Chapter Text
"Yo, time to wake up." A hand shook you out of your peaceful slumber against the bus window. You jumped back into consciousness, facing a very exasperated teenager sitting beside you.
"What?" You mumble, still a bit half asleep, rubbing your eyes. "..It's been a rough week, alright?" Miles just gave you an unimpressed look as he started standing up from his seat in the bus. Work's been a total pain in the ass this week. No, scratch that— actually, it's been a pain in the ass ever since you started there.
Which is a week, alright.
A few days ago, the news paper you worked for replaced you with someone else. No warning, no goodbye party, nothing. You didn't even know about it until you came to your working spot one day, just to find some stupid boy with his young ass plastered on your seat.
And the fucker even had the nerve to ask if you were new around. Why, how mindful.
Luckily, you did have a good reputation in the field. So, when you presented your curriculum to the infamous Daily Bugle, of course J. Jonah Jameson was delighted to hire you. Or that's what Betty, his secretary, told you.
And surely, when you actually started working there, you would be treated with the usual professional "kindness", right?
Right?
Yeah, Betty Brant is a big liar.
As you stepped out of the bus behind Miles, you were just able to yawn before the boy added his kind words to sweeten your day. "You look like a zombie, dude." He scoffed, "Could swear I saw you last night with my parents on The Walking Dead." You rolled your eyes, flicking the kid's forehead, making him dramatically 'ow!' you.
"Ha, ha. Super funny. You should star a stand-up, Miles."
"Nah, I'm more into arts. You, on the other hand, should try casting for a role in—"
"Say another zombie related show and I swear I'm telling your parents all about your little escapades mid-school week."
The boy raised his hands in surrender at the glare you gave him. "Yeesh. Someone's sensitive today." He muttered. "Therapy exists, y'know. No need to get all your repressed trauma out on a poor child like myself."
You couldn't help but laugh a little, nudging him with your elbow as you both got inside your building.
Miles and you had known each other for a long while now. When you moved here a few years ago, his family was the first (and only) to introduce themselves to you directly. His dad, Jeff, helped you carry your stuff to your apartment; and his mom, Rio, would always say hi to you whenever she saw you, she'd also give you useful advice every now and then that you were always eager to listen.
They were incredibly kind even without knowing a single thing about you back then. Now? Well, last week you went to Rio's birthday party... so yeah, you could say you're friends with the nicest people in the building.
You waved your hand goodbye to the kid as you opened the door to your apartment. Once the door was closed, you fell to the floor with a big sigh.
This job was absolute hell.
Jameson was the devil himself running a news paper. Everyone laughed when you said that. You'll get used to him, they said. He just has a hard exterior, you heard. Don't mind him. Jameson is just rough the first days, after a while, everything will go smoothly, one of your coworkers told you as he bumped your shoulder with a smile.
And you wanted to believe them, really. You were always optimistic, you tried to be optimistic. But, after Betty's blatant lie about J. Jonah Jameson welcoming you with very wide and open arms... it wasn't easy to believe any of the others either.
You wanted to fall apart completely, passing out on your apartment's floor, dead to the world for the next 14 hours until the primal need for food and water raged life back into your body. But a single thought managed to make you get back up:
It was Friday.
And—since there wasn't a lot to report— you had been granted a day off tomorrow!
With a loud groan you stood up from the floor, stretching a little before turning on the lights, just to immediately turn them off after turning the living room's smaller lamp on. Too much light for your tired eyes.
You left your keys and your bag in the kitchen counter, walking directly towards the fridge. Once you opened it you stared at its content, searching for anything that looked Friday Night-esque. You closed it after not finding anything, sighed, and then re-opened it to grab a slice of cake from Rio's birthday party.
You tried to give it a bite, immediately regretting it after realizing the thing had been freezed thanks to the ache it had caused on your teeth. You put the plate down with the tenth sigh of the evening, maybe a few minutes out would serve your slice.
In your bathroom, you started washing your face with water. You hated feeling dirty and greasy, and that's how you always felt after work. New York's air is something else, truly.
Turning the TV on, you finally collapsed on your couch with the plate of cake in hand. There wasn't a lot to watch today, so you just set the channel on a wild life documentary and let it play in the background while you ate.
Almost an hour later, the empty plate laid on your coffee table as you were in between falling asleep and paying attention to whatever the hell the documentary was saying.
You didn't want to fall asleep yet, you had to make the most of your night! (you don't really get the chance to sleep late voluntarily a lot) You decided to change the channel, landing on the news broadcast. You rolled your eyes, rubbing a hand over your face as you prepared to change the channel again, when suddenly—
'DOC OCK STRIKES AGAIN!!'
The sound of the news piqued your interest as footage was shown: A fight outside a bank between the villain and, of course, the one and only Spider-Man.
You had always admired the way the hero dodged most attacks, how he landed his own punches with some kind of comical grace, the way he would climb walls like it was completely normal to do (which it probably is for him), and of course, the crappy puns and jokes he was known for saying in the most godawful timing there could ever be.
Yeah, okay, you're a shameless fan.
Which is ironic considering you're currently working for J. Jonah Jameson, AKA Spidey's #1 Hater.
Wonder what they're gonna post about this fight tomorrow.
Oh, no.
—–
You begrudgingly walked inside the Bugle's building, stomping the floor with your feet as you walked. It wasn't early-early, being honest, but compared to the plans you had made up in your head the night before to spend your day-off wisely—waking up at 12PM, ordering pizza for breakfast/lunch and whatnot—this felt like torture.
Of course Spider-Man had to make an appearance the night before your day-off. If he started to make this an habit, perhaps you would start sympathizing more with your boss and his hatred for the wall-crawler.
As the elevator's doors opened, you stepped inside, taking a sip from the coffee you bought earlier on the way here. You sighed, still missing dearly your bed, leaning against the wall. This was going to be a long, boring day.
"Don't let the doors close!" A man's voice woke you up completely, you put your arm in the way of the elevator doors to stop them in their tracks.
The voice's owner walked inside quickly, sighing in relief as you finally allowed the doors to close. "Thanks.." He breathed out.
"It's nothing," you shrugged, reassuming your previous position and train of thought: having some serious internal beef with your job, your boss, and just a little with Spider-Man.
After a few seconds, you noticed this rando was staring; narrowing his eyes and all to take a better look at you. For some reason, it made you feel as if you were being judged by an authority of some kind. You were just about to ask if you had the right for an attorney when he spoke.
"You're new here, aren't you?"
"Um, yeah. Started last week." You gave him a tight lipped smile before going back to look at the floor like it was the most interesting thing in the world.
"Ah, figured as much." The guy put his hands on the pockets of his pants. He looked just as awkward as you, which was comforting, but, at the same time, made the whole interaction worse.
You both stood there, waiting for the elevator to leave you at your respective floors.
...It was certainly taking its time.
"You uh... you work here...?" You started. And God have some mercy over you; your voice sounded so hesitant it made you cringe bad.
He scoffed before nodding, sounding resigned. "Kind of. Yeah, you could say that." He shrugged. I'm actually freelance."
"Oh, photographer?"
"...Didn't the camera give it away?" He chuckled, pointing at the camera that was, in fact, hanging from his neck.
"Oh. Oh! Yeah, I didn't see that..." Your eyes widened, laughing awkwardly, "Freelance, huh? I always thought Jameson had his own photographers. How long have you been here?"
"About twenty something years, I think."
The face you made was not subtle at all, it seemed. He huffed a laugh at your reaction. "What's the face for?"
"Nothing." You lift both of your hands sheepishly, as if to prove your innocence. "Just surprised me. I mean, after having worked around for so long, doesn't Jameson at least appreciate you enough to... I don't know, hire you?"
(You had to bit back the 'holy shit, how old are you' question that was just at the tip of your tongue, too)
The man sighed, rolling his eyes. "Nah, he's too stubborn. Jameson won't hire me unless I beg for it on my knees, agree to make a blood pact with the Daily Bugle and finally sell my soul to him." He shrugs. "I think I'm better off like this." He makes a pause before smiling a little. "And, my photos are actually very appreciated here anyway."
"Really? And why's that?" You chuckled at his sudden confidence.
He opened his bag very proudly and handed you a bunch of his photos.
"...No fucking way."
"Yes way." His tone grew smug as you looked through the photos.
You felt like you were meeting a celebrity, at least one to you. This dude had somehow the best (and kind of impossible) shots of Spider-Man! You remembered your teenage years buying The Daily Bugle —even if you hated everything they said about the hero— just because of the amazing pictures they had. Always with a photos by Peter... something under them. "You're the Spider-Man guy?"
"You say it like I'm the one saving the city." He laughed, looking away and batting his hand.
"Might as well be, man." You handed the photos back to him. "Honestly, you were my hero in high-school when I was going through my Spider-Man phase; these shots are amazing!"
He took the photos back, looking both proud and amused at your reaction. "'Spider-Man phase'...?" He snickered. "Is that a thing?"
"Yes it is." Despite you meaning a neutral tone, your voice probably sounded a bit too defensive, because he gave you a look that made you feel like you were a crazy fangirl. "...Fanatism is a totally normal thing during developmental years."
"Uh-huh." He nodded, not buying whatever your excuse was.
"Wha- It is!"
"Never said it wasn't." But his eyes were telling a different ver familiar story; involving you, and being judged back in middle school by one of the many bullies (what was wrong with kids back then?). This guy had to have some experience on the bullying field to have it look so perfectly accurate. You just weren't able to tell if it was because he was the bully or the bullied.
You just scoffed, mock-dismissing him with your hand as you sip on your now barely warm coffee. "Wow, you really haven't even asked my name in this whole conversation yet you've already called me crazy. That's just rude."
"I haven't asked your name, yeah." He responds without even looking at you, and you can see a stupid grin playing on his face from the side. Yeah. Rude.
You crossed your arms over your chest, wearing a fake sad expression as you sighed oh so disappointedly. "Never meet your heroes, they say."
Silence falls in the elevator.
Then he snorts.
And you start laughing, too.
You hear him mumble something in between the lines of "so dramatic", and you roll your eyes. This guy is an ass! In a good way! Probably.
After some seconds of silence, you both notice that the elevator hasn't arrived to neither of your floors.
You're so going to get your butt kicked by Jameson if you are late during a Spider-Man report. You groan. "Is it just me or is this thing taking too long?"
"It definitely is, yeah." He narrows his eyes at the buttons in the elevator. "Did you press your floor's number?"
"Yeah, I—" No, you didn't.
Your free hand comes to cover your mouth as your eyes widen a little. Then, you shyly move your finger to push the button to your floor, not daring meet the eyes of the man by your side.
The elevator starts, and the asshole next to you humors you with his voice. "Wow."
"Shush."
— –
The doors open and you're greeted with Jameson's melodic yells. "Ms. Brant! Where in the world is--" He spots both of you, and his face turns even angrier. Oh, boy.
"Parker! Late, as always. One would think that with the years you'd get better, but you only seem to get worse day by day!" He turns towards you, his glare making you want to actually cry (or punch him. fight or flight instinct ya know?) "And you!" His pointing finger accusatory. "Newbie, already getting involved with such bad influence not even two weeks in? You've got no shame, do you?"
You tried to excuse yourself, but Parker (as Jameson seems to enjoy yelling calling him) stepped in front of you and handed Jonah his photos, clearing his throat before speaking. "Here are the pictures from last night."
Your boss snatched them from his hand, analyzing them quickly, his frown deepening with each photo.
He looked up. "These are trash. I'll pay you $150."
"You gave me $300 last time."
"$250."
"$275." Final offer, ooh.
"Deal. Go with Ms. Brant, and get out of my sight already." Jameson ordered, and Peter (who's not a rando/your 16-year-old-self idol anymore) just nodded and started walking away. You watched him as he walked, and he gave you a final sign of acknowledgement by waving his hand at you, before his eyes left yours.
"What are you doing standing there drooling over Parker?" Jameson interrupted your thoughts. "Go write something! Or... whatever we pay you to do!" Flattering, truly.
"I'm on it, boss." You shook your head and walked to your desk. You felt like you were going to have a terrible headache... This place is probably not for your sound-sensitive self. But do you have any other work options? No.
As you were getting comfortable and ready to work, you spotted Peter again. He was talking to Betty about something you couldn't quite hear, his paycheck, most definitely.
Now that you weren't A) half asleep B) in a hurry, or C) having an awkward conversation; you finally allowed yourself to actually look at him and his appearance.
He had a very messy brunette hair with graying streaks that were more prominent behind his ears (you've no room to judge, you're not any better yourself when it comes to gray hair), you noticed he wore glasses, had notorious eyebags, a five o'clock shadow, and a crooked nose. He probably broke it a few times before (being a photographer is tough, huh?). His clothes weren't outstanding, just a button-up covered with what looked as an old dark red jacket and some slacks. He looked like a grandpa, you mused to yourself. Speaking of grandpas, how old is this dude—
You didn't have time to deepen your very important analysis before you heard your boss yelling at someone dangerously nearby, snapping you back to reality. You had to work. Work, work, work. What were you here for? Ah, yes, Spider-Man.
You had a love-hate relationship with these articles. You loved writing about Spidey, sure, you even did so before, back when you were in high-school; but writing against him? Certainly left a bitter taste on your mouth.
At least it pays the bills, doesn't it?
— –
- Eggs
- Tuna
- Rice
- Hot-cake flour
- Milk
- Cooking oil
- Spidey-O's
- Raspberry Yogurt
The photo of a hurriedly written grocery list appeared on your phone before you texted back.
[18:23] is that all?
RIO
[18:24] Yes, I'm sorry to bother, Miles forgot to buy these yesterday and I'm super busy today.
[18:24] no problem, it's on my way home anyway
RIO
[18:25] Thank you so much, tell Miles how much it cost when you arrive. Stay safe ♥︎♥︎
You put your phone back in your coat's pocket, entering the bodega.
'Love me, love me, say that you love me'
You hummed along the music playing in the background as you took a shopping cart and started walking through the aisles in the store.
'Fool me, fool me, go on and fool me'
Some minutes later, your cart was full with all the stuff on the list. Now just lacking the Spidey cereal.
Personally? You weren't a fan.
Were you Spider-Man's biggest fangirl? You certainly hope not! But one never knows. Anyway, that doesn't mean you have to like everything with his face (mask) plastered on it.
You've tasted the thing, alright. Some years ago—when the Morales still needed someone to babysit their kid—you tried it by Miles's recommendation.
Not even two spoons in, you already felt like you were developing diabetes in record time.
Never again. You thought to yourself, as if your general diet was any healthier in the first place.
While pushing the cart towards the cereals aisle, you pulled your phone out again to check the hour. 18:40 PM. You still had time before the sitcoms re-runs started, the one pleasure in your life.
When you got to the aisle, you started searching for the Spidey-O's. That thing seems to still be really popular, cause you couldn't find a single box. Are parents really buying that crap for their kids? That explains a lot about the younger generations.
Ah, there's one left!
You skipped towards it, stretching so you could reach it...
And then a bigger hand snatched it before you could even grasp it.
"Hey!" You turned to whoever took the cereal away from you, ready to either ask nicely or fight them with knives for it, because—it's him.
Peter looked at you, seemingly as surprised. "Oh, it's you."
"Yep. It's me! Hi." You answered with a cheerful (not really) tone. "Now, if you don't mind.." You reached for the box still on his hands, before he moved them away from you.
"What are you doing?" He raised his left eyebrow as he looked down at you.
"Grabbing my cereal. Isn't it obvious?"
"I'm sorry, your cereal?" He countered.
You frown, a not so smiley-smile on your face. "Yes, my cereal. I was just about to take it."
"But it's in my hands, is it not?"
You tried to be nice, this still a total stranger after all. You cleared your throat. "Okay, buddy. I'm sorry but I really need this box. A friend asked for it and it's her son's favorite breakfast. I can't let down the kid like that. So.. if you could please--" You reached out for the cereal one more time, but he moved his hand up and put of your reach. What is this? Third grade?
"I'm truly sorry to hear that," No, he's not, your frown deepens. "But it also happens to be my favorite. And I can't let myself down like that either, can I?" Ohh, what a dick.
You scowled, crossing your arms over your chest. "Listen, I just wanna go home, and I can't if I don't buy that damn box. Do you have any idea of how much crap that kid's gonna give me? He's going to act like I killed his dad or something." You look him up and down judgingly, your gaze staying a second longer on his mess of a hair, this made Peter frown, too. "Besides, well, you're an adult."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You know what it means."
He scoffed, taking offense at your comment as his eyes narrow. "No, I don't really think I do." He responds.
You hum, raising a brow with a slight grin on your face, now just teasing. "Hm. Want me to spell it out for you?"
"Oh, yeah. That'd be nice."
You nod determinedly. "Okay." Leaning closer, your tone becomes lower. "See, what I meant was— OH MY GOD IS THAT DOC OCK"
Peter jolts up at that and turns around quickly, "Where!?"
And that's your cue. You take the box out of his hands and start running with your cart.
"What-- That wasn't fair!" You hear him yell, but you're already getting to the checkout. Ha. Loser.
As the cashier handed you your receipt and change, you found Peter's now grumpy face on the other side of the line, still waiting to pay for his things.
You smiled at him and waved your hand before taking your groceries. Ignoring his burning glare, you walked out the door of the store, flashing the biggest victory grin ever.
You really hope you don't run into this guy again soon. Next time, he might be too happy to get back at you.
— –
A few knocks later, Miles opens the door, his eyes going straight to the bag you were holding on your hip. "Hey, you got 'em!"
You smiled and nodded. "Yep. All of it." Miles moved to let you in. You walked to his kitchen, placing the bag on the counter. "Is your mom home?"
"Nah, she had an extra turn at the hospital today. Dad's waiting to pick her up, so I'm home alone."
"Oh they let you stay home alone already?" You genuinely ask, but you probably talk with an assholish tone by default, because Miles looks at you like you just insulted his honor. "What?"
"You say it like I'm a kid."
"What? No, no..." A snicker leaves your mouth, Miles continues giving you a glare. "I mean..." You start taking things out of the bag.
"I'm fifteen!" Miles protested, as he holds onto the Spider-Man themed cereal box he took out of the bag for dear life.
You rolled your eyes, leaning against the kitchen counter. "I fear that's still a kid, Miles." He continued glaring at you.
After sorting out the groceries in their respective place, Miles decided it was time for his dinner; and what else could he eat if not the brand new Spidey-O's you just bought?
As he was serving himself a bowl, you grimaced. "Isn't it too late to eat... that thing?"
The boy scoffs. "You also say it's too early when I want to have it for breakfast."
"Yeah. Because it is," you shrugged. "I just think you shouldn't eat that in the morning. Or the night. Or.. anytime, actually."
"Well, watch me." He took a spoonful to his mouth and started munching on it dramatically, making some exaggerated 'NOM NOM NOM' noises to add to the bit.
"How old are you again?" You raise a brow and his expression falls as you say that, giving you an unamused look.
Some minutes of conversation later, you're ready to call it a night and leave to your apartment, that is, until you notice Miles leaning closer to you, his hands fidgeting. "Hey, um..." You instantly get the feeling that he's up to something. "You know you're like, my favorite neighbor, right? My favorite adult and all..."
"What do you want."
"Okay, you see, I've been going out a lot more than usual."
"During school days." You inquire.
"Yeah. And I've been... well, missing some classes."
"Can I ask the reason?"
"No. So," he pauses, "my physics teacher is asking for a meeting with a tutor or something and... My parents would kill me if they had to go. And I also don't want to make them struggle so much with getting out of their jobs to come with me and–"
"You want me to go."
"Yes."
You sigh, finally allowing your eyes to meet his. "You do know I'll still tell your parents everything your teacher says, right? I won't lie to them about this for you."
"I know, I know.." Miles looks at you with his honeyed eyes, batting his long eyelashes innocently, "but you can sugarcoat it a little, right?"
You bit the inside of your cheek, rolling your eyes at his manipulative tactics. Goddamn teenagers. "..Alright, whatever. When is it?"
"Monday at three." He answered, reaching to his hoodie's pocket for a small paper. "Here's the notice, if you show this at the entrance they should let you in." He pauses, exhaling in a relieved tone. "Thank you, thank you, thank you... I owe you big time."
"Yeah, you do." You took the paper from his hand and put it inside your bag. "I better get going"
Miles nodded, "Uh-huh, goodnight--don't forget the date, okay?"
"I got it. Tuesday at five?" You grin as you reach his apartment's door.
Not even the smallest hint of an amused huff of air leaves the boy's body.
"You are so unfunny it physically hurts me." Tough crowd. You wave him off before closing the door behind you.