melly♡

You never understood how Peter could get shots that seemed like he was face-to-face with the masked hero himself, while all you could usually get was a grainy picture of him swinging to another building. You tried getting the same camera as him, spending the better part of your day standing around in Times Square in case there was an incident Spider-Man would be at, even standing on the roof of buildings in hopes of seeing the hero just once. And still, nothing like the shots Peter got. 

It just didn’t make sense. How did he seem to always know where Spider-Man would be, and where he should be to get a good picture of him? Maybe there’s a reason that you’ve never seen Peter and Spider-Man in the same room before. You laugh at your own joke as Peter shoots you a very confused look from his nearby cubicle. 

You ignore him and continue editing a picture you took of the new bakery that opened just down the street. Definitely not front page news worthy, but interesting enough, you suppose. 

“Is there a reason you were laughing to yourself like a madwoman?” Peter asks from behind you, startling you as you had not heard him even move from his seat. 

You shrug, eyes trained on the screen in front of you as you adjust the brightness on the picture. “Oh nothing,” you murmur with a smile. “Just wondering why I’ve never seen you and Spider-Man in the same room,” you say with a laugh.

“Wh– what?” Peter asks with a laugh of his own. You catch him awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck through the corner of his eye.

“You always get good shots of him, and you refuse to tell me how. So, I’ve decided you’re Spider-Man,” you say, spinning around in your chair and crossing your arms as you finally look at him. 

He avoids your gaze. “Maybe I’m just a better photographer than you,” he mumbles with a shrug. 

You mockingly copy his shrug before rolling your eyes. “Or, you’re Spider-Man,” you tease.

“Oh yeah, well how come I’ve never seen you and Spider-Man in the same room?” Peter asks, throwing your words back at you. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at his words. “Because I’m a girl and he’s a man?” You question through a laugh. “It’s in the name, Spider-Man. He’s a man, but I appreciate you being so progressive and thinking he could be a woman.”

Peter rolls his eyes in return before sulking back to his cubicle, shooting you what you think is supposed to be a playful glare, before returning to his own work, leaving you to do the same. 

***

For once, you were in the middle of Times Square, camera in hand, not trying to catch Spider-Man, but to take shots of the mayor handing over the key to the city to a few astronauts who had just made it safely back to Earth. 

For once, you weren’t too worried about not making the front page. Because no matter what shot Peter would be able to get of Spider-Man this year, you would be getting a shot of your boss, J. Jonah Jameson’s son, getting the key to the city, and you were sure your boss would want his son to be on the front page. 

That was until a large lizard-like creature interrupted the ceremony, with Spider-Man following closely behind him. Now, that might make the front page. You could already picture the headline: Spider Menace Interrupts Astronauts' Key to the City Ceremony.

You shook your head with a sigh, already preparing to accept defeat, when you realized. Peter wasn’t here, but you were. Maybe this was your chance.

You made your way through the screaming, running crowd, going in the opposite direction from them as you tried making your way to the front. Close enough to get a good shot, far enough to not get hurt or killed. 

But all you could get were green blurry shots mixed with red and blue. You had to get closer. 

You were able to get a few good shots in after a while, which you were incredibly grateful for, but it wasn’t long before debris from the fight started to make its way towards you. You barely had time to react when the mayor’s podium was flying towards you, only for Spider-Man to catch it with his webs and throw it at the lizard, temporarily diverting the villain so he could trap him in a web. Once he was done, the hero rushed to your side, checking if you were okay while you tried to catch your breath. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, helping you to your feet as you nodded your head yes with a hand over your heart to try to stop its racing. You’ve never been so close to one of these fights; you didn’t understand how Peter could get such close shots every time and still be alive, especially after how close you were to, at the very least, getting seriously injured. 

Wait, Peter!

“Do you know a Peter Parker?” You asked sheepishly, Spider-Man's hands still tightly holding onto you as if you might suddenly lose balance.

Even behind the mask, you could see the gears turning in Spider-Man’s head as he tilted his head in confusion, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Who?” He asked nervously. 

“He works at the Daily Bugle, he always gets good shots of you and–“

“Wait, wait,–“ Spider-Man starts, cutting you off as he eyes the camera in your hand. “Are you telling me the reason you almost got yourself killed there was because you were taking pictures?” 

Just as you were about to defend yourself and explain how you and Peter had a tiny work rivalry going on to get the front page, Spider-Man says your name, pulling a confused look out of you. Because, how did he know your name? 

“I didn’t tell you my name,” you murmur, trying to see if you could remember his voice from somewhere, but you were drawing a blank. 

“Shit,” he cursed, head turning between you and oncoming police cars. “Look, I’ll explain everything later today. Meet me at the new bakery near the Daily Bugle, alright? At seven.”

You furrowed your brows. “What, why? That’s how you get murdered.”

Though you couldn’t see his face and you didn’t have the faintest clue of what Spider-Man looked like, you could perfectly picture the masked man rolling his eyes at your comment. “I’m not gonna murder you,” he whispered exasperatedly. “Just, please, meet me at the bakery at seven. Please.”

With a sigh and a reluctant nod, you agreed. Spider-Man nodded as well before making his way towards the police and the webbed up lizard.

As you made your way away from the crime scene, you looked through the pictures you were able to get on your camera, smiling as some of them came out perfectly. Definitely front page worthy if you had anything to say about it. Still, one thought wouldn’t leave your mind all the walk home: Who was Spider-Man? And, how and why did he even know your name?

***

It was 6:55 P.M., and you were currently sitting in one of the tables the bakery had outside, patiently waiting for Spider-Man as you ate the pastry you had bought inside. 

You spot Peter walking out of the Daily Bugle and making his way across the street and towards the bakery, so you shoot him a quick little wave hello. 

He returns the gesture with something like a grimace as he makes his way towards your table with his hands in his pocket, and a look that tells you he’d rather be just about anywhere else. 

“Hi, Peter,” you say through a confused laugh. “Do you need something?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods, scratching at the back of his neck. “Do you mind if I sit?” He asks, gesturing to the empty seat next to you. 

You shrug. “I mean, I’m waiting on,” you pause, deciding on how to refer to Spider-Man. “A friend,” you settle on, “but you can sit until then.”

Peter nods, taking the seat and murmuring, “I think I’m the friend.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?” You ask. 

Peter doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you with wide brown eyes as if he were waiting for you to put the pieces together. “Come on,” he mumbles, “you said it the other day.”

You stare at the man, still very confused as you try to rack your brain for what he could be referring to. Just as you're about to tell him that you have no idea what he's talking about, it hits you. 

You gasp. “No,” you murmur, as Peter nods his head. 

“I’m Spider-Man,” he whispers, quiet enough that you’re not even 100% sure that you heard him correctly. But suddenly, it all made sense. Why he always got great shots of the superhero, why he knew your name earlier today, why he sometimes comes in to work with bruises, black eyes, and wounds that he can’t explain, why he was so defensive of your joke from just a few days ago. 

“Oh,” you breathe out. 

“Oh,” he repeats, raking a nervous hand through his hair. “Please don’t tell anyone. No one else knows – except maybe my aunt? I don’t know, she might know, but no one else knows.”

You nod your head along, still trying to wrap your brain around the fact that Peter Parker, your nerdy, dorky coworker, Peter Parker was Spider-Man. “I won’t,” you tell him as sincerely as you can, “I promise.”

Peter only shakes his head, taking one of your hands in between his and squeezing it tight. “No, I’m serious,” he mumbles. “No one can know that you know. I shouldn’t even have told you, last time I told someone,” he trails off, a look of sorrow darkening his features as his grip around your hand tightens just a bit more. “Please,” he pleads, “don’t tell anyone.”

You nod your head again. “Okay, Peter,” you murmur softly, “I won’t. I’ll take it to my grave.”

His grip around your hand loosens as he drags a tired hand down his face. “Thank you,” he mumbles, before shooting you a weak, barely there smile. 

You shrug, shooting him a shy smile back. It softens his features the slightest bit, easing the tension out of the conversation. 

“So,” you start, hoping to bring some light into the conversation, “Does this mean every photo you get of him is basically just you cheating.”

“Yeah,” he nods through a laugh. “I usually rig a camera up near a lamppost to get good shots. Which, by the way, I just submitted some from today’s fight so, you can kiss that front page goodbye,” he teases with a wink, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“That’s so not fair,” you grumble, but Peter only shrugs, leaning back in his chair as he stretches his arms and legs out. "Besides, I got some of Spider-Man and J. Jonah Jameson’s son, that has to do me some favors." 

“I bet mine are still better," he teases before stealing a piece of your pastry. You let him, but still make a show of being annoyed at his antics. 

“You owe me one front page picture every month,” you say, trying to make your words come off as a joke, only for Peter to take you completely seriously.  

He makes a face like he’s thinking your proposition through before shrugging his shoulders and holding a hand out for you to shake. “Deal.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this. “What, really?”

He nods, still holding his hand out for you to shake. You do with a wide grin that he easily returns. “Truce?” He asks. 

You never understood how Peter could get shots that seemed like he was face-to-face with the masked hero himself, while all you could usually get was a grainy picture of him swinging to another building. You tried getting the same camera as him, spending the better part of your day standing around in Times Square in case there was an incident Spider-Man would be at, even standing on the roof of buildings in hopes of seeing the hero just once. And still, nothing like the shots Peter got. 

It just didn’t make sense. How did he seem to always know where Spider-Man would be, and where he should be to get a good picture of him? Maybe there’s a reason that you’ve never seen Peter and Spider-Man in the same room before. You laugh at your own joke as Peter shoots you a very confused look from his nearby cubicle. 

You ignore him and continue editing a picture you took of the new bakery that opened just down the street. Definitely not front page news worthy, but interesting enough, you suppose. 

“Is there a reason you were laughing to yourself like a madwoman?” Peter asks from behind you, startling you as you had not heard him even move from his seat. 

You shrug, eyes trained on the screen in front of you as you adjust the brightness on the picture. “Oh nothing,” you murmur with a smile. “Just wondering why I’ve never seen you and Spider-Man in the same room,” you say with a laugh.

“Wh– what?” Peter asks with a laugh of his own. You catch him awkwardly scratching at the back of his neck through the corner of his eye.

“You always get good shots of him, and you refuse to tell me how. So, I’ve decided you’re Spider-Man,” you say, spinning around in your chair and crossing your arms as you finally look at him. 

He avoids your gaze. “Maybe I’m just a better photographer than you,” he mumbles with a shrug. 

You mockingly copy his shrug before rolling your eyes. “Or, you’re Spider-Man,” you tease.

“Oh yeah, well how come I’ve never seen you and Spider-Man in the same room?” Peter asks, throwing your words back at you. 

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you at his words. “Because I’m a girl and he’s a man?” You question through a laugh. “It’s in the name, Spider-Man. He’s a man, but I appreciate you being so progressive and thinking he could be a woman.”

Peter rolls his eyes in return before sulking back to his cubicle, shooting you what you think is supposed to be a playful glare, before returning to his own work, leaving you to do the same. 

***

For once, you were in the middle of Times Square, camera in hand, not trying to catch Spider-Man, but to take shots of the mayor handing over the key to the city to a few astronauts who had just made it safely back to Earth. 

For once, you weren’t too worried about not making the front page. Because no matter what shot Peter would be able to get of Spider-Man this year, you would be getting a shot of your boss, J. Jonah Jameson’s son, getting the key to the city, and you were sure your boss would want his son to be on the front page. 

That was until a large lizard-like creature interrupted the ceremony, with Spider-Man following closely behind him. Now, that might make the front page. You could already picture the headline: Spider Menace Interrupts Astronauts' Key to the City Ceremony.

You shook your head with a sigh, already preparing to accept defeat, when you realized. Peter wasn’t here, but you were. Maybe this was your chance.

You made your way through the screaming, running crowd, going in the opposite direction from them as you tried making your way to the front. Close enough to get a good shot, far enough to not get hurt or killed. 

But all you could get were green blurry shots mixed with red and blue. You had to get closer. 

You were able to get a few good shots in after a while, which you were incredibly grateful for, but it wasn’t long before debris from the fight started to make its way towards you. You barely had time to react when the mayor’s podium was flying towards you, only for Spider-Man to catch it with his webs and throw it at the lizard, temporarily diverting the villain so he could trap him in a web. Once he was done, the hero rushed to your side, checking if you were okay while you tried to catch your breath. 

“Are you okay?” He asked, helping you to your feet as you nodded your head yes with a hand over your heart to try to stop its racing. You’ve never been so close to one of these fights; you didn’t understand how Peter could get such close shots every time and still be alive, especially after how close you were to, at the very least, getting seriously injured. 

Wait, Peter!

“Do you know a Peter Parker?” You asked sheepishly, Spider-Man's hands still tightly holding onto you as if you might suddenly lose balance.

Even behind the mask, you could see the gears turning in Spider-Man’s head as he tilted his head in confusion, a nervous laugh escaping him. “Who?” He asked nervously. 

“He works at the Daily Bugle, he always gets good shots of you and–“

“Wait, wait,–“ Spider-Man starts, cutting you off as he eyes the camera in your hand. “Are you telling me the reason you almost got yourself killed there was because you were taking pictures?” 

Just as you were about to defend yourself and explain how you and Peter had a tiny work rivalry going on to get the front page, Spider-Man says your name, pulling a confused look out of you. Because, how did he know your name? 

“I didn’t tell you my name,” you murmur, trying to see if you could remember his voice from somewhere, but you were drawing a blank. 

“Shit,” he cursed, head turning between you and oncoming police cars. “Look, I’ll explain everything later today. Meet me at the new bakery near the Daily Bugle, alright? At seven.”

You furrowed your brows. “What, why? That’s how you get murdered.”

Though you couldn’t see his face and you didn’t have the faintest clue of what Spider-Man looked like, you could perfectly picture the masked man rolling his eyes at your comment. “I’m not gonna murder you,” he whispered exasperatedly. “Just, please, meet me at the bakery at seven. Please.”

With a sigh and a reluctant nod, you agreed. Spider-Man nodded as well before making his way towards the police and the webbed up lizard.

As you made your way away from the crime scene, you looked through the pictures you were able to get on your camera, smiling as some of them came out perfectly. Definitely front page worthy if you had anything to say about it. Still, one thought wouldn’t leave your mind all the walk home: Who was Spider-Man? And, how and why did he even know your name?

***

It was 6:55 P.M., and you were currently sitting in one of the tables the bakery had outside, patiently waiting for Spider-Man as you ate the pastry you had bought inside. 

You spot Peter walking out of the Daily Bugle and making his way across the street and towards the bakery, so you shoot him a quick little wave hello. 

He returns the gesture with something like a grimace as he makes his way towards your table with his hands in his pocket, and a look that tells you he’d rather be just about anywhere else. 

“Hi, Peter,” you say through a confused laugh. “Do you need something?”

“Uh, yeah,” he nods, scratching at the back of his neck. “Do you mind if I sit?” He asks, gesturing to the empty seat next to you. 

You shrug. “I mean, I’m waiting on,” you pause, deciding on how to refer to Spider-Man. “A friend,” you settle on, “but you can sit until then.”

Peter nods, taking the seat and murmuring, “I think I’m the friend.”

You furrow your brows. “What do you mean?” You ask. 

Peter doesn’t say anything, he just stares at you with wide brown eyes as if he were waiting for you to put the pieces together. “Come on,” he mumbles, “you said it the other day.”

You stare at the man, still very confused as you try to rack your brain for what he could be referring to. Just as you're about to tell him that you have no idea what he's talking about, it hits you. 

You gasp. “No,” you murmur, as Peter nods his head. 

“I’m Spider-Man,” he whispers, quiet enough that you’re not even 100% sure that you heard him correctly. But suddenly, it all made sense. Why he always got great shots of the superhero, why he knew your name earlier today, why he sometimes comes in to work with bruises, black eyes, and wounds that he can’t explain, why he was so defensive of your joke from just a few days ago. 

“Oh,” you breathe out. 

“Oh,” he repeats, raking a nervous hand through his hair. “Please don’t tell anyone. No one else knows – except maybe my aunt? I don’t know, she might know, but no one else knows.”

You nod your head along, still trying to wrap your brain around the fact that Peter Parker, your nerdy, dorky coworker, Peter Parker was Spider-Man. “I won’t,” you tell him as sincerely as you can, “I promise.”

Peter only shakes his head, taking one of your hands in between his and squeezing it tight. “No, I’m serious,” he mumbles. “No one can know that you know. I shouldn’t even have told you, last time I told someone,” he trails off, a look of sorrow darkening his features as his grip around your hand tightens just a bit more. “Please,” he pleads, “don’t tell anyone.”

You nod your head again. “Okay, Peter,” you murmur softly, “I won’t. I’ll take it to my grave.”

His grip around your hand loosens as he drags a tired hand down his face. “Thank you,” he mumbles, before shooting you a weak, barely there smile. 

You shrug, shooting him a shy smile back. It softens his features the slightest bit, easing the tension out of the conversation. 

“So,” you start, hoping to bring some light into the conversation, “Does this mean every photo you get of him is basically just you cheating.”

“Yeah,” he nods through a laugh. “I usually rig a camera up near a lamppost to get good shots. Which, by the way, I just submitted some from today’s fight so, you can kiss that front page goodbye,” he teases with a wink, causing you to roll your eyes. 

“That’s so not fair,” you grumble, but Peter only shrugs, leaning back in his chair as he stretches his arms and legs out. "Besides, I got some of Spider-Man and J. Jonah Jameson’s son, that has to do me some favors." 

“I bet mine are still better," he teases before stealing a piece of your pastry. You let him, but still make a show of being annoyed at his antics. 

“You owe me one front page picture every month,” you say, trying to make your words come off as a joke, only for Peter to take you completely seriously.  

He makes a face like he’s thinking your proposition through before shrugging his shoulders and holding a hand out for you to shake. “Deal.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at this. “What, really?”

He nods, still holding his hand out for you to shake. You do with a wide grin that he easily returns. “Truce?” He asks. 

But Steve had graduated already, and you and your new friend Robin Buckley were about to as well. And though she was very close with your old best friend, you had successfully managed to not have to see or interact with him. Until Robin tried to bring the both of you to the same party to “finally close old wounds,” and so her two best friends could become friends again. 

“Robin, I love you, but I really don’t want to see Steve again,”  you say, plucking a carrot out of the girl’s lunch container as she lets out a small groan. 

“Come on,” she says through a sigh. “Steve’s changed since high school, I promise. And he said he wants to see you to apologize.”

“If I say he’s forgiven, will you both leave it alone?” You ask light-heartedly. 

Robin only rolls her eyes before letting out an exasperated sigh. “Please? It’d mean a lot to me if my two best friends didn’t hate each other. I want to go out with  both of you on my birthday and not worry about any past tension.”

Now it’s your turn to sigh. “I don’t hate him,” you mumble with a small smile. 

“Really?” Robin asks in a tone that tells you that she does not believe you one bit.

“Alright, alright,” you say through a laugh and a roll of your eyes. “I’ll go to the stupid party, happy?”

Robin nods her head yes exaggeratedly before moving to eat the sandwich she had packed herself for lunch. “Very,” she mumbles through a mouthful. 

***

Steve and Robin had been at the party for a total of fifteen minutes before they finally caught sight of you. A stumbling, drunk, you.

“Didn’t the party start an hour ago? Why is she already wasted?” Steve asks as the two of them make their way towards you. 

Robin only shrugs. “Maybe she’s nervous?” She suggests, before tapping you on your shoulder to get your attention. 

“Hi, Robin!” you exclaimed when you saw your friend, quickly pulling her into a hug.

She, awkwardly, hugs you back with an amused laugh before gesturing to Steve when you eventually pull away. “You remember Steve, right?”

Your smile quickly vanishes, turning sour as you look at Steve.

“Uh, hi,” he says through an awkward cough. He hadn’t spoken to you in years,  but he had seen you around, small-town perks. Even kept tabs on you through Robin (or, at least, what she was willing to tell him before jokingly calling him a weirdo for asking so many questions about his old friend). And though he was sure you probably wouldn’t think too favorably of him after all this time (especially after Robin told him that she had to practically beg you to say yes to seeing him again), he wasn’t expecting such a bitter look on your face. Though he probably should have expected it. He couldn’t blame you for being upset at him for abandoning you for his new “cooler” friends. Especially when he himself was upset at the fact that he had abandoned you for two people who now meant nothing to him. Who probably meant nothing to him back then, too. 

“Ho– how are you?” Steve asked, scratching at the back of his neck with what he hoped to be a friendly, not at all nervous or awkward, smile. 

“I’m fine,” you mumble coldly before reaching for a cup to take a sip of it. 

Robin’s quick to stop you, taking it out of your hands with a scrunched-up face despite your drunken protests. 

“No, who knows whose drink this is, it’s probably gross," she mumbles at your pout. "I’ll get you a new one.”

You sigh, crossing your arms, but nod at your friend in reluctant agreement. 

Robin smiles widely at that. “Great!” She exclaims before gently pulling Steve a couple of feet away from you. “I’mgonna get her another beer, can you watch her? And try to get her to like you again? My birthdays in a few months and–“

“And you want to hang out with both of us, yeah, yeah, I got it,” Steve nods along in agreement. Though the slight annoyance in his voice was quite obvious to anyone who knew him as well as Robin did. “How am I supposed to get her to like me if she’s like this?” Steve asks, gesturing a hand to you, who had your arms crossed and currently looked like you were trying to set him on fire with your gaze alone. 

If looks could kill.

“Please,” Robin pleads again as Steve lets out a sigh, dragging a frustrated hand down his face. 

“Alright, alright,” he mumbled, placing his hands on his friend’s arms and gently maneuvering her towards the kitchen.“Just don’t take too long.”

Robin gave a mock salute before quickly making her way towards the kitchen, before Steve could change his mind, or you could complain. She was really lucky she was one of Steve’s only friends. 

Steve let out one final sigh before making his way back to you. He called out your name, and you were quick to shoot daggers at him yet again.

Great. This was going great.

“Look,” he murmured softly, “I know I was a dick to you, and I don’t expect you to forgive me for any of it. I mean, hell, I wouldn’t forgive myself either if I were in your shoes. But I do want to apologize, because you didn’t deserve me being such a shitty friend to you. And, if I could go back and change it all, I would. In a heartbeat.”

Steve wasn’t even sure if you were even listening to him. The minute he had started talking, you turned your gaze to the side, suddenly finding the nearby lamp very interesting as you spent the entirety of his apology staring at it. 

He couldn’t blame you. He really couldn’t. He knows he messed up, he knows he was a dick, but he had let Robin’s initial optimism get hold of him and let himself believe that maybe you would forgive him. That maybe, the two of you could be friends again, and that you, him, and Robin could all hang out together sometime. It was wishful thinking, it really was. 

“I never understood why you stopped talking to me,” you mumbled, words slightly slurred together as you still refused to look at Steve. But, you were talking to him, and that was honesty way more than he had ever expected. 

“I was stupid,” he replied when you never said anything else. “And, I’m sorry. So sorry. If I could go back and change it all, I would,” he repeats.

He sighs when you don’t respond. Just keep staring at that lampshade like it was the most interesting thing you had ever seen in the world. 

He stretched his neck to see if he could spot Robin in the crowd, see if she could help the two of you find some middle ground, or at least bring back that cheery person you were when you first saw her. He hates to think that he was the reason why your mood turned so sour so quickly. That you were likely this sad and upset when he first distanced himself from you all those years ago. It made his stomach churn uncomfortably. 

But, maybe he deserved that– to be uncomfortable in the mess he had started back in his freshman year because he was too preoccupied with trying to be deemed cool. Maybe if he hadn’t cared then, you, him, and Robin could all be friends. Or, maybe he would have acted on his feelings from back then, and the two of you would have been dating because he–

“You know I really liked you in middle school,” you murmur, finally pulling your gaze away from the stupid lampshade to look up at him.

Oh.

He really was an idiot back then, wasn’t he?

He finally caught sight of Robin, only to see her in a very animated conversation with a certain redhead. 

Fuck.

“You did?” He asks, swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat. 

You nod in all seriousness, though your movements are slightly slow and sluggish. “I did,” you answer. “I thought you found out and maybe that’s why you stopped talking to me.”

Steve wasn't sure if that was you or the alcohol talking, but never had wished a hole would open up beneath him and swallow him whole more than right now. Because he never wanted you to think something like that. Not when he had spent most of his eighth-grade year wishing you liked him back. Not when he invited you to the eighth-grade prom even though you were a year below him. Not when he overanalyzed everything to figure out if you had liked him back.

Steve loved Robin; he really, truly did. With all his heart. But he didn’t know if he could do this anymore. How was he supposed to look at you, look at those eyes, and explain that no, actually, he had liked you too. And that he was just a stupid, stupid boy in ninth grade who never deserved the girl in front of him in the first place. Back then or now. 

“That’s not why I stopped talking to you,” Steve murmured through a sad sigh. “In fact, I wish I had known that you didlike me, cause I liked you too back then.”

Your eyes go comically wide at that, and it’s almost enough to pull a smile out of Steve.

“What?” You ask, suddenly sounding far less sulky and moody than before. That did get a smile out of Steve, because it had been far too long since he had seen that smile, and he couldn’t believe he had forgotten the funny feeling it did to his stomach when he saw it. All these years later, and he was still a goner for that smile. 

“I did,” Steve responds through a laugh, nodding his head. “A lot,” he adds, “It was kind of embarrassing.”

“Woah,” you mumble under your breath as Robin finally makes her way back towards the two of you, thank god.

“Sorry I took so long, I got lost,” Robin mumbles, handing you a red solo cup as Steve nods, unconvinced. “How are things going here?”

Before Steve gets much of a chance to reply, you’re pulling Robin a few feet away from him, stumbling while you do so, and whispering something in her ear that causes Robin’s eyes to go wide as she laughs directly at him. 

“You’re such a dingus,” Robin laughs, and Steve can’t help but roll his eyes cause he already knows exactly what you told her, and it’s causing his face and neck to burn. 

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles as Robin shakes her head no and gently pulls you closer to Steve again.

“It’s just too funny, man,” she laughs as you take a sip of your drink.

***

Steve didn’t really think you would ever forgive him. Not only because he hadn’t expected you to, but also because you were drunk for the entirety of his apology. Which, looking back on now, he totally gets. If he could have been drunk to get through his apology without feeling worried or overthinking everything, he just might have done it.

But you deserved better than a drunken apology, so maybe it was good he didn’t go that route. Even if, looking back now, it was incredibly tempting. 

Steve was in the middle of making himself breakfast when he heard the phone ringing. So, with a sigh and a quick wish that his pancakes wouldn’t burn while he was on the phone, he walked over to it and picked it up. “Harrington residence,” he answered. 

“She wants to hang out,” Robin said, voice slightly crackly through the phone. “The three of us, on Thursday, when we’redone with our shift. She wants to go to the arcade.”

It’s funny how you could have thought you had gotten over a crush on someone years ago, only for your heart to start racing wildly in your chest at the thought of hanging out with that someone. At the thought of seeing that someone again.