Chapter Text
The first time you almost found out Peter was Spider-Man was completely by accident. It happened while you and Peter were walking down the street after getting coffee together. The day had been pretty stress-free for Peter. No notifications from EV to signal an emergency around the city, no tingles that showed the need for Spider-man’s presence around the city, nor the strange feeling of loneliness Peter had been experiencing the past few years. For once, New York City wasn’t trying to kill him.
It had taken him a while to notice. Somewhere between shared walks and coffee runs, he'd realized the city became just a little quieter whenever you were around. Ever since everyone forgot who Peter Parker was, it felt like he hadn't truly relaxed once. He'd spend months standing outside MJ's coffee shop more times than he'd ever admit, watching her laugh with customers who knew her name. He'd seen Ned on campus, surrounded by friends who looked at him the same way Peter used to. They were happy. They were safe.
Peter had decided that had to be enough.
He had spent months making sure no one remembered him. Somehow, he hadn't realized how much he missed being known.
You were rambling about one of your neighbours and their inability to keep private conversations private within the walls of their apartment, when all of a sudden everything around him faded into the background. For him, every sound around him sharpened, a bicycle 4 blocks away, a faucet dripping four floors above him, tires screeching, honking, footsteps.
“Peter? Are you even listening to me right now?” Your voice sounded far away from him, as if it was just some background noise. Something heavy took a step closer. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, he needed to get out of there as quickly as possible.
“Peter?” You nudged his arm, trying to get a reaction, effectively snapping him of the silence around.
“I have to leave.” He said with complete determination.
“What–?” You begin to argue.
“I’m sorry, I have to go like now–” He began rambling as he started walking backwards, ignoring the fact he was crashing with other people. “I forgot I have something to do.”
He turns around and walks as far away from your field of vision as possible, not wanting you to follow him. He hadn't even made it halfway down the alley when he heard your footsteps. The need to keep his secret makes him react quickly, climbing the wall behind the fire escape of the adjacent building, ducking behind an old AC unit.
“Peter!” Your voice begins to get closer to the alley. He held his breath with the hope of you walking down the street normally. “You always do this, Parker!”
The complaint made Peter feel regret, of course he always did this. He almost apologized, almost climbed down, almost apologized. But then he heard screams down the street, and there was no room left for Peter Parker. Spider-man left the alley and searched around for the threat. Meanwhile, you reached the alley only to find it empty. No Peter. No footsteps. Nothing.
“Seriously?”
— —
The second time, Peter didn't have much of a choice. His last encounter with Scorpion had gone… poorly. He had technically won the fight, however his ribs were not feeling the win at all.
If May were still alive, he would’ve been in the ER a long time ago. If MJ remembered him, she would’ve shouted at him for waiting too long. Ned would be searching different sites to learn how to treat broken ribs. If Mr. Stark were alive…
None of those things were about to become true, so he decided to do the only thing that felt brave enough to him. So, naturally, he ended up at your apartment’s front door with a crooked smile. If you didn’t know any better, Peter still looked like your awkward upstairs neighbor. The same one you'd met two years ago after knocking on his door to complain about the noise. The same one who had apologized so profusely you'd ended up feeling guilty instead. But since you knew better, that smile indicated that he was about to ask something ridiculous. Peter only smiled like that when he needed help.
When you had enough time to inspect the state he was in, you raised an eyebrow in confusion. The sleeves of his hoodie were torn, his bottom lip was busted, his knuckles were red and tender and the way he was holding the brown paper bag looked almost painful.
“What the hell happened to you?” You ask him slowly, as if the mere sound of your voice would harm him further.
“I got robbed.” He says point blank.
“You got robbed?” You repeated back at him. The look on your face confirmed his worst fear, you did not believe him.
“Yeah.”
“By who?”
“There was a guy–” He started.
“One guy did this to you?” You said still not believing him.
“We had different opinions,” He shrugs, but you can tell the movement itself hurts. “It was just a little disagreement.” He says as if the state he was in was not emergency room worthy.
“A disagreement?” You said louder, in a tone that dripped with sarcasm and worry. “Inside… Now.” You open the door to let him in.
“He felt very strong about his opinion.” He is still trying to keep up the lie.
“I can see that." That statement makes him furrow his eyebrows.
Once inside, Peter quietly set the paper bag on your coffee table. One by one, he pulled out a bottle of antiseptic, gauze, medical tape, painkillers, and a box of bandages. He'd come prepared.
“Peter.” You say sternly.
“Please.” He says barely above a whisper.
You rolled your eyes and guided him toward the couch, where you carefully began cleaning his injuries. You started with the cut on his lip, then his scraped knuckles, and finally the bruises you could reach without asking him to take off the hoodie.
The night ended much like that.
Peter cracked jokes every time you dabbed antiseptic over another cut, insisting that the one guy had simply been very passionate about his opinions. Every time you asked what had really happened, the story changed just enough to become even less believable.
You stopped asking.
He kept talking anyway.
— —
The third time came with cold weather. The temperature was beginning to drop, the leaves turning from a vibrant green to a subtle orange, swimsuits were being exchanged for sweaters and scarves. Spider-Man never got sick, Peter Parker did.
He refused to acknowledge it. He refused to take a break.
Peter Parker, stubborn as ever, insisted they weren't the same person.
One night, after patrolling the city, his fever had gotten worse and his headache could no longer be ignored. By the end of patrol, pretending he was fine had become impossible. He began to make his way home. But the colder the night grew, the worse his headache became. Once he arrived at what he thought was his apartment, muscle memory kicked in, letting himself fall face-first to his couch and feeling relieved as the headache eased.
The peace, sadly, didn’t last long. He heard footsteps trying to be careful and silent all throughout his apartment. His suit was still on and his instinct took over. He stood up and aimed his web-shooter just as the lights turned on.
You were, for lack of a better word, terrified. Spider-Man was standing in your apartment aiming at you. Neither of you seemed particularly sure who should be more alarmed.
“What are you doing here?” Peter tried masking his voice to avoid recognition. “...Ma’am…”
“What am I doing here?” You answered back. “Sir– Uh, Spider-Man, this is my apartment…”
Peter took a small step back and began to recognize his surroundings. Your couch, your living room, your pictures on the walls, the half-finished mug you'd forgotten on the coffee table that morning.
Oh.
In his sick and tired state, Peter had ended up in your apartment instead of his own. He hadn't even realized he'd stopped thinking. He just wanted to go home. His instincts had simply taken him somewhere safe. He just didn’t know his instincts catalogued your apartment as home.
He frowned beneath the mask, tilting his head in confusion.
“I-” He began, but it felt useless.
“Can I help you with something, Mr. Spider-Man?” You asked slightly more confidently.
His confused state didn’t allow him to fully register what was happening.
“Wrong apartment.” He finally lands on.
“Excuse me?” You blink, completely in shock.
“Yeah, I was doing a routine inspection.” He continues to dig his hole deeper.
“...You were sleeping.”
Shit. He thinks this is just the worst thing that has happened since he got sick.
“Are you okay?” You ask in a small whisper.
It’s a harmless small question. It shouldn’t mean that much to him. But it does. Is he? Is he okay?
The headache becomes overwhelming, as well as the situation. Without another word, he fired a web toward the open window.
A second later...
He was gone.
— —
The fourth time is almost comical.
Movie nights were a rare occurrence between the two of you. Not because neither of you wanted them, but because New York had an annoying habit of ruining perfectly good plans. Peter had finally convinced you to watch the Star Wars Prequels, after months of discussions (and maybe Peter sitting through too many True Crime Documentaries) you finally gave in.
It was simple really. It shouldn’t be complicated.
Except it was. At least for Peter. The last weeks had been complicated for him. Especially being around you. That night he broke into your apartment, he realized a lot of how his instinct and his subconscious mind felt about you. He couldn't explain it, and he certainly couldn't tell whether it was because of the fever or because his body had finally admitted something his brain had been too stubborn to acknowledge.
It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to MJ or the life he had planned for the both of them. It didn’t make any sense either. In another life, Peter Parker had already imagined what the rest of his life would look like. It included a tiny apartment. It included college. It included MJ.
That future no longer existed.
He'd made sure of that.
So why did it feel like he was the one walking away from it?
Peter had spent months convincing himself that loneliness was a small price to pay for everyone else's safety.
You were the first person who made him question whether he believed it.
While he found himself in his train of thought, he turned to look at you. Your eyes crinkled whenever you laughed. You kept trying to hide your smile every time Obi-Wan made a sarcastic remark, as if enjoying the movie would somehow prove Peter right. He realized that somewhere along the way he memorized the way a real smile from you looked like. He wondered when looking at you had become easier than looking away.
You reached forward to grab more popcorn from the bowl, accidentally knocking it off balance.
Without taking his eyes off you, Peter reached out and caught it before it could fall. The sudden movement made him lean across the couch, his arm brushing yours as the bowl landed safely in his hand.
“How did you–” You say, turning to him and meeting him directly on your face. Merely inches apart, nowhere else to look but his eyes. When did he get so close? “catch that?”
Silence engulfed you, the room quiet, except for the background noise of the movie playing.
“Catch what?” He whispered, still close to your face.
“The bowl.”
“Oh.” A small hint of realization. “I have good reflexes.”
You smile a little and shake your head. Breaking eye contact and getting away from him hesitantly.
“What you have,” You say, still looking at him, but getting slowly away. “Is ridiculous luck, Parker.”
— —
The last time it happened, he wanted to tell you so bad.
“Did you know Spider-Man broke into my apartment?” You drop so casually. Peter feels his heart stop for a second and he gulps as casually as possible.
“Did he now?” He turns to look at you curiously.
“Yeah, like two months ago.” You continue. “It was the weirdest interaction I’ve had. But poor guy, he looked like he was going through something.”
“What makes you say that?”
“He slept on my couch.” You shrug, as if that somehow explained everything.
“He what…?” He said confused.
You turn to look at Peter and hand him his cup of coffee. When you handed him the cup, the small brush of your fingers made him feel like he should just blurt the words I AM SPIDER-MAN.
“The poor guy looked sick.” You stir your coffee more. “I think everyone expects him to be composed all the time and I think that gets exhausting.” You take a small sip. ”People really forget there is someone underneath the mask.”
Peter feels like something inside him breaks, he stares at his cup of coffee. He felt guilty. Not because of his break in. But because has kept his identity secret the whole time.
Tell her.
The thought flew across his mind. She deserved the truth really. However the thought of his identity putting her in danger was enough to make him stop.
Tell her.
“Peter?” Your voice cutting through the spiral in his head.
He shakes his head.
“I’m fine.” He blinks and looks over to you. “I wanted to tell you something”
“Yeah?” You say turning to face him fully, your head tilted in curiosity.
“I–” He begins, stopping to fully analyse what he was doing.
Don't.
May.
MJ.
Ned.
The apartment.
The spell.
Every person who had ever paid the price for getting too close to Peter Parker.
“I’m happy we are neighbours.” He settled on, his throat tight, the lie felt heavy in the air.
You, as perfect as ever, smile and reach for a hug. Letting him get for a moment the feeling of comfort he was yearning for.
So this time, you didn't almost find out.
Peter almost told you.
— —
The one time you found out, nothing about it was an accident.
Or at least that is what Peter told himself. Once again, you and Peter were walking down the street after getting coffee together. Both of you are enjoying the routine you had established for your days off. Because at some point, coffee had become an excuse for the both of you. An excuse to spend at least an extra hour with the other.
This time, however, New York City was not letting Peter enjoy his evening completely.
A familiar feeling crept up his neck, settling deep in his bones and activating the instincts that usually relaxed around you. Every sound around him sharpened and he could only beg whoever was listening to let him to let him finish his coffee peacefully.
His instincts were kicking in, causing him to look around to try and identify the incoming threat.
“Peter?” His focus shifts immediately to you. “There’s an alley right around the corner.”
“Thanks, I should–” He stops. The words died in his throat. “...What?”
You laugh softly. Taking a step closer to him, you grab his cup of coffee.
“There’s an alley right around the corner.” You nodded toward the street behind him. “Go.”
“What…?” Peter looks utterly and completely confused.
“Whatever is going on,” You say while getting closer to him. “I’ll still be here when you’re done.”
“How did you–” He is quickly interrupted by a loud bang in the background. “I should–” He points towards the alley.
You nod once and offer him a smile, still holding his coffee.
“I know.” You lean in and place a small kiss on his cheek. “Besides, you always do this, Parker.”
Peter forgot about the danger for half a second. The way his heart skipped for a second had nothing to do with the screams echoing a few blocks away.
He nodded, more confidently than the way he was feeling and began to make his way to the alley. Just before he fully entered, he stopped to look back at you, and he smiled at the way you were already drinking from his coffee and walking back towards your apartment building.
You weren’t looking back to find him, you already told him you’d be waiting for him. So if someone happened to notice Spider-Man trying to slip through the fire escape of an apartment with its lights still on (one floor below Peter Parker's) they would've also seen you unlocking the window.