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He’d never been more intimidated by a piece of plastic.
Peter flipped the white stick in his hand over, and over, and over again. His head was swimming, even after he ripped his mask off to get a better look. A sense of desperation fluttered in his chest. He held the end of the stick and shook it, but this was no magic 8-ball— the message in the window stayed the same, staring back at him.
Pregnant.
He should’ve minded his own business. Probably should’ve pissed behind a dumpster somewhere instead of slipping through your window for his little pit stop, too. And he really should’ve pulled his head out of his ass long enough to realize those were your keys jangling at the front door.
Peter flinched in the abrasive bathroom light once he heard you shut the door behind you. The test leapt from his gloved hands and clattered on the tile, now essentially a live stick of dynamite, spitting sparks that lit a fire under his feet.
He heard you pause in the breezeway, your tired and shuffling footsteps falling silent like he tried to be. He bent to scoop up the stick quickly, shoving it back into the little trash can where he found it.
Peter jumped upright again and smacked his head on the underside of the sink with a loud THUNK.
He stumbled back— his foot tipped the can over — he grabbed the towel bar for balance but ripped it right out of the wall instead.
“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, holding the metal bar in one hand while he scrambled for the pregnancy test kicked beside the toilet.
“Hello? I—I have a gun,” you called out cautiously from down the hall after his chaotic symphony of crashes. You’d always been a terrible liar, really, but he couldn’t blame you for trying.
Groaning, Peter held the loose fixture in one hand, and the test in the other.
He was panicking. But he couldn’t leave you to panic, thinking there was some intruder creeping around your apartment. Swiftly, he shoved the stick underneath his mask on the bathroom counter and yanked the door open.
“Baby, it’s me—“ he paused, looking at you standing there, poised to strike with your elementary spelling bee trophy gripped like a bat in both hands, “—nice form, by the way. Look at those legs.”
And you deflated upon seeing him, letting your arms fall to your sides. “Christ, Pete. A warning would’ve been nice.”
“Were you about to hit me with that?”
“Is that my towel rack?”
You stared at each other for a moment before chuckling quietly in tandem. Both of your hearts raced to their own erratic rhythms in the dark hallway— but for completely different reasons. Peter examined the metal bar in his hand before laying it next to the sink. “I can fix it, I promise.”
“I’m starting to think you’re more trouble than you’re worth, Parker,” you mused with a heavy sigh.
Peter waited until you turned on your heel before snatching up his mask and the little bomb underneath it. He trailed behind you with a forced air of nonchalance. “Oh, c’mon. I’m a real handy guy to have around. I fix towel racks, open jars, uh… water your plants,” he said, eyeing the droopy flowers on your kitchen windowsill. “Alright, there are better examples, but I whacked my head pretty hard in there, so you’ll just have to use your imagination for now.”
You offered a little huff of a laugh over your shoulder and slipped your shoes off by the front door. “Doing what?”
“Huh?”
The doe-eyed bewilderment on his face made you smile once your gaze met his. “In the bathroom. How’d you whack your head?” You asked.
His grip tightened on his mask. That nervous, almost boyish grin of his paired so well with his airy chuckle. “Uh, y’know. I saw a… bug. On the floor. Pretty gnarly stuff,” he cleared his throat and leaned himself against the kitchen archway with arms crossed over his chest.
You shot him an amused grin as you breezed past him, flicking on the lights. He’d looked a bit ruffled in the dark. Now, in the warm kitchen glow, you could see the nerves ticking away behind his eyes.
“A bug, hm?” You peered at him from the fridge. “Well, thank you, baby.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”
“Must’ve scared you pretty bad.”
He shrugged his shoulders, “well, y’know, not that bad. I mean, yeah, I was pretty startled at first. Pretty, uh… surprised, since I know we’re— you’re really… careful about stuff like that,” he cleared his throat again.
You pulled a water bottle from the fridge and watched him, pinning him to that spot against the wall with just an arch of your brow. “Careful?”
Peter pretended to be busy reading your whiteboard calendar stuck to the wall. “Yeah. I mean, you’re really responsible, and you take care of yourself and your things. But, y’know, these things happen sometimes. It’s not the end of the world. Maybe it could be a good thing, actually.”
Slowly, you cracked open the bottle and took a long sip. Peter switched his focus to a little photo of the both of you on the fridge door. You were kissing his cheek, he was beaming at the camera — he remembered that day, a handful of months ago. He’d taken you to an art museum and said some corny line about how you were the most breathtaking piece in every room. It didn’t matter how cliché it was when you smiled so brightly in response.
Maybe it could be a good thing…
“So… did you kill it?”
“What?”
The water bottle crinkled in your hand. “The bug, Pete.”
Oh, right. The bug.
“Oh— uh, no,” he admitted, and that automatic flash of horror that flickered on his face went just as fast as it came, “you startled me when you came home, so it… got away, probably.”
A small hum left your lips. You turned to pour a little of your water into the wilting flower beds behind the sink. “I thought you could sense me with your… special tingle thing,” you said.
Peter ran his unoccupied hand through his messy hair. “Well, I usually can. I guess I was just really focused, or… something…” he mumbled. Focused… or really fucking floored. Either way, his reflexes were not showroom quality at the moment, he had to admit.
“Right,” you replied, shooting him another pointed look. The way he seemed to squirm and fidget told you everything in that moment. Peter was a terrible liar, really, but you couldn’t blame him for trying. A falling sort of feeling fluttered in your stomach, knowing what he knew as he stood before you.
The clock hanging on the kitchen wall ticked loudly. The fridge hummed. You both stared at each other, saying a lot without saying anything.
He loved you. He knew he did. And he knew you loved him, too. He just didn’t know why you didn’t tell him about this— and, better yet, he had no idea how to bring it up.
Peter’s hands wrung around his mask and the truth bomb inside of it. You sucked in a long breath through your nose.
“Are you pregnant?”
“I’m pregnant.”
You both spoke at the same time yet again. You both felt your hearts drop simultaneously.
But Peter’s shoulders fell and a powerful breath escaped him, like releasing a heavy weight. He shifted to lean against the kitchen counter, gripping the edge of it for balance.
“I came in to use your bathroom really quick and while I was peeing I glanced down and saw— saw this—“ he pulled the stick out from his mask, holding it in the air like some magical item as he rambled, “—and I thought it was fake at first, like, some weird prank, but it looks really real— at least I think it does, I haven’t really seen a whole lot of them in person— but then I realized that’d be a weird prank and you weren’t even home and then you came home and I panicked and—“
“And you ripped my towel rack off,” you cut in.
“And I accidentally grabbed your towel rack, and you tried to assault me with a trophy—“
“I thought you were some weirdo waiting to kidnap me!”
“You need to work on your big girl voice, by the way. They’re supposed to actually believe you have a gun.”
Your unamused glare was betrayed by the hint of a smile on your lips. It was gone with a slight shake of your head, though, brought back to the situation at hand. “You snooped through my stuff?”
Peter paused. “I didn’t… I didn’t snoop . I wasn’t looking for anything. I just saw it,” he said, “it was in the trash.” He watched you avert your gaze and gently wrap your arms around yourself, just a few feet away from him in your quiet kitchen. The last thing he wanted was for this to feel like some sort of confrontation. He had a million questions, and a million emotions, but even in his slight panic and shock Peter could recognize this was strange and difficult for you, as well. “When… when did you take this?”
His voice was softer now, and it almost made everything worse. You sighed, fingers smoothing over your own arms in a self-soothing motion. “The other night,” you replied quietly.
“Okay,” he swallowed, trying to think. Be empathetic, Peter. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Clearly stressed, your head rolled back in slight exasperation and a light groan escaped you. “I was going to. I just— do you know how daunting that is? I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”
The smallest quiver in your words broke his heart.
Peter was fast. He moved forward, discarding the things in his hands and shifting them to sit on your hips. “Hey,” he soothed, his thumbs kneading gently into the soft skin just under your shirt. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, baby. I get it. It’s a lot to deal with.”
Your gaze was fixed forward, stuck on the black spider emblem on his chest. Peter let his hands gently glide up your sides, to sit over your shoulder blades. He pulled you into his chest and pressed his mouth to the top of your head.
There was so much to say and Peter’s brain refused to cooperate— he enjoyed holding you, though, sighing softly once he felt you finally lean in.
There was a lot to talk about. A lot to think about. But despite the strange mix of vulnerability and anxiety making your chest tight, Peter’s air of sweetness softened the raw feeling.
Obviously, something like this wasn’t on your radar, at least not right now. The ‘what about our future’ discussion was nerve-wracking enough without this sort of… push. But, unfortunately, you couldn’t just ignore it. The gears were already turning and nearly spitting smoke out of your ears when Peter broke up your whirlwind of thoughts.
“… I’m just saying, PJ is a cute nickname for Peter Junior.”
He felt you smile against his chest.