're so much heavier than you look," she said as a response but didn't push him away. She put an arm around him and laid her head on his shoulder. "I think part of the reason why I steal art is my dad," she said out of the blue. "He liked collecting all the greats and putting them on display at our house."
Peter stared at her, dumpfounded. "Where is he now?"
Felicia's expression turned harsh. "Six feet under. He died in prison a few years ago."
Peter placed a soft kiss on her hair. "I'm sorry."
"Yeah, well you lost more people," she said, "so I can't complain."
"That doesn't mean you're not allowed to grieve," Peter said quietly. "Loss is loss. It hurts, and there's no way going around it."
He had to learn it the hard way. He was almost thankful he lost his parents when he was too young to remember how it felt. His tiny brain couldn't register what the adults were telling him, and so he kept asking when he could go home, only to hear there's no home for him to go back to. With Ben and May's love and care, he found a new one and filled that hole in his chest. Sometimes he would try to focus hard on a foggy memory with his parents, just to grasp what little he could, but he found comfort in all the moments he could remember clearly with his aunt and uncle.
It was different with Ben. Seven years later, the pain was dull, spiking up only on occasion. His fifteen-year-old self, however, fought so hard to not feel it that he ended up breaking down one random Thrusday. He could still remember how it was, the feeling of drowning on perfectly breathable air, longing to see someone who wasn't there anymore.
And so he made a silent prayer. Please, God, help me not lose her, he thought, and he repeated that thought like a matra, as if it wouldn't happen if he actively expressed that it shouldn't.
Felcia's arms tightened around him. "You're not getting rid of me, Spider."
Peter smiled. "I wouldn't even dream of it."
And in a way, he didn't lose her. He went a long time without seeing her, but he always knew she was out there, with the exception of when he thought she was killed and the sun dimmed its light.
Here he is now, pushing their son at the swing and the little kid demands he goes higher in that adorable squeaky voice, but he won't do him this favour. Felicia is right there, leaning against the swing, wearing her usual half-smile, arms crossed.
"What?" Peter asks with a smile that never seems to leave his face these days, except for when he cries over Walter doing literally anything, including simply breathing.
"Nothing, just thinking that I made the right decision this time," she says. "But mostly about getting a hot dog."
Peter stares at her, the way her eyes reflect the sunlight, the glow it leaves on all her features. He takes it all in, and his head floods with memories of him tracing her body like a map. There's this sudden urge in him to kiss every single spot.
"You mean the food or a very pretty four-legged creature?" Peter asks, knowing even as he says it that he dropped the bar lower than ever before.
Felicia breathes out a laugh.