connoisseur of fictional characters

You had to admit, beneath the tired, awkward, and emotionally exhausted look that seemed permanently etched into someone that was much too young for that burden, he was quite handsome. Though, the slump of his shoulders, and the way he kept his head down, scrunching into the corner of the elevator like he feared he was inconveniencing you had a guilty pang run through you. Was it because you understood that feeling all too well? Was it because you never wished someone felt small due to your presence? Or perhaps it was because this wasn’t the first time you saw him like this, and you felt like if you didn’t do something, then you would be complicit in furthering whatever he was going through.

You bit your lip as you eyed the hall through the crack of your door. He was only a few doors down the hall from you, the question was; Would it be possible for you to run down the hall, knock on the door, then run back before he answered? You decided to steel your nerves, taking in a deep breath. The longer you debated this in your mind, the colder the food got. You rushed towards his door, setting the container of food on the ground, ensuring the sticky note stayed on the top. Your hand rose, freezing right before your knuckles could touch the wood. You sure hope he won’t think you’re a creep, or stalker, or weirdo. You shook out your nerves, hoping no one was watching as you shook your hands and rolled your neck. With a quick flourish, you knock on the door, loud enough you hope he heard, before stumbling back towards your apartment, nearly tripping over your own legs as you nearly slam your door shut. 

You squeezed the handle of your apartment, breathing heavily from the mix of ‘exercise’ and mental turmoil doing a good deed has caused you. You place your forehead on the wood of your door, silently hoping you don’t get any splinters, trying to calm your racing heart. You know you are overcomplicating it, overthinking every little thing, but that doesn’t mean you can stop yourself from doing so. 

The sound of a door opening rings like a gunshot, and you hold your breath. All you can hear is the creek of the floorboards, then the door closing. Cracking the door open, you let out a sigh of relief when you notice the container of food is no longer on the floor. You shake your head at your own silly antics. Of course he probably won’t think much of it. You had made extra steak stroganoff, and decided to share, hopefully lift his spirits with a small act of kindness. The note you left was definitely awkward and hopefully not too creepy. Just a small thing mentioning how you noticed he was feeling down and that you hope he felt better soon. 

You didn’t expect anything to happen after that. Perhaps being ignored if your neighbor had realized it was you (it’s not like you were that sneaky), or an awkward acknowledgement of what you had done. You hadn’t expected a little note in return placed on the clean container you had given. 

Thank you for the meal, it means a lot I know it’s not much but I hope this can repay your kindness

p.s. the food was great

– Peter P.

Your brows furrowed, looking in the container to see a bar of chocolate. A small smile pulled on your lips as you brought the dish back to your kitchen, stuffing the bar of chocolate in your bag for later. A weird, fluttery feeling sprouted in your chest, but you shoved it down. There was no way you were going to get a crush on your cute neighbor over something as small as a simple note and return of a gift. At least you had a name to the face now. 

The next time you had seen him was in the laundry room. He was sitting next to the dryer, looking dead to the world, but his eyes seemed to light up when he noticed you (something you’d rather not unpack).

“Hello,” Peter spoke, a shy smile tugging on his lips as he awkwardly waves towards you.

“Hello,” You smile back, carrying your laundry basket towards the washing machine. “Is this free?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Just waiting for my stuff to dry.”

You nod in acknowledgement, opening the machine and shoving your clothes into it. The silence wasn’t as awkward as you felt, but it also was kind of stuffy. Like you wanted to say something but you had no idea what angle to breach. 

“Thank you for the food,” Peter said, probably feeling the same way. You glanced up from measuring your fabric softener, smiling at how grateful he looked.

“It’s no problem,” You shrug, pouring the liquid over your clothes before starting the machine. “I accidentally made too much and you looked like you were having a bad day, so might as well do something nice, right?”

“Yeah,” Peter said, almost breathlessly. “But not many people do something like that for a stranger.” 

You opened your mouth to retort, but you didn’t really have a defence. He had a point. People didn’t really go that far out of their way for a stranger, you included. You really weren’t sure why you felt so pulled to do something, but you had an inkling it was because the lonely look in Peter’s eyes looked like staring into a mirror, and you didn’t want someone else to feel that way. 

“No,” You conceded, unable to meet the puppy-like look in Peter’s eyes. “But I’d rather have done something than do nothing.”

“Why?” Peter prodded, leaning forward to try and catch your eye. “Not that I’m ungrateful, I just…don’t understand why you did that.”

You weren’t sure what to say. Do you divulge the truth? That the lonely look in his eye, his defeated posture, and permanently exhausted look hit closer to home than you cared to admit? Glancing up, you felt all defensiveness leave your body. Peter was staring at you with such hope, such longing, like he hadn’t had genuine human connection in far too long. How could you further deny him that?

“I…It felt like I was staring into a mirror,” You murmur. “And I don’t want you to feel the way I do.”

“What,” Peter whispered, eyes wide in confusion. 

You cringed, feeling like you had been too vulnerable, too revealing, towards someone who you had never had a proper conversation with before. 

“Sorry,” You shake your head, clenching your eyes before glancing towards the exit. “That was weird. Ignore everything I said.”

“No, no wait,” Peter scrambled up from his chair, hands out like he was placating a wounded animal. “That’s not weird at all, I just…didn’t expect someone like you to understand.”

“Someone like me?” You reply instantly, a defensive tone on your tongue. 

It was Peter’s turn to cringe, shaking his head like he was trying to erase his mistake, “I didn’t mean it like that, I just…you’re really pretty, and you seem sweet. It’s hard to imagine you’re feeling something similar to me.”

Your brows pinch up in surprise, unused to such words directed towards you. You feel your heart patter faster in your chest as your brain melts at such sweet words. It seems like Peter is good at lowering your defenses. 

Before you could respond, the loud buzz of the dryer rings, causing Peter’s shoulders to slump. You look to the side as you take a seat, picking at the hem of your shirt as Peter wordlessly stuffs his clothes in his own laundry basket. 

“I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable,” Peter can’t help but spill, pausing in the entrance of the exit. 

You shake your head, trying to clear the warmth you feel pooled in your cheeks, “You don’t have to apologize. I just haven’t been called those things…in a long time.”

Peter paused, watching the way you hunched in on yourself, like if you made yourself tinier, things would be easier. Thumbing at his laundry basket, he can’t stop the small smile that pulls on his lips, “I think I was right.” He waited, watched how your brows furrowed and you met his gaze, “You are sweet.” He felt triumphant at the way your eyes widened in disbelief, unable to hide his smug grin as he exited like he hadn’t just changed the trajectory of your life. 

You both had built a solace between yourselves. A place where two lonely souls could meet, share stories that felt lost to time, and create a bond they both thought was no longer achievable. Peter would share stories of MJ and Ned, of debate clubs and embarrassing school parties. You shared moments that you held with old friends, silly work experiences, and your awkward social fumbles. You hadn’t felt anything this warm before, something so easily shared, the warm smiles, the shy glances. Peter had gone so long without affection, without being recognized, that it felt like you had scorched him, but in the best ways possible. Every time you said his name, it was like a jolt to his heart, every time you looked for him, it made him hold his breath. 

It felt both wrong and right. Like he was leaving his friends behind when that was nowhere near the truth. He still thought of Ned and MJ constantly, but that bitter consuming ache had turned into something softer, more digestible. He was no longer left alone to deal with his crippling loneliness, and had even found someone who could relate, even if it wasn’t at the same level. No, you hadn’t been erased from the universe, left to wander with memories no one else had, but it seemed that people had left you behind, and he would be damned if he did the same thing.

For the first time in a long time, Peter felt…happy. At home. Something he refused to take for granted a second time.