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You were walking home from a friend’s apartment. The air was cool and crisp as your hands hid within the pockets of your jacket. You barely rounded a corner when a flash of red and blue caught you off guard.
With a hand over your heart, you gasped, “Dude, what are you doing—?!”
“Oh my—! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you like that! I’m so sorry!”
Your eyes widened at the realization of who stood before you. Spider-Man, the city’s most famous vigilante, held out his hands in an effort to prove that he meant no harm.
“Are you okay?”
You scoffed, shaking your head in astonishment, “I guess.”
“Good,” he said, reaching up to awkwardly rub the back of his neck. “Looking for an escort?”
You blinked in surprise. Giving him a once-over, your eyebrows furrowed. Sure, Spider-Man was probably the most desirable guy in New York, but this?
“Excuse me?”
“Oh, ya know, it’s this thing I’ve been doing on the side!” he chuckled, waving his hand nonchalantly. “People seem to like it!”
When you simply stared at him with an unreadable expression, he continued, “I’m calling it the Friendly Neighborhood Escort Service! So, what d’you say? Can I walk you home, so you’re not by yourself so late? Make sure you get there all right?”
You almost let out a relieved sigh, realizing that he didn’t mean that kind of escort, though you weren’t entirely sure if you would turn such an idea down if it had been the case.
“Sure,” you finally nodded. “Yeah, that’d be great.”
“All right!” he exclaimed, and then he held out his hand. “High five!”
You laughed quietly, but fulfilled his request by connecting your palm with his own. He then allowed you to intertwine your arm with his before gesturing for you to lead the way.
“It’s very sweet that you’re doing this for people,” you muttered, “but I think you need to work on the pitch.”
He tilted his head. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could feel the curiosity practically rolling off him in waves.
“What d’you mean?”
You let out a nervous chuckle, and then said, “Well... usually, when people walk up to strangers on the street, especially in the middle of the night, and ask if someone needs an escort service...”
You trailed off as Spider-Man came to a stop beneath a streetlamp. He was frozen in place. Fully realizing what you had told him, you were almost certain that you had just sent New York’s finest hero into a spiraling, existential crisis.
Unintentionally, of course.
“Oh, shit!” he suddenly exclaimed, placing his free hand on his head. “No wonder everyone has been looking at me so weird when I tell them the name!”
You tried to contain your amused smile, but failed miserably, “How long have you been calling it that?”
His demeanor changed. As he continued walking next to you, he shyly muttered, “About three months.”
He playfully nudged you when your laughter finally bubbled over, and exclaimed, “This isn’t funny! Half of New York probably thinks I’m a hooker!”
Despite the fact that you made fun of him on the rest of your walk, you eventually helped him come up with a new name for his good deed. And when he walked you to your apartment door, he promised to use it from that moment forward.
It was only a week later when you found out that he had kept his promise. A blur of red and blue landed on top of a streetlamp with a CLANG! on another one of your late-night walks. Looking up, you smiled at your most recent acquaintance, who gave you a salute in greeting before he asked, “Need some help from the Friendly Neighborhood Buddy System?”