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The window opens with a loud thunk as Ferran crawls inside. He really should be more mindful of how much noise he’s making, but he can’t bring himself to care, not when there’s a two-inch stab wound down his side. Tonight was supposed to be a relatively easy mission; bust a warehouse deal, catch some bad guys, and leave them tied up for the police to handle when they get a suspicious tip tomorrow morning. He just wasn’t expecting the sheer number of goons he was dealing with or the electromagnetic-powered weaponry they brought with them.
Ferran needs to look into that soon, but first, he somehow needs to drag his battered body to his room. He tries to lift himself but falls back onto the window frame. He just needs to rest for a couple of seconds, Ferran thinks. He squeezes his eyes shut and starts counting, each number accompanied by a laboured exhale.
One, two, three, four-
Ferran’s eyes snap open as a glass shatters. He can barely make out a pair of old gym shorts and an oversized Snoopy pyjama shirt before the realization hits him. Usually, Pedri spends weekends at his boyfriend Lucas's much nicer apartment uptown, but earlier this week he mentioned Lucas going on some nature relaxation trip. Unfortunately for Ferran, he tends to zone out whenever Pedri talks about his boyfriend, instead imagining clubbing Lucas over the head with a comically sized rubber hammer.
Pedri is staring at him in shock, one hand still outstretched from when he was holding a glass of water.
This, Ferran thinks, is definitely karma.
“Shit, I’m really sorry about all of this. I’ll be right out here, I promise,” Ferran says as he quickly stands up, then immediately doubles over as a sharp pain shoots through his body.
Pedri keeps staring until it looks like something clicks, then he rushes out of the room.
“Way to go, probably scared the hell out of him,” Ferran mumbles to himself.
A moment later, Pedri runs back into the room, carrying a small white box–their first aid kit. He approaches Ferran carefully, like he’s a wounded animal, and to Pedri, he probably seems like one. Ferran’s suit is torn up in several spots, with blood soaking through the fabric and pooling on the floor. Thankfully, his mask remains in place.
“I won’t hurt you. You don’t need to be scared of me,” Ferran whispers, too tired to conceal his voice, relying on the muffling of his suit.
It must be the reassurance Pedri needs, as he takes a deep breath and finally kneels beside Ferran. He opens the first aid kit, grabs the rubbing alcohol and cotton balls, and gently lifts Ferran’s hand from where he’s been pressing on the wound.
“I’m not scared of you,” Pedri whispers back, pressing a cotton ball to the injury.
“Really? Because your heart is beating super fast right now.”
At that, Pedri presses the ball more firmly, and Ferran hisses at the sting of the alcohol.
“I said I’m not scared of you, not that I’m not scared at all! It’s not every day that Spiderman shows up bleeding at your door,” Pedri huffs, lips pulled into a pout.
“Technically, I showed up at your window,” Ferran says, with a teasing tone.
This is the point in their banter when Pedri stops entertaining Ferran's stupid bits and gives him an all-too-familiar glare. It’s a song and dance Ferran has memorized. So, when Pedri simply ducks his head and Ferran notices a pretty pink dusting on the tips of his ears, Ferran's footing falters.
He keeps quiet while Pedri tends to the wound, unsure of how to fill the silence. He knows what Ferran would say: praise Pedri’s skills, joke about being a lifesaver, ask if he does this kind of thing often at the hospital. But he doesn’t know what Spiderman would say to Pedri. Which is strange, if you think about it, because really, he is Spiderman, so he’s the only one who can know-
While he’s lost in his thoughts, Pedri has already finished dressing the wound and bandaged some minor scratches on his arm.
“There, all set," he says, giving Ferran a final pat on the arm.
Before Ferran can start thanking him, Pedri grabs his hand, brings it to his lips, and gently kisses it.
“A kiss,” Pedri whispers, “to make it feel better.”
Ferran’s eyes must be bulging through the mask because a bright blush erupts across Pedri’s face. He quickly pulls away from Ferran, scrambling across the floor to create as much distance as possible. Fortunately for Ferran, their cramped shoebox of an apartment offers little room to run.
“I’m sorry, it’s just something I do at the hospital I work at, you know, for the kids and whatever. Just a habit, I guess,” he finishes lamely.
It’s strange to see Pedri, typically so composed, look this nervous, but Ferran chalks it up to the unusual circumstances. Besides, it’s nice to be in the other's shoes for once, especially now that the responsibility of being nonchalant and suave falls to Ferran.
Feeling much better all of a sudden, Ferran stands up and extends a hand to Pedri. He uses a bit more superstrength than needed, easily pulling Pedri up with one hand. He stumbles from the sheer force of it, and Ferran catches him by the arms to steady him.
"Thank you for tonight, and for the kiss.” This time, he does deepen his voice to disguise it. Pedri turns his head away, as if it would hide the blush now spreading down his neck.
“By the way, would you mind not mentioning this to anyone? Just not a good look for Spiderman to be swinging in and out of pretty boys' apartments this late at night.”
Ferran wishes he could see Pedri’s reaction to that, but he still needs to finish up at the warehouse. By the time Pedri processes the words, Ferran is long gone.
In the morning, the wound is barely bigger than his thumb, and he has only one bruise on his upper ribs. There's a dull ache in his muscles, and his bones seem heavier, but it’s comparable to pulling an all-nighter and then chugging 8 shots of espresso (Ferran doesn’t recommend). Guess spiderpowers do count for something.
Pedri is already in the kitchen when Ferran walks in, sitting at one of the island stools, almost falling asleep into his cereal. Ferran tousles his bedhead when he passes by, laughing as Pedri nearly topples off the stool.
“Rough night?” he asks.
Pedri turns around to face him fully, sporting a smirk.
“You will never guess what happened last night.”
Ferran might have an inkling.