âThatâs not true,â she laughs lightly and leans her head against the crook of his shoulder to look up at him slightly. âYou beat me on that last test. I royally messed up that last question â ugh, I felt so stupid afterwards. I knew I should have gone with my gut, but I second guessed myself and lost the points.â Gwen sighs dramatically as though this is her biggest problem in life when it clearly isnât. For one Peter is about to fall over judging from the ghostly white coloring of his already pale complexion. Having an unconscious Peter Parker in her living room wouldnât be any more convenient than one at the library.
People look at them curiously as they walk, but in typical New York City fashion just ignore what seems a little off.
âWould you say you have a photographic memory?â Heâs intelligent enough to possess one, but sheâs never asked before. Gwen doesnât; hers is more like a library she skims along until she finds the right book to read the answers. As a champion of the debate team he has rapid thinking capability. It could be assumed someone whoâs intelligence is always on hand would avoid all the physical accidents he gets into, but black eyes and bruised ribs disprove that logic. Just because someone is smart doesnât mean they are wise.
Reaching her building the doorman holds open one of the large glass doors and offers to help the couple. Thereâs really no point since Peterâs free side is injured so he canât lean support in anyone else the way he was with her. They are almost to her place as it is.
Digging her keys out of her backpack at the door Gwen fumbles in securing the apartment key, worrying that she had to let Peter go to open the lock.
âYou can sit wherever you like.â She offers once she manages to unlock the door properly and carry their bags inside to place by the dining room table.
Peter focuses on how Gwenâs head presses against his shoulder, looking up at him as Peter tries to keep himself upright. âDid I beat you? I donât remember beating you,â he says, glad to have her words to focus on, keeping her voice playing in his head. âThe last question sucked,â Peter says, vaguely recalling it in his current, somewhat mangled state. âIt took me a while, to be honest. I felt like he was trying to trick us with it, or something,â he says, trying to make Gwen feel better about it. He really doesnât see it, the intelligence Gwen and claims to see in him.
Sometimes, he isnât all that smart. Like when he rips his arm over from the broken class of a passenger door of a car, saving a small girl. That, isnât all that smart. And now Gwen has to suffer with the consequences and help patch him up.
Peter blinks, pausing for a moment. âI donât think so,â he says, shaking his head for a moment. âItâs more of like - I donât know. It just makes sense to me, all those equations, I guess. It sounds stupid, I know,â Peter says, knowing heâs uselessly rambling now. And poor, helpful Gwen has to listen to him. Peter pityâs her more than anyone, really.
Once they make it into the apartment, Peter feels a little more relief, no longer wandering around the school or library where he couldâve easily passed out. He sits on the couch in the living room, rolling up the sleeve of his shirt. He moves slowly, making sure not to stain anything in Gwenâs place with his blood. âIâm sorry, about all this,â he says, looking back over at her.
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