bel 🇵🇸

He always speaks of her like she was an angel—a goddess that is perched so high on a pedestal it might as well block out the sun. With her sharp wit and pretty smile, he said that she was the only one who saw through him. The Peter behind the mask.

And yeah, you’re jealous.

It would be so much easier if she were this– bad person, but of course, she wasn’t.

You felt guilty for feeling that way, but another part of you just can’t help but feel hurt. Sometimes, it feels like he made you nothing more than just a rebound—a placeholder in the void that the spell left, even though nothing official was ever established—not even acknowledged between you two.

Maybe it was stupid. Hell, you were stupid.

Falling for someone who is so undeniably unavailable—still being chased by the ghosts of his past and his life full of regrets, he’s yet to be content with.

But how could anyone not fall head over heels in love when Peter is… Peter?

Total dork with that lopsided grin, always double-checking after a particularly brutal study session for your Immunoengineering course, the one who’d insist on walking you back to your dorms even though he lived alone at an apartment, blocks away in the opposite direction from you, his curls always sticking up in different directions no matter how many times he brushed them back.

It started when he was late to an introduction class for Biomechanics.

“Fuck…” he’d say under his breath, quickly looking around for an empty chair as the professor glared at him like he just blew up a lab.

Your eyes were on your computer, organizing the folders you’d just made, each titled after the courses you took in your first year, when a scrap of a chair made you look up.

You were confused about why the brunette in front of you was so flustered, as if he had just finished a marathon, though he wasn’t heavy breathing, and no drop of sweat was visible. Looking down as he motioned to the empty seat beside you.

“Is this seat taken?” he asked.

You shook your head, before locking your gaze on your computer again, as if he wasn’t there.

Since then, he has been your seatmate in that class. Then another when you found out that you both are in the same major.

You learned his name was Peter. A pretty smart guy, not so bad in the eyes, with a charming smile that is contagious, and stupid jokes so unfunny you can’t help but laugh at them.

But then it went on after the classes, too.

It was small at first, walking together to class, then the endless library sessions where both of you would always end burnt out after hours—he even got you obsessed with this deli owned by someone called Mr. Delmar (though it was weird how he always seemed to linger every time you’re there).

Then it grew; he would start to walk you back after those late nights, block after block. The city would unfold before you, neon signs buzzing, sirens wailing, groups of friends laughing freely after a night of drinks, and his voice would fill the silence.

Joking about how the previous lab practice was an absolute disaster and that the professor was a total bum for blaming your group when the problem was totally the improperly made bacterial cultures.

You’d giggle. “It’s fine, Pete! We should be glad he’s not failing us.”

His eyes widened—dumbfounded. “You’re too nice, you know?”

You only rolled your eyes, nudging his side with your elbow, making him playfully stumble as he grinned. You both burst out laughing after that.

And whenever you’d arrive in front of your building, he’d always make sure. “Text me when you’re in?”

“I will. Thank you for walking me home,” you smiled, earning one from him in return.

“Night.”

“Good night, Pete.”

You swear it didn’t feel weird before. Just two friends who don’t have any other friends except each other getting close, and surely Peter walking you home is just an act of basic human decency, right?

At least that’s what you told yourself—yet you keep on falling and falling every day.

The weeks blurred into routine—the nights spent together getting later now. Cloudy ones where Peter would share his hoodie because you forgot to bring a jacket. Bright ones, where he’d point out constellations when you’re both too tired to continue studying, yet secretly not wanting to go back to being alone. Even nights where you don’t utter any words to each other—only the too greasy fries and burgers being passed along as a silent witness of each moment you share.

One particular night though, he could sense how different you are compared to the rest of the nights. How you struggle to look him in the eye, way too quiet for someone who loves to laugh openly alongside him.

So stupidly gentle Peter stopped you as you were just about to go up to your dorms.

“Do you want me to stay with you?”

Your eyes widened, the dam that you built up since you woke up that day was now too close to breaking, and you nodded. Guiding him up to your rooms—his hands would hover just around you in case you needed grounding.

You finally let go the moment you stepped inside. Bursting everything that has been boiling up under the surface—under your smile that won’t reach up to your eyes fully, and he’d held you through it. Arms wrapped around you as you buried your face against his neck, muttering soft-spoken words as you apologize for wetting his sweater.

“It’s okay… I’m here for you,” as his hands would run along your back soothingly, calming you down.

He wound up falling asleep on your cramped couch that night. Saying something about how you needed someone to look after you as you rest.

How could you not fall for someone like him?

The line began to fade out even more.

What was once late nights in the library turned into shared company in one of your places. Yours when you’re feeling particularly lazy, or his when the both of you were craving that Chinese food just beside his building.

And then he told you everything. You were perplexed—almost laughing at his face till you realized that he was serious.

“You’re actually Spider-Man?” Your mouth gaped, your brain short-circuited like the neurons inside were just reduced to two and you’re struggling to wrap your head around it.

“Want me to show you?”

The next thing you know, you were screaming on the top of your lungs, clinging onto him tight as he swung you around the city. Shooting his webs effortlessly as he grinned. “You’re way too scared!”

“Of course I’m scared, you idiot! I am basically flying without any harness–” shutting your eyes and yelping as he drops from a building—swinging you back up the moment you feel like it was all over. Your legs were stumbling as you landed on top of a rooftop.

“Do not do that again,” you glared, making him laugh. Taking off the mask, his arm would still be wrapped tightly around your waist. Hand tucking your now messy hair just behind your ear.

“You’re a mess.”

You rolled your eyes to hide the fluster, thankful that the spot you were in was particularly dark. “Shut up. You ruined my hair.”

He also told you the secrets he kept alone. The spell and the years that followed him after first, then deeper—Tony’s last words and how he’s like a dad to him, how much he misses Ned and how guilty he is for probably making him think that he had no other friend growing up, and of course, MJ.

He laughed bittersweetly as he recounted how overprotective she was, always nagging and telling him to be more careful, yet never telling him to stop doing what he loved.

He told you how much he missed her arms around him, her soft and sweet lips, how she would make everything—the pain, the memories—gone in just one kiss.

The moment he showed you the letter he wrote for her from four years ago, you knew that you’re practically chasing nothing but a floating soul.

But you forced yourself to stay fine. To keep smiling and telling him that he did all he could, and you were there for him now. It felt more and more painful with each story he told you, but you can’t tell him to stop—you don’t want him to stop.

If it meant you had to hear about this ghost of a past just to let him stay, then you would.

So you swallow it. Every bile stuck in your throat, every confession you desperately want to say to him—you let it slide so that you can get more pieces of him.

And admittedly, it was so so incredibly stupid of you, but goddamnit– why was it so hard to hold him accountable? To finally be honest with yourself and let him go?

Then it happened. At some MIT students’ mixer party, he’d ask you to accompany him. Something about ‘networking before you graduate’ and ‘unwinding’—so you went together– well, not together together, but he asked you, so that had to count, right?

Now he’s at your door, smiling boyishly as he fidgets with the collar of his shirt. You let out a snort, before carefully fixing it up for him. Fingers lingering just above his chest too long for it to be safe.

You cleared your throat. “Ready to be functional adults?”

He’d chuckle and nod before you both walked towards the address that was sent.

The apartment was small, like any other student-owned place, but cozy nonetheless. The lounge hummed with lowly played music, conversations carried across by different groups of people, and there was a table filled with different alcohols and snacks.

Both of you instinctively took a deep breath, then your gazes landed on each other. He exhaled first, then you followed—these were the moments that made it harder to actually let go. How his shoulders visibly relaxed the moment he saw you, how his eyes softened like the pressure of the world and the mask were not there. For a second, it felt real. Like he was looking at your face for cues, and not the ghosts.

You felt your breath hitch, before you nursed it back to one of your rehearsed smiles. “Should we go look around?”

“Yeah. Text me if anything happens, okay?” he smiled back at you.

You nodded, before separating ways with him. You mingled with people, introducing yourself and your major, complimenting some girl’s hair, debating on which spot near the campus has the best pizza.

Meanwhile, Peter found his way to the table full of snacks. Already filling up a plate with your favorites, picking some up for him as well. Studying the choice of drinks and opting for a canned soda instead.

He watched as you weaved through the crowd. Effortlessly joining in conversations, with your laughter ringing through the crowd, he felt at peace. He felt like everything was going to be okay.

You found him already looking at you then. Immediately smiling, you excused yourself to the others so you could walk up to him.

Peter raised the canned soda and the plate of snacks, making you giggle.

For a moment, he forgot about the past. His mind and eyes were only on you.

But then, his gaze snags across the room—just for half a second—then it locks.

It was her.

He froze, plate and cans almost dropping to the ground if it weren’t for his super abilities. His heart lurched, breath caught, eyes zeroed in on the sight of her.

Narrowing your eyes at his sudden shock, you then followed his line of sight.

MJ.

She stood out like a beacon with her sleek black top—so perfectly fitted you would think it was made just for her. Her hair was tousled just right and effortless, not like yours, where you spent almost too long just to get it right.

Though she was not alone.

Beside her was a guy. Tall, broad shoulders, nice and bright smile, with his arm wrapped possessively around her waist. Her own hand sprawled on his chest, the two whispering something that looked too intimate, before laughing with each other.

You looked at Peter again. How his once relaxed body is now rigid, his lips trembling just like how it was the nights when the memories hit him the hardest.

Your own heart was hurting now. You thought that he was finally seeing you. Seeing what’s in front of him instead of the past—turns out you were wrong. Oh, so very wrong, you almost laughed at yourself.

You finally took a deep breath, composing yourself, before continuing towards him.

“You okay?”

He swallowed hard and nodded silently, eyes finally flicking towards you again—grateful for the interruption from his own thoughts, yet fractured.

Stepping beside him and looking at her again. “Is that her?” You knew it was, and you knew it would hurt the moment he answered, yet you asked anyway.

“Yeah…” his voice shaking.

“She’s happy. She deserves it.”

“And you don’t?” you asked carefully.

He looked at you again. Nostalgia and pain etched along his face. “Not after what I’ve done, no.”

You frowned. “Pete– we’ve talked about this…”

He finally gave you one of his practiced smiles, the one he gives whenever he doesn’t want you to worry.

But you’ve learned to see through it at this point.

“It’s not your fault, okay?” you assured again, fingers twitching to reach out to him.

He nodded, then looked at her again.

“You deserve to be happy, Peter.”

He only let out a shuddered breath. Letting a few beats slip out in silence.

“Let me walk you home?” he eventually managed to let out. Burying his feelings down.

“Yeah,” giving him your soft smile—no matter how painful it was, how foolish you were feeling—knowing that he just needed a timeout from the amount of feelings and memories crashing down.

And now, even when you’re the one he’s walking with, you know that he’s the man who can’t be moved.