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Peter’s hair was getting too long. The thick brown curls were long enough in the back that they tickled his shoulders, and his fringe had grown out to the point he needed to tuck it behind his ears if he wanted any chance at seeing anything. But… May had always cut his hair. She’d taken him into the bathroom and sat him in front of the mirror and used scissors to cut his curls shorter. Now May was dead, and the prospect of cutting his hair felt like betrayal. Tony had offered, multiple times, to take Peter to a hairdresser, but he’d refused every time. But his hair was getting too long, and as much as he hated to admit it, it needed cutting.
Still, Peter didn’t want to go to Tony. This was his problem, and he could deal with it alone. He stared down at the scissors in his hand, and then up at the bathroom mirror he was standing in front of. It was time. Peter sighed, untucking his fringe and bringing the scissors to the long strands.
He let his hand hover there for a second, unsure what to do. It felt so surreal, like he was taking away another piece of May, ripping her from his heart. But before he could have any more doubts, Peter brought his fingers together, closing his eyes as the sound of hair being cut echoed too loudly throughout the ensuite bathroom.
A tear escaped his eye, rolling down his cheek and settling on his lips, the salty flavour spreading on his tongue. It was too late now, he had to finish what he started.
Peter continued cutting. Strand after strand fell off into the bathroom sink, and he felt both lighter and heavier with each snip. By the time he was done, tears were streaming down his face, and his eyes were rimmed with red.
Peter put the scissors on the bathroom bench. Their existence was mocking him. He just… he wished May could’ve been the one to cut his hair. It was their ritual. It had never seemed like anything special, but now May was gone, it seemed like everything. Peter left the bathroom. The scene of the crime. Another severing of his life with May, another reminder of what everything had become.
The room Peter stayed in was still quite empty. He hadn’t had the energy to put up any of his old poster’s, and given Tony was a billionaire, the room was way bigger than he could fill with all his old stuff. He was grateful, but most days he just wanted his life with May back, no matter how much he loved Tony.
Peter slumped down on the bed. The sheets below him had a ridiculous threadcount, and probably cost more than his and May’s apartment had, but Peter had learned to expect the ridiculous while living with Tony Stark.
There was a fan above his bed. It was turned on, spinning faster than his eyes could track. The room hadn’t originally had a fan, but he’d insisted Tony get one. It reminded him of the singular fan in his and May’s apartment. That and the shitty AC was all that cooled their apartment. It had gotten hot in the summers. The fan above his bed was mesmerising. Way fancier than his old one. Instead of faded white, it was dark navy with glowing turquoise LED strips.
There was a knock on the door. Peter mumbled something vaguely akin to ‘come in,’ hoping whoever it was heard. They did, and a second later Peter heard his door swing open and footsteps enter. He recognised them as Tony’s.
“Hey, Mr Stark,” Peter muttered unenthusiastically. He averted his gaze from the ceiling fan and looked over to Tony. The man’s face was a picture of concern, mouth downturned and eyebrows furrowed.
“Pete?” he said in a questioning tone. “You’ve been in here for hours. Are you okay?”
Hours? Peter had only woken up, like… a few minutes before he’d decided to cut his hair. And that was only like… he didn’t know how long ago that had been. Weird how time flew when he was dissociating.
“I’m fine,” Peter murmured, not meeting his mentor’s gaze, and instead opting to stare at the fan swirling round and round on the ceiling. He was holding back tears as he did so, trying not to break in front of his idol.
“You don’t look fine, Pete,” Tony stated sadly. And then: “Hey, nice haircut.”
Tony was trying to change the subject or something. Make Peter more comfortable. It didn’t work. The levee broke, and all Peter’s held back tears started flowing alongside a guttural sob. In his peripheral vision he could see Tony rushing over, sitting on Peter’s bed, his hands fluttering around Peter uselessly and his mouth moving in words Peter couldn’t hear.
Peter just couldn’t bring himself to care. May was dead. May was dead. She would never cut his hair again, and it was such a small thing but it mattered so much and Peter just couldn’t. He couldn’t. He let out a choked sob, gasping for hard to reach breath as tears fell and fell and fell.
“May,” he gasped, and through the blurred haze of his tears and grief he saw Tony’s face screw up in sadness and other emotions that Peter couldn’t identify.
“Oh, Bambino,” a voice said. Tony said.
Peter gasped again and again and he realised he couldn’t breathe. The air was being sucked from the room. “Mr Stark,” he managed, but it was barely there, breathy and raspy.
“Breathe with me,” Tony soothed. “In. Out. Come on Bambino.”
Peter breathed with Tony’s breaths. In and out until his breath began to slow. He looked at his mentor’s face. It was less blurry. The tears had cleared.
“Hey,” Peter croaked, cracking a grin which was 100% fake but he’d heard somewhere that fake smiling made you actually happier, so why not.
“Hey squirt. You okay?”
Peter nodded. It was only a half lie. He was much better than he had been a minute ago. “Yeah, it’s just… May always cut my hair.”
Tony’s face crumpled. “Oh, Pete. I’m so sorry. Do you wanna hug?”
Peter blushed but nodded his head yes. Tony immediately reached his arms out and leant over Peter, who was still lying down. His mentor wrapped his arms under him and rested his chin on Peter’s shoulder, holding him tight. Peter wrapped his arms around Tony in return, squeezing hard.
“I’m sorry Mr Stark,” he murmured quietly.
“No,” Tony replied, pulling back and cupping Peter’s face in his hands. “Never be sorry for grieving.”
Peter nodded tearily. “Thanks Mr Stark… I… I love you.”
Tony gave Peter a reassuring smile. “I love you too, squirt.”