"Who are you?" she demands, tone sharp as she towers above you from the top of the steps.

What are you supposed to say to that? The New Girlfriend? A person who treats Joe better than she ever did? A delivery girl? Someone who's just trying to spread the good word about our Lord and Savior… with a carton of Grandma Betty's favorite brand of half-and-half?

She must see it in your eyes, because she smirks. Her shiny lip gloss catches the sun, like a popular girl in a teen movie. You feel like she's about to knock your lunch tray out of your hands and send you back to the nerd table with the mathletes and band geeks.

"You must be the reason he hasn't come crawling back to me yet," she says smugly, hips swaying as she slowly descends the stairs. She stops on the bottom one, keeping her height advantage. You stand tall, fighting the urge to shrink away. "He always does, honey-bun. Just give it time. He'll be bored with you and back in my bed before you know it. Then you can get back to your knitting circle."

And then she sidesteps you and proceeds to the station wagon you didn't even notice when you pulled up. You swallow hard and go up the front steps and into the house, head spinning and heart pounding.

"Hi, Betty," you greet, handing her the bag with a shaky hand.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she smiles. "That no-good grandson of mine's out back, smoking."

"Thank you," you breathe, heading for the back door. Out the window, you see that he's pacing. He shouldn't be straining his legs like that, he just got his damn casts off.

You push open the door. He tenses and whirls around with his eyes blazing, but smiles when he sees it's you.

"Hey," he grins, coming closer and wrapping you in a hug. Joe's always an intense hugger, but this one's different. It feels… wrong. Unnatural. Forced. "What's wrong?" he asks, pulling back and staring deep into your eyes. His hands rest on your shoulders. "You okay?"

"Why was she here, Joe?"

His face darkens, and his hands drop.

You didn't mean to ask. But the words fell off your tongue before you could stop them. You could've pretended. You could've pretended you didn't just meet her out front, or that you assumed she was here just to check on him (not that she - or any of his other so-called friends - had bothered in the several weeks he's been lonely and immobile), or that you weren't waiting to be dumped for the girl he has history with.

"Don't worry about it."

Your worries increase tenfold.

"C'mere," he sighs, dropping onto the bench swing. He pats the seat next to him. You want to go to him, because you adore him and you want to believe every word he says to you.

But that's hard to do when there's a wet spot on his neck.

The kind that comes from excessively shiny lip gloss.

He sees you looking and he reaches up to touch… and he feels it. His eyes widen, and he wipes furiously, but you're out the front door as fast as you came in, racing the tears that are about to fall.

You don't even stop to say goodbye to Grandma Betty.

"You have a visitor."

Three sharp knocks on your bedroom door, and your roommate repeats: "You have a visitor."

"I don't care," you mumble into the covers. You came straight home, locked your bedroom door, and fell onto the bed to cry about Joe. You've been sobbing for almost an hour. You are nowhere near done.

"You know how I feel about visitors."

Yes. Yes, you do. Your antisocial roommate is why you never invite anyone over. Including Joe, who up until this afternoon was someone you would've loved to bring home and introduce to your bed.

Rebecca sighs loudly.

"He said if you don't come out, he's going to come in, and if he breaks down this door, we will lose our security deposit."

"Gimme a minute," you grumble, sitting up and scrubbing your wet face on the arm of your t-shirt.

"I'll send him back in sixty seconds," she says flatly.

Wow. Thanks. You glance in the mirror at your red eyes and puffy cheeks. Fantastic. This will be easy for him, at least. A quick 'it's not you, it's me' or an 'I'll always love her' and he can be on his way. And you can spend a week eating your feelings before returning to the single life, which you'd grown quite accustomed to before that cheeky chain-smoking bastard wheeled his way into your quiet little life.

He approaches your room with a quiet shuffle. Rebecca must've made him take his shoes off at the front door. Bet he hated that. He knocks, much more gently than she did.

"Babe?" he calls, like someone who's trying to lure in a stray dog who spooks easily. "Can I come in?"

You take a deep breath and let it out slowly before you open the door, greeting him with a hard stare. Worry floods his face. Worry, and… regret?

"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "It's not what you think. I promise. Can I just explain?"

"Explain how your ex's lip gloss got all over your neck? I think I can figure out how that happened on my own, Joe."

"I pushed her off," he insists. "I told her to get the fuck out, and not to come back. I'm done with her."

"That's what they always say." You wish your voice wouldn't waver like that when you're trying to sound cold and indifferent.

"I mean it," he doubles down. "I'm not the same person I was when I was with her."

"Let me guess," you scoff. "I changed you. I made you a better man. I complete you. I've heard it all, Joe."

"I mean it, though." He sighs. And then, he chuckles. "You know, my grandma's never liked any girlfriend of mine as much as she likes you? I'm gonna have bruises tomorrow from where she interrogated me. What! Did! You! Do! To! That! Poor! Girl!" He punctuates each word with a flick of his wrist, like his grandma was smacking him with her walking cane. He looks up with a grin, but when you don't match it, it fades.

You're going to miss Grandma Betty.

He shifts his weight from one leg to the other. He shouldn't be standing this long; he's been in a cast for ages. His recently-freed muscles aren't used to this kind of extended strain.

"Sit down," you order. "You're supposed to be taking it easy." You throw the rumpled, tear-soaked blankets to the other side of the bed and sit. He looks around your room, for the very first time, and then steps inside it. He closes the door behind him and sits beside you on the edge, far enough away where you're not touching.

"I like your room," he says quietly.

"Thanks."

"Your roommate's… uh…" He licks his lips. "Friendly."

You let out a snort of amusement, against your will, and he looks pleased with himself.

"How did you get here?" you ask.

"Grandma's car."

"She has a car?!"

"Yup," he answers.

"You have a license?"

"Nope."

"Joe!" you chide.

"What'd you want me to do, run over?" he asks, grinning and gesturing to his legs. "I'm supposed to be taking it easy, remember?!"

"Stop it."

"Stop what?"

He looks like he does when an argument resolves itself. Eyes bright, smile wide, goofy charm turned on.

"You can't charm your way out of everything, Joe."

"You think I'm charming?" he grins.

You allow a blink to penetrate your unimpressed stare. He deflates.

What if he's telling the truth? What if things really are different this time? He came after you, after all. If he was going to leave you for her, why would he bother? What if you weren't just the rebound, or the girl who helped him while he was helpless? What if what you have with him is real, and worth fighting for?

You need to get this out now, because if you don't… you don't know if you can handle it later.

"I'm not gonna be the one you kill time with, Joe."

"What's that mean?" he asks.

"I'm not gonna be the one you keep around while you wait for someone better to come along," you explain. "Or for her to come back."

"You're not!" he protests. "And she's not, either! Swear to God!"

"When I love someone, there is no one else," you continue. "I have to know you feel that way, too. Otherwise… why bother? Why waste anyone's time?"

"You love me?" he breathes.

You didn't mean to tell him that. Not like this. It was supposed to be somewhere romantic, or at least at his place with you snuggled up tight after quietly loving each other into a state of bliss. Not in the bedroom that still reeks of tears and heartbreak with the antisocial roommate seething over an intruder two rooms away.

"Of course I do," you whisper.

Joe closes his eyes. He nods and bites his lip and… a tear slips out. It trails down his cheek so slowly, it's like time itself is coming to a standstill. He sniffles, then opens his eyes.

"You don't need to worry about her," he tells you softly. "Or anyone else. Because I've been thinking about you a lot. Not just tonight, but like… all the time. But it didn't click until just now."

You wait patiently while Joe turns his body to face you, sitting sideways on the edge of your bed.

"I don't feel like I'm killing time with you. Killing time drives me fuckin' nuts. I spent so long just riding around… because that's what you do when you're bored around here. You hop in whoever's car is running and you drive around and drink and kill time 'til it's time to go to bed so you can get up and do it all over again. It's why I joined the Marines; I didn't wanna do that shit for the rest of my life. And then I get there, and I'm just fuckin' killing time between orders. All my fuckin' life, it's felt like that… and then you come along. I'm not killing time when I'm with you, baby. Not wasting it, either. I'm spending time with you. I've never had that before."

Of all the ways you expected this night might go, Joe pouring his heart out was not one of them.

"I love you," he says, for the very first time. "I think the best thing that ever happened to me was you offering me a subpar cigarette in the hospital that day."

You remember that first glimpse of him, covered in bruises and bandages and casts, stubbornly trying to wheel himself away from Nurse Ratched with one arm. Your heart skipped a beat when you looked into his eyes for the first time, just like it's doing now.

"Fuck you," you whisper, staring unblinking into his pretty brown eyes. "And your menthol trash, too."

Joe's laugh comes out as a surprised splutter, and his eyes crinkle with joy.

"I love you, too," you finally tell him. It feels like a weight has been lifted; you've loved him for so long, but you've never found the right time to say it. Now that it's out there… will there ever be a wrong time?

Joe leans forward, and you meet him halfway for a kiss that tastes better than all those that have come before it.

"I should probably get out of here before your roommate drags me out," Joe whispers, glancing at the door that she may well be standing on the other side of. "She was not happy about letting me in."

"She's not happy about letting anybody in," you smile. "Which was one of my favorite things about this living arrangement, before I met your punk ass."

"Oh yeah?" he grins. You nod. "Well, my grandma has made it extremely clear that you're welcome at her house anytime. I don't even have to be there. In fact, she prefers it that way. In fact, can you come home with me right now? To prove that I got you back, so she doesn't beat my ass for losing you the second I walk in?"

"I don't know," you sigh. "I was kinda planning on crying myself to sleep… maybe listening to some sad music… wallowing 'til I have to go back to work…"

"You can do all that at my place," he says, standing. He's still a little wobbly, but you're so proud of all the progress he's making. "You can cry along to any Limp Bizkit CD I've got, and use my favorite shirt as a snot-rag. Let's roll."

"How can I refuse an offer like that?" you laugh.

When you stand, he pulls you in for a hug.

"I love you," he says again.

"I love you, too."

He's so used to trying so hard to be invisible that it catches him off guard when people notice him. He just wants to fade into the background because he knows it's easier. He just really can't get attached again, he's learned his lesson.

He's rarely come across anyone this late at night so he's surprised to see you here. He knows that he's allowed to be here, but he feels so weird just taking up some of the space like this, especially since you were here first.

"Sorry, I'll just-" he cuts himself off, nodding his head towards the stairs and you just let out a laugh as you shake your head.

He can just go to the laundromat down the street, although, he would have to get some quarters. Are they even open this late-

"Please, like I'm gonna kick you out. We can do our laundry at the same time-" you pause waiting for his name. You seem nice which makes his tense shoulders relax. Even after all these years, he's still so awkward talking to women. He's still so surprised when they're interested, still stuck in that high school mindset that people think he's a loser.

"Peter." You smile at that as you continue folding your laundry. You make it look so neat and as he gets closer, he's wondering if you've worked in retail because he feels like he just walked into a clothing store with the way everything is arranged so neatly on the bench.

"We can do our laundry at the same time, Peter." He same sounds so nice in your mouth and he already wants to hear it again. It's not a big deal. I promise I'm not scary." Oh, but you're very scary. Everyone is in his eyes. He purposely likes to do things alone. If he does that, then he won't get attached and then he won't risk losing anyone else. It's just safer this way.

You take what's left of your laundry out of the dryer and lay it on the bench as he makes his way over. You watch him pour his clothes into the washer and pour in the detergent. As you turn back to your clothes, you hear him turn the dial and the machine buzz signifying that the cycle has started.

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see him standing awkwardly as he leans against the machine. It's clear that he has no idea what to do with himself but you think that it's pretty adorable. Too many guys in the city are way too confident and it's nice to see that not all of them are up their own asses. This one seems to have promise.

"Have you lived here long? I feel like I haven't seen you very much." You've only seen him a few times when you're both getting the mail or even in the elevator but he's always got his head down, looking down at his phone. This is the first time he's actually willingly talked to you.

"About four years now." That's about how long you've lived here and you can count on your hands how many interactions you've had with him. But you feel like that's mostly because of your work schedule. You don't really see much of anyone

"So we've lived in the same building for about the same amount of time and this is the first time we're having a conversation? Well, I think that's a crime."

"Yeah, I usually keep to myself. If you haven't seen me, it's not on purpose. Not that I've been avoiding you! I don't even know you." You can't help but smile at that, the way he's quickly backtracking because he's so afraid of offending you. You don't know why he's so nervous, but you find it to be adorable and even a bit charming.

"You're cute, Peter. It seems like you avoid everyone equally so I take no offense." You're finishing up folding your clothes and he's dreading you leaving and him being left alone with his thoughts.

"Good."

"So what's that about then?" You fully turn to him now as your last piece of clothing is folded and neatly placed in the basket. He gets a glimpse of the Star Wars t-shirt you're wearing and it's then that he decides that he's in good company. The shirt is tucked into a pair of cut off shorts and he thinks it should be illegal walking around looking that good. And he's not even being dramatic, but he thinks you might be the most beautiful woman he's ever seen.

"Just not much of a people person," he shrugs. There's some truth to that to an extent, but the past four years have been so lonely and he's been desperate for some sort of human connection, but he knows he can't do that. He's meant to be lonely forever. That's his punishment for his stupid mistake.

"That's a shame," you shrug back. "Because I think we'd be great friends. Look, no pressure at all, but I'm having a dinner party next Friday if you want to come. I won't be offended at all if you don't." You pull your phone out of your back pocket and pass it over with that smile that's making him weak in the knees. "Here, put your number in and I can text you the details."

This has all been so easy that for a split seconds, he thinks that he might be dreaming. Talking to woman has never gone this well. He usually flounders before it even starts. But he doesn't feel nervous around you like he has them. He knows you've only just met, but he can already see the two of you being close friends and he's so scared of wanting it. He knows he decided to be alone forever, but maybe that's just not how it's meant to be. Maybe you're meant to be his friend afterall.

So he dives right in despite his fear and takes the phone from you, typing in his name and number into it before handing it back you. You're full on grinning now and it makes his heart melt. No, he can't fall for you, and not right now. He's gotta get a fucking grip. This isn't one of this romcoms he's never admit to having seen. This is real life. And in reality, Peter never gets the girl.

You take your basket and turn on your heel as you head towards the stairs, deciding that maybe the laundry room isn't so scary after all. You're about to go up when he calls out to you, turning to him.

"I don't even know your name." You give it with another smile and he smiles in return.

"Have a good night Peter." You disappear up the stairs just as Peter's phone pings. Once he pulls it out of the pocket of his sweatpants, grinning when he sees that he has a message from you.

Say hello to Stan for me!

Stan? He replies.

The rat. I left some food out for him.

Peter stays grinning at the screen as he texts you back, already loving the dynamic you have going on. And as you message late into the night, he decides that maybe life isn't so lonely after all.

You can find more of the Peterverse here!