There was something strangely comforting about hearing other people through paper-thin apartment walls.

The sound of someone dragging groceries across the hallway. The distant hum of a television from two floors below. Laughter echoing from somewhere down the corridor at two in the morning because apparently, unlike you, some people in New York actually had functioning sleep schedules.

The elevator dinged as you stepped inside, your backpack hanging off one shoulder and an iced coffee clutched in your hand. Your morning lecture had been canceled, which meant that, for the first time in weeks, you could actually go back to your apartment and catch up on sleep.

Just as the doors were about to close, a hand shot between them. The doors slid back open.

Peter Parker stepped inside.

You had seen him around enough times to know that he lived on your floor, only a few doors away from yours. You also knew that he was probably around your age, spent an alarming amount of time outside at ungodly hours, and had a habit of looking like he hadn’t slept in three business days.

You didn’t know much else. Mostly because Peter Parker was impossible to talk to.

“Hey.”

Peter looked up from the floor, startled for some reason, before offering a small nod. “Hey.”

The elevator doors closed.

You shifted your weight awkwardly. “Early morning?”

Peter glanced down at the watch on his wrist as if he’d somehow forgotten what time it was.

“Uh, yeah. Something like that.”

You smiled. “You look exhausted.”

He let out a quiet laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. “Thanks.”

“That wasn’t supposed to be an insult.”

“No, I know.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, but the smile disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.

The rest of the ride passed in silence.

By now, you’d gotten used to it.

It wasn’t that Peter was rude. In fact, whenever you ran into him in the hallway or outside the building, he always smiled politely and held doors open for people. He just never stayed long enough for a conversation.

The elevator stopped on your floor. You stepped out first, Peter following close behind.

“You know,” you said, turning toward him as both of you walked down the hallway, “one of these days, I’m actually going to get more than two sentences out of you.”

Peter nearly dropped the keys he was trying to fish out of his pocket. “What?”

You laughed. “I’m serious. We’ve lived on the same floor for, like, months now, and somehow I still know absolutely nothing about you.”

He finally found his keys, although judging by the way he almost dropped them again, the victory was short-lived.

“Maybe I’m just boring.”

You stopped in front of your apartment door and frowned. “I don’t think boring people come home at four in the morning.”

Peter froze for a split second.

You immediately regretted saying it. “Oh my God, that sounded creepy. I’m not keeping track of your schedule, I swear. The walls are just really thin.”

To your surprise, Peter laughed. Like, actually laughed. “No, it’s okay.”

For the first time since you’d met him, he looked relaxed.

And then, just as quickly as the moment appeared, it vanished.

“Well…” he said quietly, turning back toward his apartment. “I’ll see you around.”

Before you could respond, he disappeared behind his door.

~~~~~

The next few weeks went exactly the same way.

You’d run into Peter in the elevator. You’d try to make conversation. He’d answer politely. Then he’d retreat back into whatever corner of his life he kept hidden from everyone else.

It became a routine.

“Long day again?”

Peter, standing in the elevator at midnight with dark circles under his eyes and a suspicious tear in the sleeve of his hoodie, blinked at you.

“You have no idea.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That’s concerning.”

“I’m choosing to ignore that comment.”

“Thanks.”

For some reason, despite how painfully awkward he could be, you found yourself looking forward to those tiny interactions.

Maybe it was because Peter was one of the only people in the building who was around your age.

Maybe it was because you recognized loneliness when you saw it.

Or maybe it was because every now and then, when he thought you weren’t looking, you’d catch glimpses of someone different beneath all those walls he’d built around himself.

Like the night you came back from the library carrying way too many books and nearly dropped all of them in the lobby.

Peter had somehow appeared out of nowhere. “Whoa, here.”

Before you could protest, he’d already grabbed half the stack from your arms.

“Thanks.”

“You know they make backpacks for a reason, right?”

You scoffed. “I have a backpack.”

Peter looked down at the single notebook sticking out of it.

“That’s impressive.”

“Oh, don’t judge me, Parker.”

“I’m not judging.”

“You absolutely are.”

“I’m silently criticizing your organizational skills.”

You laughed, pressing the elevator button. “Wow. So you can talk.”

Peter looked away, unsuccessfully hiding his smile.

The elevator doors opened.

As the two of you stepped inside, you glanced at him. “See? That wasn’t so hard.”

“What wasn’t?”

“Having a conversation.”

Peter leaned his head against the elevator wall, looking exhausted. “You make it sound easier than it is.”

The elevator stopped. Peter handed your books back.

“Thanks,” you said softly.

“Anytime.”

You hesitated before speaking again. “Hey, um… if you ever need anything…”

Peter looked up.

“I mean, we’re neighbors, right? So… sugar, coffee, someone to complain about school to—”

He smiled, smaller this time. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You grinned. “Good.”

“I’ll see you around,” he said.

~~~~~

He wasn’t even supposed to be here, but Peter found himself standing across from Ned on the subway.

Ned was carrying two bags filled with drinks and snacks, occasionally checking his phone and smiling to himself. Peter had spotted him by complete accident, and before he could stop himself, he’d followed him onto the train.

He knew it was stupid.

Four years had passed since Doctor Strange’s spell. Four years since the world had forgotten Peter Parker.

And yet, here he was, trailing his former best friend through New York like some creep who couldn’t let go of the past.

Unfortunately, Peter couldn’t. Not when that past was all he had left.

The train finally came to a stop, and Peter followed Ned from a distance as he made his way toward an apartment building in Brooklyn. By the time Peter reached the top floor, music and laughter were already spilling out into the hallway.

A party.

Peter stood outside the door for a moment, staring at the crowd inside. He should leave.

He really, really should leave.

Instead, he gripped the bouquet of flowers that he’d bought as an excuse tightly.

“Housewarming gift,” he muttered to himself, staring at the bouquet. “Totally normal.”

He entered the room, blending in easily amongst the crowd of people he’d never seen before.

The apartment was filled with people, conversations overlapping with music coming from the speakers in the corner. It felt warm and alive in a way that Peter’s own apartment hadn’t felt in years.

Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Pinned to the wall beside a room was an entire collection of newspaper clippings, blurry photos, and handwritten notes—all centered around Spider-Man.

Peter slowly walked closer.

Pictures from different sightings. Articles about unexplained events around the city. Strings connecting random details that shouldn’t have made sense to anyone else.

And yet his former best friend had put them together.

“You believe in all this stuff too?”

Peter turned around to find Ned standing beside him, holding a drink.

Peter looked back at the wall. “Oh, hey. You made all of this?”

Ned shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s weird, but ever since I was a kid, I’ve always felt like… I don’t know, like Spider-Man means something to me.”

Peter felt his chest tighten.

Ned laughed awkwardly. “Sounds crazy, right?”

“No,” Peter replied quietly. “Not crazy.”

For a brief moment, Peter allowed himself to imagine what life would’ve been like if things had been different. If the spell had never happened. If he could’ve stood beside Ned and laughed about all of this instead of pretending to be a stranger.

But reality had a way of pulling him back.

Across the room, Peter spotted MJ walking towards them. For a moment, it almost felt like nothing had changed.

Peter watched her slowly, holding out the bouquet. “Housewarming flowers.”

MJ blinked in surprise before taking them from his hands. “Oh, wow. Thanks.”

“Yeah. No problem.”

“Do you two know each other or…?” MJ’s brows furrowed, eyeing Peter and Ned.

Peter chuckled nervously. “Oh, uhm. Not exactly. I’m Mayne—Maynard.”

“Nice to meet you, Maynard. I’m gonna put these in water.” She smiled politely, thanked him again, and disappeared into the kitchen to put the flowers in water.

Peter watched her go.

Then he saw him.

A guy standing beside the sink, smiling as MJ walked over to him. She nudged his shoulder playfully, and the guy wrapped an arm around her waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Peter immediately looked away.

He had spent four years telling himself that he’d made the right choice. That letting them go had been worth it because they were safe.

But standing in the middle of that apartment, surrounded by people who used to know him, Peter couldn’t help but wonder whether he’d truly let them go—or if he’d simply been left behind.

Suddenly, the room felt too small. Too loud.

Without saying goodbye to anyone, Peter quickly slipped out of the apartment and made his way back onto the streets of New York.

The city was alive around him—cars honking, people laughing, music pouring from open windows—but Peter barely registered any of it. His mind was still back in that apartment, replaying every smile, every laugh, every reminder of the life he’d lost.

He leaped across buildings. By the time he reached his neighborhood, the pain in his wrist had started again.

At first, it was only a dull ache. Then it spread up his arm like fire.

Peter stopped abruptly, grabbing onto the nearest wall as he hissed through clenched teeth.

“Not now,” he muttered.

The pain only grew worse.

He pulled his sleeve back just enough to see the distended veins on his wrists.

His breathing quickened.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

Panicking, Peter rushed toward his apartment building, nearly tripping over his own feet as he fumbled for his keys. The pain had become unbearable by the time he stumbled through his front door.

On the other side of the wall, you were sitting at your desk, absentmindedly reading through your notes when you heard something crash.

At first, you ignored it.

Peter was a strange guy. For all you knew, he’d dropped a lamp.

Then came another noise.

Your eyebrows furrowed as you pulled your headphones off. “Peter?”

You were just about to put your headphones back on when a scream echoed through the wall.

Not the kind of scream someone lets out after stubbing their toe.

A scream of pain.

You shot up from your chair so fast that it nearly toppled over.

For a moment, you stood frozen in the middle of your apartment, trying to convince yourself that you’d imagined it.

Then you heard it again.

Without another thought, you ran for the door. You didn’t even bother putting on your shoes.

The scream echoed through the hallway again, louder this time, and whatever hesitation you had vanished the moment you reached Peter’s door.

“Peter?!”

You knocked once.

No answer.

“Peter, are you okay?!”

Silence.

You pressed your ear against the door, trying to make sense of the sounds coming from the other side. Something crashed into a wall, followed by what sounded like muffled groaning.

Your heart dropped.

You grabbed the doorknob, fully expecting it to be locked. Instead, the door swung open.

The first thing that hit you was the mess.

Peter’s apartment, which you’d never actually seen before, looked like a tornado had torn through it. Papers were scattered across the floor, tools and wires hung from the ceiling, and pieces of machinery sat abandoned on tables in the corner. It was nothing like you had imagined.

And then there were the webs.

They stretched across the walls, clinging to lamps and cabinets, covering entire sections of the room as though a giant spider had made the apartment its nest.

You stopped in the doorway, unable to process what you were looking at. “What the hell…?”

Another groan pulled your attention toward the living room.

“Peter?”

You rushed forward, carefully stepping over broken pieces of metal and strands of webbing stuck to the floor. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner that you finally saw him.

Peter was collapsed beside the couch, one hand gripping his wrist so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. His breathing was uneven, and more strands of webbing slowly releasing from his arm.

For a few seconds, you simply stood there, frozen.

Nothing about this made sense.

The webs. The machines. The strange red-and-blue fabric crumpled beside the couch.

Your eyes darted back to the fabric.

A mask. A Spider-Man mask.

You stared at it, then back at Peter, then back at the mask again.

Your brain was trying to connect the dots.

There was absolutely no way.

And yet, as you looked around the apartment, surrounded by webs and gadgets and the unmistakable suit lying only a few feet away, there was no other explanation.

“Oh my god.”

Peter shifted slightly at the sound of your voice. His eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first before eventually landing on you. For a split second, confusion crossed his face.

Then came realization.

You watched the panic wash over him almost instantly.

“Y/n—” His voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

You immediately knelt beside him. “Peter, what is happening? Are you hurt? Do I need to call someone?”

“No.” The answer came too quickly. “No, don’t—don’t call anyone.”

“Peter, you’re literally lying on the floor!”

“I said don’t call anyone.” The harshness in his voice caught both of you off guard.

Peter shut his eyes, taking a shaky breath as if he regretted snapping at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Just… don’t.”

You looked down at the hand clutching his wrist.

Your gaze drifted toward the mask again. The bruises that always seemed to appear out of nowhere. The nights he came home at impossible hours. The way he always looked exhausted.

Every weird thing about Peter suddenly made perfect sense.

Your mouth went dry. “Peter…”

He already knew what you were about to ask. You could see it in his expression. He turned his head away, staring blankly at the ceiling.

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the way your heart was pounding in your chest.

“You’re Spider-Man?”

Peter didn’t answer. He didn’t deny it either.

The silence was answer enough. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Despite everything, Peter actually let out a weak laugh.

It lasted all of two seconds before another wave of pain shot through his arm. He doubled over, gripping his wrist again.

“Peter—”

“I’m okay.”

“You’re obviously not okay!”

“I’ll be fine.”

“You’re covered in webs!”

Peter opened his mouth as if he wanted to argue, but whatever he was about to say never came out. Instead, his eyes fluttered shut.

“Peter?”

No response.

“Peter!”

You grabbed his shoulder, shaking him gently.

Nothing.

Your eyes widened. “Hey, don’t do this right now.”

You glanced around the apartment, completely lost. You had absolutely no idea what the hell you were supposed to do in this situation.

Normal people didn’t have emergency plans for when their neighbor turned out to be Spider-Man and passed out on the floor.

After a few moments of panicking, you managed to drag a blanket off the couch and awkwardly pull it over him. It wasn’t much, but it was better than leaving him on the cold floor.

Then, after what felt like ten straight minutes of struggling, you somehow managed to move him onto the couch.

By the time you collapsed into the armchair across from him, you were exhausted.

You glanced over at him again, watching his chest rise and fall.

“You’re seriously Spider-Man,” you whispered to yourself. Within minutes, exhaustion finally caught up with you too.

The armchair wasn’t comfortable in the slightest, but after the night you’d just had, you didn’t really care.

As sleep slowly overtook you, one last thought crossed your mind.

Tomorrow morning was going to be a disaster.

~~~~~

The first thing Peter noticed when he woke up was that his wrist didn’t hurt anymore.

For a few blissful seconds, he simply lay there, staring at the unfamiliar angle of his living room ceiling, too exhausted to think about why he was on the couch instead of his bed. Then, slowly, the events of the night before came rushing back to him.

Peter shot upright so fast that he nearly fell off the couch.

His eyes darted around the room in a panic. The apartment was still covered in webs. His suit was laying openly on his working table. One of his web-shooters was dangling from a lamp.

And there you were. Curled up in the armchair across from him, your head resting against the side cushion, you were still asleep.

Peter stared at you in horror. You were actually here. In his apartment.

After everything you’d seen.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself, dragging both hands down his face. “Okay, okay, okay…”

He stood up from the couch and immediately got a strand of web stuck to his hoodie.

“Seriously?” The frustration in his voice was apparently enough to wake you.

Your eyes slowly fluttered open, and for a moment, you simply blinked at the room around you, still half-asleep.

Then you saw Peter standing in the middle of the apartment, trying to untangle himself from his own webs.

You sat up so quickly that Peter froze. He looked like he’d rather jump out the window than have this conversation. You honestly weren’t doing much better.

“You’re awake,” you finally said.

Peter glanced down at the floor. “Yeah.”

“Right.”

“Right.”

An awkward silence settled between the two of you.

You looked around the apartment. In the daylight, the whole place somehow looked even more ridiculous. You looked back at Peter.

He was still avoiding your eyes.

“So…” you began carefully.

Peter visibly tensed. “So?”

You gestured vaguely to literally everything around you.

“Do you maybe want to explain…” You paused, looking up at the web-covered ceiling. “…all of this?”

Peter let out a breath that sounded suspiciously like defeat. “You weren’t supposed to see this.”

You blinked. “Peter, you passed out on your living room floor.”

“I know.”

“You were screaming.”

“I know.”

“There are webs on your refrigerator.”

“I know.”

You stared at him for a moment before letting out an incredulous laugh. “Okay, wow. We’re really glossing over the fact that you’re Spider-Man, huh?”

Peter finally looked up.

The panic in his expression from the night before was gone, replaced by something quieter. “I was kind of hoping you’d think you imagined it.”

You snorted. “Yeah, because giant spider webs covering your apartment are a perfectly normal hallucination.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of Peter’s mouth despite himself.

You studied him for a moment, suddenly realizing that he looked exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with lack of sleep. The dark circles under his eyes were still there, and now that you thought about it, so was the same expression you’d seen on his face every time he stepped into the elevator.

You leaned back against the chair. “You’re Spider-Man.”

Peter swallowed. “Yeah.”

It was the first time he’d admitted it out loud in years.

“You know,” you said, “this actually explains a lot.”

Peter frowned. “Like what?”

“The bruises.”

“I walk into things.”

“You absolutely do not walk into things.”

“I could.”

“Peter, normal people don’t come home at dawn with cuts on their face.”

Peter shrugged. “New York is weird.”

You stared at him. “Did Spider-Man just try to convince me that New York is weird?”

“I think Spider-Man would know.” He hesitated, as if he wasn’t sure how to continue. “Listen, you can’t tell anyone about this.”

You blinked. “Who exactly am I supposed to tell? ‘Hey, guys, by the way, my neighbor is secretly Spider-Man’? People would think I’ve lost my mind.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“No, Y/n, I—”

“You really think I’d tell someone?”

Peter opened his mouth, but no words came out.

You sighed, standing up from the chair.

“Look, I don’t know what’s going on with…” You gestured toward his wrist. “Whatever happened last night. And I definitely don’t understand why your apartment looks like a spider nest. But I’m not going to tell anyone.”

Peter looked unconvinced.

You crossed your arms. “Besides, keeping secrets apparently isn’t exactly new territory for us.”

That made him pause.

You immediately regretted saying it.

Peter seemed to understand exactly what you meant because he quietly looked away. “I’m sorry.”

The words caught you off guard. “What?”

He shoved his hands into his pockets, staring at the floor.

“For lying.”

You frowned. “You didn’t really lie.”

“I kind of did.”

“You just left out the part where you spend your nights swinging around New York.”

Peter let out a quiet laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah.”

You hesitated before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

He looked up.

“Why do you always push people away?”

The question slipped out before you could stop it. Immediately, you wanted to take it back.

Peter froze. “Y/n—”

“No, no, forget I asked that. You don’t have to answer.”

Peter stayed quiet for a long moment. Then, almost too quietly, he said, “It’s safer that way.”

You frowned. “Safer for who?”

Peter didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced toward the window, his expression distant.

You opened your mouth to ask another question, but Peter suddenly stood up. “I should clean this up.”

You looked up at the ceiling.

“Yeah, I was actually wondering how you planned on explaining the fact that your entire apartment looks like an outdated Halloween decoration.”

Peter laughed under his breath, shaking his head.

You smiled, relieved that the tension had eased, if only a little.

As you made your way toward the front door, you stopped and turned back around. “Hey, Peter?”

He looked up from the mess of webs tangled around his coffee table. “Yeah?”

You hesitated for a moment before saying, “For what it’s worth, knowing that you’re Spider-Man doesn’t really change anything.”

Peter stared at you.

You shrugged. “You’re still the weird guy who lives next door.”

For the first time that morning, Peter smiled.

“Wow,” he said. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” You grinned, opening the door. “And maybe next time you decide to pass out dramatically, try not to do it alone.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but you caught the smile he was trying to hide. “Noted.”

You nodded once before stepping into the hallway.

~~~~~

The next few days were, without a doubt, the weirdest days of your life.

Not because you had assignments piling up or because you had somehow managed to survive on instant noodles and iced coffee for three consecutive days. No, the weirdest part was that your next-door neighbor—the same guy who once spent an entire elevator ride pretending to be fascinated by the floor numbers to avoid small talk—was Spider-Man.

You had barely stepped out of your apartment when Peter’s door swung open at the exact same moment. The two of you froze, staring at each other from opposite ends of the hallway.

“Hey,” you said.

“Hey.”

An awkward silence followed.

Usually, this was the part where you’d ask him about his day and he’d mumble something before disappearing into the elevator. But things were different now. You knew why he came home at impossible hours. You knew why he always had bruises on his knuckles and dark circles under his eyes.

“So…” you began, falling into step beside him as the two of you walked toward the elevator. “Did you get all the webs cleaned up?”

Peter glanced at you, horrified. “You said you weren’t going to bring that up.”

“I said no such thing.”

“You absolutely implied it.”

The elevator doors opened, and you stepped inside together.

“I’m just saying, if I found out my neighbor was secretly Spider-Man and then immediately discovered that his apartment looked like a spider’s house, I’d be a little disappointed.”

Peter let out an exasperated sigh. “Please never call it that again.”

“No promises.”

The elevator doors opened on the ground floor, and the two of you stepped out into the lobby.

“Well,” you said, adjusting your bag on your shoulder, “good luck saving New York today.”

Peter nearly tripped over his own feet.

You stared at him. “Did Spider-Man just almost fall because of a joke?”

“I didn’t almost fall.”

“You absolutely almost fell.”

“I stepped weird.” Peter rolled his eyes, though you could see the faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You know, you’re surprisingly annoying.”

“Thank you. I’ve worked very hard to achieve that.”

“I can tell.”

You grinned triumphantly. “See? That was practically a compliment.”

“It wasn’t.”

“It definitely was.”

Peter shook his head, muttering something under his breath as the two of you stepped outside. The morning air was cold, and for a moment, neither of you spoke.

Then, just as you were about to head in the opposite direction, you heard Peter clear his throat.

“Hey, Y/n?”

You turned around. “Yeah?”

Peter shoved his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, staring at the sidewalk. “I just…” He paused, struggling to find the words. “Thanks. For not freaking out.”

You blinked.

“Peter, I did freak out.”

Peter laughed softly. “You did.”

Your smile softened. “You know, you don’t always have to deal with things by yourself.”

The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

Peter’s expression changed almost instantly.

You wanted to push further. You wanted to ask him why he always looked so sad whenever he thought nobody was paying attention, why he insisted on carrying everything alone, why he acted like letting people get close to him was the worst thing in the world.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

~~~~~

For the next week, things settled into something that neither of you knew how to define.

You still ran into each other in the hallway before you left for class. Peter still came home at absurd hours with new bruises that he insisted were “nothing.” You still made fun of him for having the social skills of a brick wall.

The only difference was that now, whenever he disappeared halfway through a conversation or showed up looking like he’d just fought for his life, you actually knew why.

Well, partially.

Because despite the fact that you’d discovered his biggest secret, Peter Parker was still, somehow, the most secretive person you had ever met.

It was almost midnight when you found him sitting on the fire escape outside your apartment building.

You had just gotten back from the cafe after spending six straight hours pretending to understand a lecture that absolutely nobody understood, and the only thing on your mind was sleep.

That was, until you looked up and saw Peter sitting one floor above you, elbows resting on his knees.

For a moment, you considered pretending you hadn’t seen him.

Then again, this was Peter. If you didn’t start the conversation, there was a ninety-percent chance that he’d sit there in silence for another hour before disappearing back into his apartment.

“Please tell me you’re not brooding up there.”

Peter looked down, startled. “I’m not brooding.”

You crossed your arms. “You’re sitting alone on a fire escape in the middle of the night, staring dramatically into the distance.”

“I’m just thinking.”

“That’s exactly what a person who’s brooding would say.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but you caught the smile that flashed across his face.

“You coming up or are you just going to insult me from down there?”

You blinked. “Was that an invitation?”

“Don’t make it weird.”

“Oh, it’s already weird.”

He laughed quietly, shaking his head as you climbed up the stairs and sat beside him.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke.

Below, New York buzzed with life. Cars moved through the streets, people spilled out of restaurants, and somewhere in the distance, a siren echoed through the city.

You leaned back against the brick wall behind you.

“I used to think New York would feel bigger.”

Peter frowned. “Bigger?”

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “Before I moved here, I thought it’d be this huge, exciting place where I’d constantly be meeting people and doing cool things.”

“And?”

You let out a laugh. “And now I spend most of my nights crying over assignments and eating instant noodles.”

Peter snorted. “Sounds about right.”

You nudged his shoulder. “I’m serious.”

“I know.”

You stared out at the city lights. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought it’d be easier.”

Peter was quiet for a moment. “Easier to do what?”

“To be alone.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them. You immediately looked away, embarrassed by how honest you’d just been.

“That sounded sadder than I meant it to.”

Peter didn’t laugh.

Instead, he looked down at his hands, almost like he was thinking about whether or not to say something. “You get used to it.”

You turned toward him. “Being alone?”

He nodded.

“No offense, Parker, but you don’t exactly sound convincing.”

That earned a small smile from him, but it disappeared almost immediately.

“You don’t get used to it,” he admitted quietly. “You just learn how to deal with it.”

The way he said it made your chest ache. “Is that why you push people away?”

Peter let out a breath, his eyes fixed on the street below.

“It’s complicated.”

“Complicated how?”

He was silent for so long that you thought he wasn’t going to answer. “Have you ever made a decision that you knew was right, but you hated yourself for it anyway?”

You frowned.

Peter laughed bitterly to himself. “Forget it. That’s a stupid question.”

“No, it’s not.”

He glanced at you, surprised by how quickly you’d answered.

You shifted slightly, pulling your knees closer to your chest. “I think people do that all the time.”

Peter looked away again. “Yeah. Maybe.”

You weren’t sure what came over you, but before you could stop yourself, you asked, “Did it have something to do with someone?”

The question hung in the air between you.

Peter froze. And immediately, you regretted asking.

“You don’t have to answer that,” you said quickly. “Sorry, that was way too personal—”

“It did.”

Your voice caught in your throat.

Peter wasn’t looking at you anymore. His eyes were fixed somewhere beyond the skyline, somewhere far away.

“Her name’s MJ. We used to be… close.”

The understatement almost made you laugh. “Close?”

He smiled sadly. “Yeah. She’s very special to me.”

You didn’t push. You could tell just from the way he was speaking, that this wasn’t a story he told often.

“There was this guy too,” he continued. “Ned. My best friend.”

Then Peter leaned back against the wall, staring up at the sky.

“A few years ago, something happened. Something really bad. And the only way to fix it was…” He stopped, swallowing hard. “The only way to fix it was to make everyone forget who Peter Parker was.”

You stared at him.

“What?”

He laughed quietly, but there was no humor in it.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?”

You didn’t know what to say.

Because suddenly, everything made sense.

“Wait.” You turned toward him. “You mean they literally don’t remember you?”

Peter shook his head. “No.”

“Not even MJ and Ned?”

“No.”

You stared at him, completely speechless. “Peter…”

He shrugged, like he was talking about the weather instead of the most heartbreaking thing you’d ever heard.

“It was my choice.”

“But that doesn’t mean it didn’t hurt.”

The words escaped before you could think twice.

Peter’s expression softened. Then he let out a quiet laugh and shook his head. “You’re the first person who’s said that.”

You frowned. “What do you mean?”

“It’s always about how I saved the world or how I did the right thing.” He looked down at his hands. “Nobody ever talks about what it cost.”

The vulnerability in his voice caught you off guard. For the first time, you understood.

Peter Parker hadn’t isolated himself because he wanted to. He’d isolated himself because he genuinely believed that loving people meant losing them.

You reached over and gently nudged his shoulder.

“Well, I think what you did was incredibly selfless.”

Peter smiled weakly. “Thanks.”

“But I also think you’re an idiot.”

He turned to you so fast that you almost laughed. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Wow. Harsh.”

“I’m serious.” You sat up straighter. “You keep acting like the solution to everything is to shut people out.”

“Because people get hurt.”

“People get hurt regardless, Peter.”

He opened his mouth to argue, but you didn’t let him.

“You think pushing everyone away protects them, but all it’s doing is making you miserable.”

Peter stared at you.

“And before you say anything, yes, I know that’s hypocritical coming from the girl who spent the first three months in New York eating canned goods alone in her apartment.”

That got a laugh out of him.

“I’m serious, though.” You smiled softly.

The two of you sat there for what felt like forever, the noise of the city filling the silence between you.

“You know, when we first met, I thought you were way too friendly.”

You gasped dramatically. “Way too friendly?”

“You kept talking to me in the elevator.”

“God forbid someone tries to have a conversation with their neighbor.”

“I thought there had to be some ulterior motive.”

You laughed. “And now?”

Peter looked at you. “Now I think you just hate awkward silences.”

You smiled. “You’re half right.”

“And the other half?”

You hesitated before answering. “I saw someone who looked lonely.”

Peter’s expression changed instantly. The teasing smile disappeared, replaced by something softer.

Because the truth was, you’d been right all along.

He was lonely.

You simply sat beside each other, watching the lights of New York flicker in the distance. Somewhere below, taxis disappeared into traffic, distant sirens echoed through the streets, and the summer air carried the sound of laughter from people walking home.

For the first time in a long time, Peter didn’t feel like he was carrying the weight of the city by himself.

Beside him, you absentmindedly rested your chin on your knees, staring out at the skyline.

“Do you ever stop thinking?” you asked quietly.

Peter let out a small laugh. “Not really.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

You smiled sympathetically. “Well, I think you deserve a break every once in a while. Fighting off bad people every other day isn’t healthy.”

Peter glanced over at you, about to make some self-deprecating joke, when suddenly, something felt… wrong.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His expression immediately changed.

You frowned. “Peter?”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes darted toward the street below, instinct taking over before his mind could catch up. There was no obvious danger—just passing cars, people crossing the road, cyclists weaving through traffic.

And yet, every nerve in his body was screaming at him that someone was watching.

“Peter?” You followed his gaze, confused as he abruptly stood from the fire escape. “What is it?”

“I…” Peter scanned the street, his heartbeat picking up. “I don’t know.”

Down below, parked across the street, a dark car sat between two taxis. Through the windshield, he could barely make out the silhouette of someone sitting in the back seat, their face hidden by the reflection of the city lights.

For a split second, Peter thought he saw the figure turn toward him.

Then the engine started. The car pulled away from the curb, disappearing into the traffic before Peter could get a better look.

He remained frozen, staring after it.

“Did you see someone?” you asked, standing beside him.

Peter hesitated. “I think so.”

“You think so?”

He shook his head, frustration creeping into his voice. “I don’t know. It just felt like…” He stopped himself.

Like someone had been watching him.

You glanced down at the now-empty street before looking back at Peter.

“Maybe it’s just your superhero paranoia.”

Peter let out a breathless laugh, though the uneasy feeling in his chest refused to disappear.

“Yeah,” he muttered, still staring into the distance. “Maybe.”

~~~~~

It was barely nine in the morning when you opened your apartment door and nearly ran face-first into him.

Peter stumbled backward, a paper bag clutched awkwardly in his hands. “Oh—sorry.”

You blinked. “Are you just permanently stationed outside my apartment now, or…?”

“What? No.” Peter looked genuinely horrified. “I was just—I wasn’t—”

You crossed your arms, trying to suppress a smile as he completely lost the ability to form coherent sentences. “Relax, Parker. I’m kidding.”

He let out a relieved sigh. “You really need to stop doing that.”

“And deprive myself of the joy of watching Spider-Man panic? Absolutely not.”

Peter rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

Only then did you notice the coffee cup sticking out of the paper bag. You narrowed your eyes.

“…Is that coffee?”

Peter immediately looked down at the bag as if he’d forgotten he was holding it in the first place. “Uh, yeah.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“And why are you standing outside my apartment at nine in the morning holding coffee?”

Peter stared at you for a few seconds, clearly debating whether or not he could still escape this conversation.

“I, uh…” He scratched the back of his neck. “You said you had an exam today.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “You know that?”

The second the words left your mouth, Peter looked like he regretted everything. “I just—I overheard you talking on the phone in the hallway last night.”

“Oh, so you’re spying on me.”

“I’m not! I have heightened senses, you know?”

You laughed, reaching for the coffee he was still awkwardly holding hostage. “Well, thank you.”

He shrugged, suddenly fascinated by the floor. “I figured you’d need it.”

You looked down at the cup before glancing back up at him. “Okay, this is actually really sweet.”

Peter almost choked. “What?”

“I’m complimenting you.”

“You’ve spent the last week bullying me.”

“I tease you because it’s funny. Completely different.”

Peter shook his head, mumbling something under his breath as he started walking toward the elevator.

You immediately followed him. “Oh, no. You don’t get to do something nice and then escape before I properly thank you.”

“Pretty sure I do.”

“You absolutely do not.”

The elevator doors opened, and the two of you stepped inside.

“Did you sleep at all?”

Peter leaned against the wall. “A little.”

“Yeah, right.”

“What?”

“That’s a lie.”

He glanced over at you. “How would you know?”

“Because you look like you fought a bear.”

“You’re judgemental.”

“Answer the question.”

Peter sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “There was some stuff going on downtown.”

“Some stuff?”

“Yeah.”

You stared at him. “You’re literally Spider-Man. ‘Some stuff’ could mean anything from stopping a robbery to fighting an alien invasion.”

“Okay, first of all, that’s only happened once.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Twice, maybe.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I can’t believe this is my life now.”

“Imagine how I feel.”

The elevator doors slid open, and the two of you stepped into the lobby.

Outside, New York was already awake. People hurried down the sidewalks, taxis filled the streets, and somewhere in the distance, someone was yelling at a delivery truck.

You took a sip of your coffee. “Okay, serious question.”

Peter looked over.

“How do you balance all of this?”

He frowned. “Balance what?”

“You know…” You gestured vaguely. “Spider-Man stuff. Life.”

Peter laughed softly. “I don’t.”

“No, seriously.”

“I am serious.”

You stopped walking. “What do you mean, you don’t?”

Peter shoved his hands into his pockets. “I mean exactly what I said.”

For the first time that morning, the teasing tone disappeared from his voice.

“Half the time, I’m in front of my desk, fixing my suit. The other half, I’m too exhausted to focus on anything.” He shrugged. “I’ve kind of accepted that I’m bad at balancing things.”

You frowned. “That’s not healthy.”

Peter opened his mouth, prepared with another joke, but stopped when he noticed the look on your face.

You were actually worried.

Peter looked away first.

“You know,” you said softly, “you’re allowed to take care of yourself too.”

He let out a quiet laugh.

“Funny. You sound exactly like my aunt May.”

The moment the words left his mouth, his expression changed. The smile disappeared.

“Oh.” Your voice softened. “Peter…”

“It’s okay.”

You weren’t sure whether to say something or pretend that the conversation hadn’t just shifted into dangerous territory.

Before you could decide, Peter shook his head and forced a smile. “Anyway, good luck on your exam.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Nice try.”

“What?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“Am I?”

“Very obviously.”

Peter laughed, stepping backward onto the sidewalk. “Seriously, though. Good luck.”

You stared at him for a moment before sighing in defeat.

“Fine. But this conversation isn’t over.”

Peter smiled. “We’ll see.”

You pointed at him accusingly. “No, don’t ‘we’ll see’ me, Parker.”

He laughed and started walking backward down the street. “Go ace your exam, sweetheart.”

The second the nickname left his mouth, both of you froze.

Peter looked just as surprised as you did.

Your eyes widened. “Did you just call me sweetheart?”

Peter stopped walking. “I—”

“You did!”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did!”

He buried his face in his hands. “Oh my god.”

You couldn’t stop smiling. “Oh, this is never leaving my memory.”

“Can we all agree to pretend that never happened?”

“Absolutely not.”

Peter groaned as you laughed, continuing your walk toward campus.

He shook his head, turning to leave in the opposite direction, but even from several feet away, you could still see the embarrassed smile on his face.

~~~~~

You tried not to think too much as you walked home from campus that evening, convincing yourself that he was probably just busy with superhero things. It wasn’t unusual for him to vanish for hours at a time.

Still, there was an uneasy feeling in your chest that you couldn’t explain.

By the time you reached your apartment building, the sun had already disappeared behind the skyline, painting New York in shades of orange and blue. You stepped into the lobby, fishing your keys out of your bag and nearly jumped when you saw Peter standing completely still in front of the elevators.

“Jesus Christ, Parker.”

He turned around so quickly that you almost took a step back.

For a moment, he just stared at you.

“Peter?”

He blinked a few times, as if he were forcing himself back into reality.

“Oh. Hey.”

You frowned.

“Hey? That’s all you have to say after ignoring me all day?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“Peter, I sent you three texts.”

“You sent me three memes.”

“They were funny memes.”

Peter let out a distracted laugh, but something was off.

He looked more exhausted than usual. His hoodie was damp from the rain, his hair was a mess, and there was a fresh cut just above his eyebrow.

You immediately noticed. “You’re hurt.”

“What? No.”

“You literally have blood on your face.”

Peter instinctively touched his eyebrow before dropping his hand. “It’s nothing.”

You crossed your arms. “You know, for someone whose entire job is saving people, you’re really bad at taking care of yourself.”

Peter looked away, jaw tightening.

The elevator doors opened with a ding, but neither of you moved.

“Peter?”

He swallowed hard before finally speaking. “Have you ever felt like someone’s watching you?”

The question caught you off guard. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “For the past few days, everywhere I go, I keep feeling like there’s…” He hesitated. “Like there’s someone there.”

You frowned. “Someone following you?”

“Maybe.”

“Have you actually seen anyone?”

Peter thought back to the fire escape. To the dark car disappearing into traffic before he could get a good look at it.

“Not really.”

You stepped a little closer, lowering your voice. “Peter, are you sure you’re okay?”

He opened his mouth to answer—

“Behind you.”

The voice wasn’t yours.

Peter froze.

His head snapped toward the lobby entrance, but there was nobody there except an elderly man struggling with grocery bags.

“What?” you asked.

Peter stared at the doors, his heartbeat suddenly pounding in his ears.

The old man looked up.

“You’re easier to find than you think, Peter.”

Peter’s blood ran cold. The voice wasn’t the old man’s. It was someone else’s, speaking through him.

The smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by confusion as the man adjusted his glasses and continued walking.

“Peter?”

He turned back toward you, panic flashing across his face.

“Did you hear that?”

You blinked. “Hear what?”

Before Peter could answer, a woman stepped into the lobby, talking on the phone as she walked past the two of you.

“Everyone has a weakness.”

Peter stiffened.

The woman stopped walking.

Slowly, she turned her head toward him. “You know that better than anyone.”

The air left Peter’s lungs. “What the hell…”

“Peter?” You grabbed his arm. “What’s wrong?”

He couldn’t answer. Because now, all around the lobby, people had started looking at him.

One by one, they turned toward him.

And they all smiled.

“You lost your aunt.”

“You lost your friends.”

“You lost the girl you loved.”

The voices overlapped, coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once.

Peter stumbled backward, his breathing becoming uneven.

“You found someone new.”

Peter’s eyes immediately darted toward you.

“So that’s why you’ve been smiling lately.”

Your grip on his arm tightened. “Peter, you’re scaring me.”

Instantly, every face in the lobby returned to normal.

Peter stood frozen in the middle of the lobby, chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Peter, talk to me.”

He looked at you, but it was obvious that he wasn’t really seeing you. His mind was somewhere else, replaying the words over and over again.

You found someone new.

“No,” he whispered, more to himself than to you.

“What?”

Peter grabbed your wrist.

The sudden movement startled you.

“You can’t stay here tonight.”

You frowned. “What?”

“Pack a bag.”

“Peter, slow down—”

“I’m serious.”

“What’s going on?”

He looked around the lobby one last time, searching for any sign that whoever had done this was still watching.

“I think someone’s trying to get to me.”

You stared at him.

“And I think…” His voice cracked slightly as he looked back at you. “I think they know about you.”

For a moment, neither of you moved.

Then you shook your head. “I don’t even know what that means.”

“Neither do I.”

Peter finally had something left to lose again.

And whoever was out there had just figured that out.

~~~~~

By the time Peter finally explained what was happening, the two of you were already halfway across New York.

Well “explained” was a generous term.

According to Peter, there was someone out there who could somehow speak through other people, someone who had spent the last few days following him, taunting him, and apparently taking a concerning interest in the fact that he’d started spending time with you.

According to you, that sounded completely insane. “You realize how crazy this sounds, right?”

Peter tightened his grip on the steering wheel, eyes fixed on the road ahead. “Trust me, I know.”

“No, because from my perspective, I went from studying for finals to being shoved into a car by Spider-Man because some random woman might be stalking us.”

“I’m not shoving you anywhere.”

“You practically dragged me out of the apartment.”

“You had, like, five minutes to pack.”

“Exactly.”

Peter let out an exhausted sigh.

The city lights reflected against the windshield as silence settled between you for a moment. You glanced over at him, finally getting a good look at his expression.

He looked terrified.

You looked away, staring out the window. “Who is she?”

Peter hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know her name?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“You’re Spider-Man.”

“Yeah, and believe it or not, I don’t actually know every single person in New York.”

You rolled your eyes, but the joke barely landed. It was obvious that his mind was somewhere else entirely.

The city slowly disappeared behind you, replaced by quieter streets and the dark outline of the harbor. After another few minutes, Peter pulled into a small dock.

You stepped out of the car and immediately froze.

Floating a few feet away from the pier was what looked like a tiny house sitting on top of a boat.

“Where are we?”

“It’s safer than the apartment.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Peter ignored you, already walking toward the dock.

“Peter!”

“I’m serious, Y/n.”

You quietly followed him down the dock.

The house itself was small, warm lights spilling out from the windows onto the water. Peter knocked twice before the door swung open, revealing a man who looked like he’d been expecting him.

The man’s eyes immediately landed on you. Then they shifted back to Peter.

“…You brought company.”

Peter sighed. “Frank, not now.”

“Oh, it’s definitely now.”

“Frank.”

You watched as Frank crossed his arms, trying to suppress an amused smile.

“So, let me get this straight.” He pointed between the two of you. “The world is apparently ending, and this is who you decided to bring to my place?”

“She’s my neighbor.”

Frank raised an eyebrow. “Uh-huh.”

Peter groaned. “Can you please not do this right now?”

“I’m just asking questions.”

You bit back a laugh as Peter shot Frank the most exhausted look you’d ever seen.

Frank stepped aside, letting the two of you inside before he disappeared into the kitchen.

“So,” he called out, “you want tea? Coffee? Emotional support?”

Peter buried his face in his hands. “Please stop talking.”

“I’m sensing coffee for the kid and emotional support for Spider-Man.”

You snorted.

Peter glared at both of you.

An hour later, after Frank had finally stopped making fun of him, the three of you sat around the tiny dining table.

Well, technically, Frank was sitting.

Peter had spent the last twenty minutes pacing back and forth.

“Peter, you’re making me dizzy.”

“I’m thinking.”

“You’re stomping.”

He ignored you.

Frank looked up from his coffee. “Kid, sit down before you wear a hole through my floor.”

Peter stopped pacing, but only because his phone buzzed.

He immediately grabbed it, eyes scanning the screen.

Nothing. Just a news notification.

You watched as he exhaled, disappointed. “You’ve checked your phone seventeen times in the last ten minutes.”

Peter frowned. “No, I haven’t.”

“You absolutely have.”

Frank looked between the two of you. “You guys do realize that you’re acting like a married couple, right?”

You nearly choked on your drink.

Peter looked ready to throw himself into the ocean. “We are not acting like a married couple.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“Frank.” Peter stood up so abruptly that his chair nearly fell over. “I need some air.”

Without another word, he stepped outside onto the dock.

You hesitated for a moment before quietly following him. The night air was colder now, carrying the scent of the ocean and the distant sounds of the city.

You walked up beside him, leaning against the railing.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Then, quietly, you asked, “How bad is it?”

Peter didn’t answer immediately. “I don’t know.”

You looked down at the dark sky in front. “You really think she want to hurt me?”

Peter’s jaw tightened. “I don’t know what she want.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

For the first time that night, Peter looked at you. The fear in his eyes caught you off guard.

“I can’t let anything happen to you.”

The words came out so quickly that it almost sounded like he’d been holding them in for hours.

You stared at him.

“I mean it.” He shook his head, frustrated with himself. “I spent years convincing myself that being alone was the only way to keep people safe, and then you came along and suddenly—”

He stopped himself.

Suddenly, he didn’t want to be alone anymore.

Suddenly, he had something to lose again.

The silence stretched between you.

You took a step closer. “Peter, look at me.”

He did.

“I’m scared too.”

His expression softened.

“But you don’t get to decide things for me.”

Peter frowned. “What?”

“You keep acting like you have to carry everyone else’s pain by yourself, like it’s your responsibility to decide who gets hurt and who doesn’t.” You shook your head. “But that’s not fair.”

“Y/n—”

“No, listen to me.” Your voice softened. “I know you’re trying to protect me. I know that. But I’m here because I chose to be here.”

Peter looked away. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

He stepped forward and gently squeezed your hand. Just for a second. Just long enough for both of you to freeze.

Peter pulled away almost immediately, looking just as shocked as you felt.

“I should go.”

And before you could respond, he turned and disappeared into the darkness, leaving you standing alone, watching the only person you’d ever trusted with your heart swing back toward a city that never stopped needing him.

~~~~~

The first thing Peter noticed was the silence.

It was wrong.

His suit was torn near the shoulder, bruises bloomed across his ribs, and every muscle in his body ached as he limped down the dock toward Frank’s home. The morning had blurred together into a mess of adrenaline and panic: tracking Jean across the city, realizing she had taken control of the Hulk, barely escaping the destruction that followed, and worse was that Jean managed to escape.

The lights inside the houseboat were still on.

Peter frowned. “Frank?”

No answer.

He climbed the last few steps and pushed the door open. “Frank, I’m back—”

The words died in his throat.

The living room was a disaster.

A chair had been knocked onto its side. One of the lamps lay shattered on the floor, glass scattered across the wood. Your backpack was gone.

And Frank was unconscious on the ground.

Peter’s heart stopped. “Frank!”

He dropped to his knees beside him, shaking his shoulder.

“Frank, hey, wake up. Come on, come on—”

Frank groaned, slowly opening his eyes. “Kid…?”

Peter let out a breath of relief, but it lasted less than a second. “Where’s Y/n?”

Frank blinked, still disoriented.

“She…” He winced, trying to sit up. “She was here.”

Peter felt the blood drain from his face. “What do you mean, ‘was here’?”

Frank looked around the room as though trying to piece everything together. “There was someone at the door. I thought it was you.”

Peter’s stomach dropped. “No.”

Frank swallowed hard. “Next thing I knew, she was acting strange. Said she had to go home.”

Peter stood up so fast that the room spun around him. “No, no, no—”

“Hey—”

“No.”

He was already reaching for his phone, hands shaking so violently that he nearly dropped it.

Twenty-three missed calls.

And then a message.

Sent ten minutes ago.

From you.

hey :) im back at the apartment. can you come over? we should talk.

Peter stared at the screen. Every instinct in his body screamed at him that something was wrong. You never used smiley faces.

Frank had managed to sit up now, watching Peter’s expression darken. “What’s going on?”

Peter was already backing toward the door. “She’s not there.”

Frank frowned. “What?”

“That’s not her.”

The realization hit him all at once.

Jean hadn’t been captured.

And while Peter had been busy trying to save the city, she’d gone after the one person he had been trying to protect.

~~~~~

The city became nothing but streaks of light as Peter swung through the night.

His breathing was ragged beneath the mask, every thought in his head collapsing into one singular fear.

You.

Every second felt like an eternity. Every red light, every building, every street corner seemed to move too slowly.

Please be okay.

He landed outside the apartment building so hard that several people on the sidewalk screamed and jumped back.

He sprinted through the lobby, ignoring the confused stares around him as he practically launched himself into the stairwell.

The elevator would take too long. By the time he reached your floor, his lungs were burning.

The hallway was empty. Your apartment door was slightly open.

Peter’s heartbeat pounded in his ears. “Y/n?”

No answer.

He stepped inside cautiously. The lights were off except for the glow of the city spilling through the windows. The apartment was silent.

“Y/n?” Then he saw you.

Standing by the window. Your back was turned toward him, your silhouette framed by the lights of the city below.

Relief crashed over him so quickly that his knees nearly gave out. “Oh my God.”

You slowly turned around.

For a brief moment, everything seemed normal.

“Peter.” The sound of your voice almost made him collapse.

He took a step forward. “Are you okay? Frank said that you left and then you texted me and I—”

“I’m okay.” Something about your tone made him stop.

It was your voice. But it didn’t sound like you.

Too empty.

Peter’s entire body tensed. “Y/n…”

“You’re worried.” You tilted your head slightly.

Peter took another cautious step. “Come away from the window.”

A smile spread across your face.

Except it wasn’t your smile.

“No.”

The room suddenly felt ten degrees colder.

Peter’s heart sank. “Jean.”

Your smile widened. “There he is.”

Peter felt sick. “Get out of her head.”

“Oh, Peter.” Jean’s voice echoed through your lips. “You’re making this far too easy.”

Peter couldn’t take his eyes off you.

You were standing much too close to the edge.

“Whatever you want, this has nothing to do with her.”

Jean laughed. “Nothing to do with her?”

Your body turned slightly, glancing out at the city below.

“You spent years convincing yourself that isolation would protect the people you love.” Jean’s voice softened. “And then she smiled at you in an elevator.”

Peter’s chest tightened. “Stop.”

“You let her in.”

“Stop talking.”

“You gave yourself something to lose.”

“Jean, stop!”

For the first time, something flickered in your expression.

For a split second, Peter saw you.

Really saw you.

Terrified. “Peter?”

The fear in your voice was unmistakably yours. Peter immediately stepped forward. “Y/n, listen to me. I’m right here.”

Your eyes darted around the room frantically. “W-what’s happening?”

Then your expression changed again.

Jean was back. And this time, she was smiling.

“Tell me, Peter.” You took a step backward. Right onto the ledge. “How many people can Spider-Man save before he finally fails?”

Peter’s blood ran cold. “No.”

“How many times can Peter Parker lose the people he loves before he breaks?”

“Jean, don’t do this.”

For the first time all night, Jean’s voice lost its mocking tone.

“I just want you to understand.” Instead, she sounded almost sad.

And then you fell.

“Y/N!”

Peter didn’t think. Didn’t breathe. Didn’t hesitate. He ran.

The window shattered behind him as he launched himself into the open air, diving after you as the city lights blurred together beneath him.

Wind roared in your ears. For a moment, there was nothing.

Then suddenly—consciousness.

You blinked. And realized you were falling.

The scream that tore from your throat was filled with pure terror. “Peter!”

You couldn’t breathe. The ground was getting closer. And then strong arms wrapped around you.

You collided against Peter’s chest as he wrapped his body around yours and shot a web into the nearest building, swinging both of you away from the street below.

You clung to him instantly, shaking so violently that you could barely form words.

“Oh my god—oh my god—”

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, I’ve got you.” Peter’s voice was panicked too.

One hand held the web. The other was wrapped so tightly around you that it almost hurt.

You buried your face against his shoulder, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“I don’t—I don’t know what happened—”

“I know.”

“I was in the boat and then—and then—”

“I know.” Peter’s voice cracked.

Because for one horrifying moment, he hadn’t known if he’d make it in time.

And as he held you against him, thirty stories above New York City, Peter Parker made himself a promise.

Whatever happened next, whatever it took, he would never let you go again.

~~~~~

The rooftop was silent except for the sound of your uneven breathing and the distant hum of New York below.

Peter still hadn’t let go of you.

Not since he’d caught you.

Not since he’d felt your fingers clutch desperately at his suit thirty stories above the ground.

You sat beside him now, shoulders pressed together, both of you staring at the skyline as the first hints of sunrise painted the clouds orange.

Neither of you knew what to say.

Because how were you supposed to act normal after something like that?

“Peter…”

He didn’t look at you. “I’m sorry.”

You frowned. “Why do you keep apologizing?”

“Because I should’ve protected you.”

“You did protect me.”

“No.” He shook his head, his voice cracking. “I was supposed to keep this from happening in the first place.”

You turned toward him. “Hey, that’s impossible.”

He laughed bitterly, staring down at his hands. “Yeah, well, I’ve spent the last four years trying to do the impossible.”

The words hung between you.

You watched him quietly, noticing the way his shoulders sagged beneath the weight of everything he carried.

“You know that’s not your fault, right?” you whispered.

Peter finally looked at you. The expression on his face almost broke your heart.

“After May… after MJ and Ned…” He swallowed hard. “I promised myself that I would never do this again.”

“Do what?”

Peter let out a shaky breath. “Care.”

You felt your heart stop.

“Because every single person I’ve ever loved…” His voice dropped to almost a whisper. “I’ve lost them somehow.”

“Peter—”

“And then you showed up.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head.

“You kept talking to me in elevators when I clearly didn’t want to talk. You kept making fun of me. You kept showing up with coffee and stupid jokes, and…” He looked at you, eyes shining in the early morning light. “Somehow, you made me forget what it felt like to be alone.”

You couldn’t speak.

“I tried to stay away from you.” He shook his head. “I really did.”

Your eyes welled with tears.

“But every time you smiled at me, every time you waited for me to come home, every time you sat next to me on that fire escape…” He laughed weakly. “It just got harder.”

The silence between you became unbearable.

And then Peter whispered the words he’d spent months trying not to feel.

“I love you.”

The world seemed to stop. Peter immediately looked away, almost like he regretted saying it.

“I know it’s selfish,” he continued quickly. “And maybe I shouldn’t have said anything because everything in my life is complicated and dangerous and honestly, I don’t even know what tomorrow looks like, but when I saw you falling—”

His voice broke.

“When I saw you falling, the only thing I could think was that I never told you.”

Peter let out a shaky breath, staring at the city because he couldn’t bear to look at your reaction.

“I love you,” he whispered again. “And that’s the scariest thing that’s happened to me in years.”

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then you reached for his hand.

Peter looked down, almost surprised to find your fingers intertwined with his.

“Peter Parker,” you whispered, squeezing his hand, “you are such an idiot.”

He blinked. “That’s not exactly the response I was expecting.”

You laughed and shook your head. “Because I’ve been in love with you since before I even knew you were Spider-Man.”

Peter just stared.

“You brought me coffee before my exams, sat with me when I was lonely, and somehow made me feel at home in a city that never felt like mine.” You smiled softly. “I didn’t fall in love with Spider-Man.”

You stepped a little closer.

“I fell in love with the awkward guy from the elevator.”

Peter’s eyes immediately filled with tears.

And for the first time since the spell, since May, since losing everyone he’d ever loved, Peter allowed himself to believe that maybe losing people wasn’t the only ending he deserved.

He laughed shakily, pressing his forehead against yours.

“You have terrible taste in men.”