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Peter woke up to a dreary, gray day, like every day has been recently. It was raining, cold, and he didn't feel any reason to get out of bed. He hadn't felt like getting out of bed in quite some time. It had only been two weeks since his entire world crashed down around him. He'd lost everything: Aunt May, his girlfriend, his best friend, any and all college prospects. His whole former life reduced to ash in a matter of moments. It was his choice in the end, asking Strange to remove the memory of him, but there was no other option. Great power means great responsibility, and sometimes that responsibility leads to great sacrifice. So, when all else seemed impossible, to protect the ones he loved that he had left, he chose to be forgotten. Better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all, or whatever it is they say. Peter Parker could be forgotten, and the world could move on with just Spiderman.
He'd resigned to stay alone afterwards. He hated the possibility of opening anyone new up to the suffering he had caused his friends (or even re-introducing his friends to that danger). Unfortunately, like so much else, rent is expensive. He no longer had access to free housing or Stark money, and though he had taken a dead end full-time job, he still was barely treading water in his damp and dark, slightly run down apartment. He needed a roommate, but finding someone who could tolerate his late night entrances and exits without asking too many questions, seemed like trying to find a unicorn. So he stayed alone, suffering a little while longer in the hopes that eventually, something would finally go his way.
In the aftermath of his life implosion, Peter had been desperate for new constants in his life. He used all of his old clothes, everything that he could get his hands on that is, and ate the same meals every day, which absolutely had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn't stomach anything else. He also found a coffee shop close to his apartment that was open almost 24/7. Crepuscule Coffee opened at 4:30am and closed at 2:00am, and Peter had found himself there more times in a week than he could count. Before patrol or after, before and after work, when he couldn't eat anything but needed something on his stomach, after a few terrible nightmares, and, more recently, whenever he saw that you were working.
Without realizing it, you had also become a constant for Peter, a touchstone that he could actually interact with. His first trip into the coffee shop, he was wary. It still filled him with unease to see people who he knew and used to know him. As he stepped inside, he was greeted with the smell of coffee and sugar, and the low sounds of an instrumental radio station. You sat there behind the counter, reading a book, looking up as the bell above his head chimed. He didn't know you from before, there was no one else there, and that made it so much easier. You smiled at him, bright like the sun even though it was 1:30am, and he felt himself smiling back, a little less forced than his smiles had been.
"Welcome to Crepuscle Coffee! What can I get you tonight?" you asked, warmly, picking up a cup from beside you to write his order on. His eyes swam over the menu, looking at syrups and flavors and drink names and prices and getting utterly overwhelmed.
"Can I just get a coffee with two sugars and two cream please?" he finally answered. You nod, quickly writing it down.
"Do you need anything else? Bagel? Sandwich? Muffin?" Peter looked at the bakery case. His eye caught a tray of blueberry muffins right on top. They looked phenomenal, topped with streusel and sugar, and just one was easily close to the size of his head. His stomach growled, loudly, and he blushed. The hunger had finally caught up with him. He knew had five dollars in his pocket, plenty for a plain coffee and a small tip but not nearly enough for anything else.
"No uh, not tonight," he said, quieter than he had been. You just hum in response and click a few more buttons on the screen.
"No worries. Just the coffee is $2.50." Peter pulls out the five dollar bill, crumpled and soft, from his pocket and hands it to you. You hand him back his change, and he immediately drops it in the tip jar. You smile again and thank him, saying the drink would be ready shortly. Peter stood to the side, mind racing around nothing and everything. Suddenly there was a cup in front of him, steaming, with a paper bag beside it, emblazed with a moon over a setting sun, the cafe's logo. Peter goes to grab both, then hesitates.
"Wait, I'm sorry. I just got a coffee, what's this?" You laugh lightly, tidying up the counter, wiping the smallest of spills away.
"Consider it a 'new customer' gift," you say, leaving against the front counter. "I could see you eating the muffins with your eyes and I'm not going to be able to sell them all tonight anyway so..." Peter just looks at you a bit in disbelief, part of him wanting to argue, but the greater part of him just felt so touched by your kindness. He wished he could've tipped more. He thanked you, gave a quick goodbye and was off, immediately pulling the pastry from the bag. The first bite, sweet and fruity and warm, sent a groan from his mouth a little too obscene for a cafe, and he could hear your giggle as he crossed the threshold back into the New York night.
Two nights later, he was back, with enough money this time to pay for his coffee and another muffin. He'd had a terrible day. His stupid job and his stupid boss were determined to make him pull out his hair, and he'd seen MJ on the street with Ned, both of them passing him without a glance. It had hurt, a lot, but he was Peter Parker, he was Spiderman, and he still had another job to do. The shop was busier tonight, but you were still there, smiling like it was midday instead of midnight while most of the other customers shuffled around like zombies. You waved when you saw him, immediately grabbing a cup as he walked to the counter.
"Hey! Two sugar two cream, yeah? Or did you want to try something else?" It was an innocent question, as innocent as they can get, but it made Peter's eyes sting and his heart beat a little faster. You remembered him. His boss seemed to barely remember his name after weeks and you remembered his order after just one visit. Peter just nodded, afraid to trust that his voice wouldn't betray him. Your smile softened a little, and you asked for his name to call out his order later.
"Peter," he replied after a deep steadying breath. You nod, writing down his name quickly before moving back to the drinks you'd been previously making. He stepped away, paying again for just the coffee, though his eyes again snagged on the muffins longingly. It took a little longer than last time, but soon enough, he heard his name called and there was the cup, his name scrawled across it in a mixture of cursive and print, with another paper bag next to it and a note: hope your night gets a little sweeter.
Peter kept going back. At least twice a week for the next 3 months, Peter would stop at Crepuscule Coffee. Always the same coffee and always a muffin (sometimes paid for, sometimes given for free). Peter learned that your name was Y/N, and that you were studying psychology at NYU.
"Some people say it's a useless degree," you told him one night as he pushed back patrol just a little bit to help you close up. "But I'm a firm believer that everyone struggles, and even if I don't go one to become a doctor, I still want the tools to do what I can to help others in my normal life."
The two of you would always chat when he came in, finding a few minutes to steal if it was busy or sitting at one of the tables together, open sign flipped to closed. It was so nice to have a friend again, someone steady and reliable. You're not always on shift when he comes in, but he makes it a quick point to memorize your schedule, so the times you don't cross paths are few and far between. Peter also heard all about your own roommate struggles. Alice was, by all accounts, not terrible, but not easy to live with. With you taking late night shifts, she had no regard to being quiet in the mornings when she woke. Your leftovers and snacks always seemed to go missing with no apology and no replacement. She did keep the apartment tidy, but you'd have to remind her constantly to take out the trash or to just put dirty dishes in the washer when she was done instead of leaving them on the counter. Peter opens up himself one night, bemoaning the expensive rent for little accommodation he receives.
"It's like paying someone to sleep in a wet paper bag," he said, cleaning plates off tables to carry them back to you. This was the latest he'd ever stayed. But he didn't feel like being Spiderman. He just wanted to be Peter and to spend time with his friend. You paused for a moment as you stacked up new cups and lids near the front counter.
"I know this might sound crazy, but Alice is moving out at the end of the month. She's transferring out of state and, well, I need a new roommate." Peter blinked at you.
"Are... are you asking me to live with you?" He watches the blush rise up your neck.
"Not in a weird way! I just..." you trail off, taking off your apron and hanging it behind the counter. "I think you're a good guy. And your income is stable enough to be here all the time, so I know you'd be good for rent money, and it'll be way cheaper than what you're paying now. Besides... it would be nice to live with a friend and not just an acquaintance." Peter smiles at that, small but genuine.
"Not weird at all," he said, sticking out his hand. You grin, any embarrassment quickly forgotten. Peter feels his skin tingle where you touch him, your palm smooth against his. "Roommates it is."
***
He didn't have much to move in: a bed, a dresser, and 4 boxes. Most of the belongings for his old life were in Aunt May's apartment, what was left of it at least, or with MJ or Ned. You'd joked about it once.
"Are you sure you weren't really living out of a paper bag?" He'd smiled, laughed almost, then he opened the first box and saw the "I survived my trip to NYC" t-shirt and felt his chest tighten. You didn't joke about it again.
Your apartment, of course, was more than homey enough for Peter. You had posters and tapestries on every wall. There were trinkets and mementos everywhere: movie stubs and photographs and random rocks. There were vines twisting along the fire escape that bloomed with little yellow flowers. Your apartment was lived in in a way that his never was, and never would've been, but Peter settled in quickly. It helped that your late night shifts helped cover his own late night activities, ones he passed off as night classes, and that you were, above all else, genuinely caring towards him. There was often a meal waiting for him in the fridge when he got back from patrol, sticky notes posted on it to encourage him to eat. On the mornings you both were up early, you'd have a coffee waiting for him. It was an easy routine, and for the first time in a while, Peter felt like he could breathe a little easier.
You were curious about him, about what his life had been like before he first came into the coffee shop. You'd made inquiries before about his friends and family, but he always brushed you off and you never pushed. You thought Peter looked sad, that his eyes looked a little too old, and that he was too guarded to have not had something traumatic happen. There were glimpses of a happier Peter that you'd see on occasion. His eyes would light up and his laugh would be loud, and you could just tell that that was who Peter was meant to be, not the dim persona you had been exposed to much. You were always trying to make him smile, to help his days be a little brighter, because he’d never hesitated to do the same for you. He picked up your favorite candy to bring home, always let you choose what pizza place you ordered from, played your music when he cleaned up the kitchen so that you could dance along while you swept. It was easy to live with Peter and you were so thankful.
Eventually, Peter did open up. He’d spent most of his birthday miserable, only being able to think how he should’ve been celebrating with MJ and Ned and May and even Happy. Instead, he was swinging through New York, alone again. Nothing was even happening. It was as if all of the criminals had taken the night off just to leave him even more alone. He could go back to the apartment, but he’d be alone there too. You’d said you were going out that night, and Peter wished you a good time. He hadn’t ever told you that it was his birthday, and you owed him nothing. By 1am, however, he just couldn’t focus. He decided to go home, maybe sleep would help him reset a little. When he walked in through the front door, he was surprised to find the apartment filled with a warm light. There was Chinese food on the kitchen counter, and there you sat on the couch in an oversized sweatshirt (one of his, Peter noticed) and a party hat. You immediately jumped up, arms stretched out.
“Happy birthday!” you called, grinning widely. “The Chinese is still warm so you’re in luck. I had no idea when you’d be home but I wanted to surprise you for your birthday.” And Peter? Peter broke down. Loud sobs echoed from his chest and he all but collapsed on the floor, breaths coming shallow and quick. You immediately rushed to him, holding him close and rubbing circles and patterns on his back. His arms wrapped around your waist and he buried his face in your neck. You breathed deeply, encouraging him to follow suit and eventually, he did. After some time, he told you the truth. Not everything, of course, he was very clear to leave out the more heroic parts of the story, but merely about being forgotten. He talked about Aunt May and how her death had broken something inside him that he was still trying to overcome. He talked about Ned and how alone he felt ever since losing his best friend. He talked about MJ, how much he had loved her, how sometimes he felt he still did and sometimes he just felt numb, how the end of their relationship had been so abrupt it was like he never got closure. He talked for hours, and you listened, interjecting appropriately and occasionally asking questions.
“I know I must seem pathetic,” he said, finally pulling away from your embrace. You shook your head and caught his hand, lacing his fingers with yours.
“Grief is grief, Peter. It’s not shameful or pathetic,” you say sincerely. You gently stand, keeping Peter’s hand in yours and help him to the couch. “Sometimes we lose people and we’ve done nothing wrong. Sometimes they come back. Sometimes they don’t. But it’s important to not lose yourself in the waiting. If they come back, you’ll both be different. And having healed from the past can help those relationships begin anew in the future.” Peter had thought about that for a long time after.
He already felt different. He felt angrier and sadder and more hopeless than he had before. But the morning after his birthday, after the crying and eventual eating of the Chinese food and sleep, he also felt a lot lighter. In the several months following, you would always remind him that healing was not linear. He still had some truly terrible days, days when he was reminded of all he had lost, but he had you to lean on, and you seemed to always have the right words (or snack) to make him feel more at peace. If he came home bloody or limping, you never berated him, just found him ice and tylenol and bandages. You cleaned his wounds with careful precision and told him that he needed to be careful if he was going to cope with exercise. Peter didn’t like to think of where he would have been or how he would still be surviving had it not been for that one night choosing a new coffee spot. For the first time in a long time, Peter felt like he wasn’t just existing anymore. He was back to actually living and damn it felt good.
***
“Pete, please promise you won’t hate me.” He quirked an eyebrow at you around a mouthful of the burger he was scarfing down before patrol. Another constant in Peter’s new life had become dinner with you. Your class schedule and work schedule meant it was always a toss up if the two of you would really see each other in the day or even later in the night, so dinner stuck around as a meeting point. You were a very good cook, Peter had learned. The blueberry muffins? Your recipe. The burger he was currently enjoying? You’d made it like a Chopped contestant out of a myriad of things from your kitchen.
“Why would I hate you?” he asked after a swallow. “Is this a rat burger or something?” You just rolled your eyes, stealing a potato chip from his plate.
“No, no rats,” you reply as you stand, rinsing off your plate in the sink before putting it in the dishwasher. “I know that tomorrow night is supposed to be movie night but I… I won’t be home for dinner, and I know you have classes so we’ll probably have to reschedule.” Peter paused, brow furrowing at your words.
“What do you mean? They can’t make you work another double Y/N, that’ll be your third one this week.” Peter thought you worked too much, always trying to cover other people’s shifts and help out whenever called. You did love your job, but Peter knew just how tiring running yourself ragged was.
“Not work Pete.” You sit back at the table, eyes bright and smile wide. “I have a date!” Peter feels his stomach drop as you begin gushing over Jackson, some obviously no good punk from one of your classes. On the outside, he smiles, asking you the essential questions. Where are you going? When will you be back? Will you keep your location on in case something goes wrong? You just smile.
“Pete, you worry too much. Besides, Spiderman is always swinging around out there somewhere so I’d say I’m pretty safe.”
The next night, when Peter was supposed to be curled up on one side of the couch, your legs resting in his lap, with a giant bowl of popcorn and a movie playing that the two of you would comment on more than watch, he was instead laying alone in his bedroom, waiting to hear the door open. It was late, or early depending on what someone would classify 3:00 am as, and you were still out. Peter had gone on patrol, showered using your shampoo (only because he was out and not at all because he loved the way your hair smelled when you’d fall asleep on his shoulder), cleaned the kitchen and living room, made dinner (a double portion of slightly crunchy mac and cheese with half left in the fridge for you just in case), and watched a whole nature documentary. He could feel his body humming with energy and nerves, like a live wire had been plugged straight into his veins.
At first, he tried to convince himself that he was just on edge from patrol since he had yet another night of adrenaline and nowhere to put it, but as the minutes ticked by, he couldn’t ignore the truth. He missed you, and it wasn’t just the fact that your movie night had been delayed. He didn’t like it, certainly, but he hated you being out with someone else. Peter had already forgotten the other guy’s stupid J name, but the more he thought about you out with Jack or Justin or Joe, the more sick he felt inside. He hadn’t felt like that since Europe, since MJ and Brad were too close for his comfort. As he looked around his room, it became more and more clear to him that while you were a friend and confidant, at some point you had become much more to him. There were doodles covering his once blank wall from napkins and sticky notes you’d left for him to find. The book half finished on his night stand was one of your favorites from childhood that you insisted he read. The stuffed Spiderman that rested on his bed was from a trip you two had taken to Coney Island where you had managed to win some rigged game to win it for him. The one photograph he had displayed was of the two of you at your parent’s house.
It was from his first Christmas since losing everything, when you had dragged him out of the city and several states away to your parents for the week. You mom had given him the biggest hug, saying that you’d told them all about him and how excited she was to finally meet you. Peter had spent at least an hour crying that day, feeling so loved and overwhelmed at the same time. You’d made him wear matching sweaters, claiming it would be “more festive”, and your dad had taken the photo of you two in front of the Christmas tree, the multicolor lights throwing their colors on your skin and making your eyes gleam. Peter was smiling ear to ear as you held his arm, pressing close against his side.
As he looked at the photo he felt secure in the truth. At some point, between muffins and tears and Christmas, he’d fallen for you. He knew he needed to tell you, to see if there was any reciprocation, any chance at all that you’d rather be with him, but when you came home gushing about how well things had gone, Peter couldn’t find the courage. Despite how badly Peter wanted you, wanted to be the one you dressed up for and whispered compliments to late at night, he didn’t want to make things awkward or ruin the friendship you already had. He kept his feelings to himself and ignored the ache in his chest when you left to see Josh or Jeffrey or Jax.
What Peter couldn’t stand, however, was the way that Jackson (you’d finally said his name enough times for Peter to remember) spoke to you. He was always incredibly condescending, hitting you with backhanded compliments regularly.
“You look so hot in that dress babe, just take off that lipstick, you look like a clown.”
“Instead of dinner I thought we could just go out to the bar, you don’t need the calories from both.”
“Baby stop studying, it’s not like you want to be a doctor anyway.”
Peter could see the digs get under your skin, but you’d always laugh off the words before agreeing and doing what was asked. The one thing you would always shoot back about was Peter. Jackson had made no secret that he did not like you living with another man. The few times he’d been over (as he always wanted you at his place instead), Jackson had grumbled about Peter’s presence or existence in the space.
“Babe, I don't see why you can’t have a female roommate,” he’d said, just two days after that first date, stinky socked feet propped up on the coffee table on top of Peter’s latest read (another book recommendation of yours). He’d come over essentially to steal your TV and beer and ignore you while he watched some sport. You and Peter stood in the kitchen, going over bills and a half finished grocery list. Occasionally, you would brush against Peter’s side and send his heart rate through the roof.
“Pete helps pay the bills. He’s kind and clean and that’s all I can ask for,” you replied curtly, implying no room for further discussion. Jackson kept talking anyway.
“Yeah but he’s a guy. You know he just wants one thing. How do I know that you guys aren’t fucking? I mean what is even the point of living together if you’re not going to fuck?” You slammed down a bill, turning around sharp and quick.
“Peter is just my friend and he’s a damn good one,” you snapped. “Not all hot guys are giant pervs. And if you ever want an opportunity to fuck me you’ll keep your mouth shut about Peter.” Jackson just grumbled and went back to his beer. Peter’s mind oscillated between disappointment at being labelled “just a friend”, shock that you’d called him hot, and one very vivid image of you underneath him, arms pinned above your head and he did just what Jackson was afraid of.
***
Time moved by and suddenly it had been a whole month of dealing with Jackson’s stupid face and comments. Peter had noticed you dim more and more as time went on. You seemed to dread seeing your boyfriend (Peter didn’t even want to call him that), but you went anyway. Mainly to bars or clubs, like where you’d said you were going tonight. Peter often stayed out later on patrol the nights he knew you were out, and if he stayed in the area he knew you’d be, well that was just coincidence. The same coincidence that led him to be sitting on a balcony of an office building across from the bar you were currently outside of. You looked stunning in a deep red dress, leather jacket, and strappy black heels. Peter tried not to preen at the fact that the two of you matched, even if you didn’t know, but it still filled him with a deep sense of pride. Jackson wore orange and Peter thought he looked like a traffic cone. He watched as you sat, nursing a drink, as Jackson hooped and hollered with a few other men to the side. Suddenly there was another girl, blonde, who sidled up to Jackson and wrapped her arm around his. Peter saw you notice and stand, going over to intervene. You tapped the girl on the shoulder, seeming to politely tell her that the man she was hanging on was not available, and Jackson immediately began yelling. Peter could hear bits and pieces, street traffic and loud music overwhelming some of it.
“What the hell... it was fine… leave me alone… I can talk to who I want… fucking bitch…”
You try to reply, calm but firm, but Jackson doesn’t even let you begin. He hits you, hard, palm connecting with your cheek in a resounding crack that Peter could not ignore. He saw you stumble to the ground and was immediately swinging down in front of you.
“Holy shit, are you okay?” he asked gently, cupping the uninjured side of your face as he helped you back up.
“You costume freak, hands off my girl,” he hears Jackson call, but Peter’s full focus is on you. You lean on him, eyes glassy and cheek red and hot as he helps you sit down on a bench. He brushes a tear from your eye and asks again if you’re okay. You blink at him, shocked.
“Oh my gosh you’re Spiderman,” you blurt out, suddenly both cheeks red due to your rising blush. Peter can’t help but laugh.
“Yeah, friendly neighborhood Spiderman. That’s me.”
“Spider freak you need to leave my girl alone.” Peter turns, seeing Jackson standing there, arms crossed and eyes narrowed. “We were on a date.” You scoff, pushing by the mashed man in front of you to look Jackson in the eye.
“Yeah, and it’s our last. Delete my number and don’t ever fucking contact me again you prick.” Jackson, drunk and angry, almost growls.
“No, you don’t get to say if we’re done,” he starts, reaching out to grab your wrist. You pull back immediately, taking a small step behind Peter, and Peter swings first and questions later. As his fist makes firm contact with Jackson’s nose, he immediately wonders if that was the right choice or not. As he looks at you, now grinning ear to ear, he knows it was the right choice. He watched as you flipped off the moaning body on the ground and walked away. He followed of course, even though just walking around in his suit feels a little odd, because you’d still never really answered his question.
“So… you okay?” he questions, trying to keep his own ‘Peter Parker your roommate and guy who was in love with you’ anxiety from creeping into his Spiderman persona. You get just out of eyeshot of the bar and stop with a sigh.
“My face hurts,” you answer, a waver in your tone. “But it’s probably for the best. He was a shit boyfriend anyway.” Peter chuckles at that.
“He seemed like a shit person. I’m glad I was in the area,” he replies, moving to push a piece of hair out of your face. You’re blushing again and Peter watches your eyes flick down to the spot on his mask where his mouth should be. It makes his heart leap a little when you smile at him and take a small step closer.
“Me too,” you say gently. “You really are a hero.” Now it was Peter’s turn to blush under your praise.
“I just don’t like bullies.” There’s a brief moment of silence as you study him before you speak again.
“Well, I guess I should probably be heading home. Thank you again.” You give him one more smile before you turn and start walking away. Peter doesn’t let you get far.
“You uh… you need a lift? I figure he was your ride,” he asks, falling into step beside you. “Not to brag but I’m a little faster than the subway or Uber.”
“As tempting as that sounds, I don’t do too good with heights. Besides, I’m sure you have more important things to do than swing me around.” Peter grabs your hand gently, pulling you to a stop. You look at him, then down to the hand he hadn’t let go of.
“Right now nothing is more important than making sure I can get you home safely,” he states firmly. “And I promise I won’t let you fall.” You look back up at him, and he hopes that the eyes of his suit are accurately portraying the care he was looking at you with. You give him a nod in agreement and he pulls you close, wrapping your hands around his neck. He pulls you in with a strong hand on your waist, bodies flush against each other. He can feel your heartbeat and can smell the sweet perfume that he bought you for your birthday. “Ready?” He feels your grip tighten around him.
“If you drop me, my roommate is going to kill you.” Peter laughs, loudly, and suddenly you’re swinging upward. You feel your stomach drop down and you let out a yelp. A few swings in and you’re grinning widely. You yell out your address, something he obviously didn’t need, and Peter takes a longer route than he normally would have, doing his best to monopolize the time with you in his arms. It was easy to imagine you always in his arms. When he finally made it back to your apartment building, he lowered from the sky as carefully as he could.
“Guess this is my stop,” you say, disentangling yourself from him. He mourns the loss of your warmth. “Thank you again for being there.” Peter shrugs.
“I was just in the right place at the right time.” You chuckle, closing the distance to press a kiss to his masked cheek.
“Maybe I’ll see you around?” Peter, by some miracle, keeps his cool. He grabs your hand once more, pressing a soft kiss of his own to your knuckles. The fabric tickles your skin, and the gesture steals your breath.
“I’d be honored to see you again.” Without waiting for your reply, he swung away, heart threatening to bust out of his chest. He didn’t stay away long, going only a few streets over to change out of his suit, before making his way back to the apartment. Walking back inside, he takes care to fumble loudly with his keys to announce his presence. He finds you on the couch, already stripped of that gorgeous red dress in favor of one of his shirts and an incredibly short pair of shorts that make his brain blank for a moment. There is a pint of cookie dough ice cream on the cushion beside you, a few large bites already taken from it.
“Hey Pete,” you call, flicking through channels trying to find something decent. “Class go okay?”
“What? Oh yeah, it was fine,” he replies, peeling his gaze away from your bare thighs, dropping down his bag and kicking off his shoes. "What are you doing home? I thought you were out with Jackson tonight?" You snort, scooping out another chunk of ice cream.
"Jackass,” you correct, emphasizing the change. “And yes, I was. But never again." You stand up then, moving to the kitchen to grab a second spoon.
“What happened?”
“He got mad that I didn’t want him flirting with someone else right in front of me,” you explain, clinking through the silverware. “Then he accused me of dressing like a slut and then he slapped me.” Despite having been there, seeing it first hand, Peter was immediately concerned and angry all over again.
“Are you okay?” he asks, moving across the room towards you. You turn around to answer and he cages you in against the counter, chest brushing against yours as he gently grabs your chin, tilting your head to examine both sides of your face. His heart is beating out of his chest because oh my God you’re so close and he can smell your perfume again and he'd be surprised if you couldn't feel his heartbeat through his fingertips. You, however, are silent, watching Peter with widened eyes and parted lips.
"Yeah, I'm uh... I'm okay now,” you reply softly. Peter looks at you a moment longer before he starts to feel himself drift in, face inching imperceptibly closer to yours. He snaps out of it, quickly backing away to give you some space. He has no mask to protect him now, as his blush quickly spreads up his neck to the tips of his ears. You stay still, watching him as he coughs and awkwardly rubs the back of his neck.
“Good,” he says, trying to fill the silence. “Good. I’m glad you got out of there.” You hum in response, moving past him with a spoon to sit back on the couch. You pat the spot next to you and he quickly sits down.
"Spiderman showed up actually,” you explain, scooping out another chunk of now slightly softened ice cream. Peter follows suit, body relaxing into the cushions as the sweet ice cream coats his tongue. “I'd never met him before, just seen him a couple times. He's kind of my celebrity crush. He was very charming. Dreamy even.”
That’s what I get for not being professional. I’ve gotta be my own competition now.
“You know what they say about meeting your heroes,” he says. “You might end up disappointed.” You just hum again, and the two of you settle into a comfortable silence for a moment.
“He kind of reminded me of you.” Peter coughs, choking on surprise and trying his best to play it off.
"What? Me? Spiderman? No way,” he quickly denies. There was no way you really suspected, right? “I’m just me. I couldn’t be Spiderman. I mean, he’s so cool and I’m so… me.” You just laughed.
"No Peter, I don't think you're actually Spiderman. You'd literally never have the time to work and go to class and be a vigilante.” Peter breathes a deep sigh of relief, and if there’s a bit of sarcasm in your tone, he chooses to ignore it. You turn towards him and move the ice cream, bare knee brushing his clothed one. “I just think you're both so good hearted and loyal and brave. If he hadn't shown up, you would've been the person I called. I can always count on you."
"I'd do anything for you." It came out of his mouth so quickly, Peter didn’t have time to process his statement. Still, he knew it was the truth. You'd picked him up from his lowest point. You never rushed him in his healing or made him feel unworthy for various breakdowns and moments of deep depression. He, in a way, owed you his life for showing him how to keep living. "I couldn't imagine my life without you." Your eyes are glossy and suddenly you’re in his arms again, your own wrapped tightly around his waist as you bury your face in his chest. He holds you close, his chin resting on top of your head.
“I couldn’t imagine my life without you either.” The words are somewhat muffled but for Peter they’re as clear as a bell. He’s overwhelmed by images of the two of you, truly together for the rest of your lives, and he knows he has to tell you how he feels. He may have only recently named them for himself, but he knows he’d loved you for quite some time.
"I hated seeing you with Jackson." He doesn't pull away from the hug, he can't look at you directly while he talks because he's afraid he'll lose his nerve. "I hated how he tried to make you small. I hated how he spoke to you." You squeeze your arms around him a little tighter, and he rubs circles on your back. "But what I hated most was that you were with him and not me." You tense up in his arms and he immediately pulls away to a friendly distance. "And I know you probably don't feel the same but I… I love you. And not just as my friend. Or as my roommate. But like, romantically. And I know you were just seeing someone and I know that I'm not exactly a catch and–" He’s cut off as you grab his hands that had been wildly gesticulating around him. You thread your fingers through his and smile.
“Pete,” you start, voice filled with emotion and nerves, “I never liked Jackson. I only started seeing him to try to get over you." Peter is silent, mouth dropped wide in shock. "I've liked you since you came into the coffee shop for the first time. I just never said anything because I thought you were out of my league. Then when you told me about MJ I wanted you to have time to heal and I was okay with being your friend but... I thought that's all you wanted. And I didn't want to ruin it so when Jackson asked me out I figured it would help me get over you.” Peter’s mouth is on yours in an instant. It’s soft at first, respectful even, until one of your hands lets go of his and winds its way into the hair at the nape of his neck. Peter groans and pulls you in, hands finding your waist and lifting you effortlessly onto his lap.
"Have you always been this strong?” you ask, breathless as you pull away, just enough to speak and no further. “Where was this when I was moving the couch?" Peter smiles against your lips.
“Shut up and kiss me,” he says. Maybe one day he would tell you why he was so strong, but not today. For now, he just kissed you again, savoring the feeling of your lips against his. He had been forgotten to save the world. It was a painful transition, and one he’d prefer to not repeat, but you had found him in the rubble of his former life and helped him build something new. It was different, and it had been scary but in the end, the brand new days were still worth living.