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You had wanted to get out before Peter got home. You knew how much harder this would be if he were there. Shoving another round of shirts into your backpack, you thought about how he would react when he came back to an empty apartment later.
Unfortunately, however, you had never been very good at timing things. Just as you pulled your backpack onto your shoulders, Peter came in through the window of your shared bedroom.
The only light in the room came from one of your bedside lamps. Peter paused, slowly taking off his red and blue mask to reveal a concerned face covered in cuts and bruises. His eyebrows furrowed as his brown irises flickered over you.
“You spending the night at Gwen’s or something?” he asked quietly, shuffling forward.
Peter’s face fell when, as he reached out to take your hand, you stepped away from him, refusing to look into his eyes.
“Or something...”
The atmosphere slowly became more tense. Peter spared a glance at your shared closet. Most of your clothes were missing, aside from articles that someone would wear during the wintertime. Turning the other way, he immediately noticed a photo of the two of you, which you had always kept on the nightstand, was gone as well.
Instantly, his eyes began to burn, and he muttered, “You’re gonna come back... right?”
You sighed, “Peter—”
“No!” he exclaimed. “You’re—? I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I? You’re gonna come back?”
“Pete,” you whispered, looking down at your shoes. “Don’t make this harder than it already is, please.”
A single tear fell, cascading down his cheek. Peter quickly grasped your shirt and tugged at the blue fabric as he bit his lip. It was the same shirt you had worn on your first date with him, but you probably didn’t remember such a small detail.
“Is this because I missed our dinner last week?” he asked. “I’m really sorry. I just got so busy with—”
“Getting hurt,” you interrupted, finally allowing your gaze to meet his.
You then intertwined your fingers with his. Sitting on your shared bed, you looked up at him. Your heart ached at the sight of Peter’s tears as he stood in front of you.
“Peter, I don’t care if you miss dates sometimes. You know I don’t. I understand why you do,” you whispered, before letting out a quiet laugh. “And I love that you’re Spider-Man. It’s not that, I promise. You’re so brave and you do so much good for people, but...”
He frowned when you trailed off, and asked, “But?”
Kneeling between your legs, he leaned in, placing his arms on either side of you and reaching out to gently rub his hands against your back. You gave him a watery smile and softly placed your hand against his cheek, wiping away one of his tears.
Finally, you shook your head with a sad expression, “I can’t keep doing this, Pete. I can’t keep waiting up at night, worrying about you and feeling my anxiety take over, only for you to come home like this.”
He winced when you trailed your thumb over one of the cuts on his forehead. He bit his lip as he silently whimpered.
“It’s just too hard, Peter.”
Hearing those words, Peter’s hands froze in place against your back. His fingers wrapped themselves within the fabric of your shirt. His lips trembled and, with a shuddering inhale of breath, he allowed his head to collapse against you.
His face was hidden against your stomach. He let out an overwhelming sob when he felt you softly weave your fingers through his brown hair. You could feel your shirt becoming a mess of his heavy tears and, due to his injuries, blood.
“I’ll—! I can—!” he stuttered, though his words were muffled. “I can take a break from it!”
You smiled sadly to yourself, leaning down to press a kiss against his hair. Peter quickly reacted by moving his arms to wrap around your shoulders and shield his face against your neck. You returned his hug by wrapping an arm gently around his waist.
“I can’t ask you to do that, Peter,” you muttered, continuing to stroke his hair. “That’d be selfish of me. You love being Spider-Man.”
“I know, but,” he gasped, trying to contain his cries, “I don’t want you to leave. Please, don’t go. I swear I’ll be more careful! I promise!”
“Peter—”
“Please!” he begged, pulling his face away from your shoulder and looking into your eyes. “Please, I’ll do anything! Just don’t leave me! I love you so much! Don’t go!”
His forehead touched yours and his lips hovered close to your own. Tightly closing his eyes, he whispered, “Please.”
You nodded and immediately felt his kiss. His hands traveled to your shoulders, pushed off the straps of your backpack, and shoved it aside. They then moved to the back of your neck in order to pull you closer.
Leaning forward, he pushed you against the bedsheets and balanced on his elbows on either side of your head. He pulled away with a wince when your hands brushed over his back.
Your eyebrows furrowed, “Peter?”
He shook his head, and then tried to kiss you again, “It’s nothing. It’s just a scrape.”
You stopped him by placing your hands on his shoulders, and glared, “Peter!”
He sighed. Shoving himself away, you straightened to watch him take off the top portion of his costume, allowing it to hang at his waist. He turned his back to you, staring at his feet.
He frowned when he heard you release a deep sigh. He refused to look at you when you tugged on his hand, forcing him to quietly follow you to the bathroom, where you had always taken care of him after a long day.