msparanoidd

His Personality in the Relationship

Reese Wilkerson is still chaotic…dating you does not fix that

He’s loud, impulsive, and makes questionable decisions—but now you’re part of them

Somehow expects you to back him up even when he’s clearly wrong

How He Shows He Likes You

He doesn’t say sweet things often, but his actions are obvious

Shares food without making a big deal out of it (this is basically a love confession for him)

Stays near you all the time—even if he’s pretending he’s there for something else

Communication Style

Not good with feelings at all

Gets defensive if things get too emotional

But if it really matters, he will listen—just in his own stubborn way

His Humor With You

Constant teasing, sarcasm, and fake insults

If he stops joking with you, something’s wrong

Lowkey loves when you clap back and match his energy

Protective Energy

Always watching your surroundings, even if he looks distracted

If someone crosses a line, he steps in immediately

Doesn’t make a big speech about it—just handles it

Jealousy

Gets jealous easily but refuses to admit it

Acts more annoying and clingy instead of honest

Will try to prove he’s “better” than whoever has your attention

Physical Affection

Not super openly affectionate in a soft way

More like nudging you, pulling you closer, casual contact

But when you’re alone, he’s a lot more relaxed about it

Softer Side

Shows up when things are quiet

Late at night or when you’re alone together, he’s calmer and more real

Says things he’d never admit during the day

Arguments

He can be stubborn and quick-tempered

Says things without thinking, then regrets it later

Usually makes up for it through actions instead of apologizing properly

Loyalty

Once he’s with you, he’s locked in

Doesn’t play games with other people

You noticed the distance before you understood it, but even then, you didn’t let yourself believe it was real.

At first, it felt like nothing—just small shifts, the kind that happen naturally when life gets busy and people get tired. Samira stopped lingering after her shifts. That was the first thing you clocked, though you didn’t think much of it at the time. She used to hover like she had nowhere better to be, leaning against the counter with her arms crossed, watching you finish charting with that quiet patience she pretended not to have. Sometimes she’d scroll through her phone, sometimes she’d just stand there, glancing up every few seconds like she was making sure you hadn’t disappeared.

“Walk me out?” she’d ask, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t been waiting specifically for that.

And you always said yes.

It became routine without either of you acknowledging it. You’d finish up, grab your things, and fall into step beside her, shoulders brushing every so often as you made your way through the dim hospital corridors. The conversations were never particularly important—complaints about patients, half-formed thoughts about your futures, random jokes that only made sense because you were both so exhausted—but they mattered in a way neither of you ever said out loud.

Those walks were yours.

Now they weren’t.

Now she clocked out right on time, slipping out before you even realized she was gone. The first time it happened, you assumed she was in a rush. The second time, you figured maybe she had plans. By the fifth time, the pattern was too obvious to ignore, but even then, you told yourself you were overthinking it.

Because the alternative felt worse.

The texts changed next.

That was harder to explain away.

Samira had never been the most consistent texter, but when it came to you, there was always an effort. Late-night messages, random check-ins, things that didn’t need to be said but were said anyway. You got used to seeing her name light up your screen at odd hours, used to the rhythm of her thoughts spilling into your phone when the rest of the world was quiet.

At some point, that stopped.

Not completely—never completely—but enough that you noticed. Her replies got shorter, more delayed, like you were slipping down a list of priorities she didn’t have time to explain. Conversations that used to stretch for hours now died after a few messages, replaced by silence that felt heavier than it should’ve.

You tried not to take it personally.

You failed.

Because this wasn’t just anyone.

This was Samira.

And Samira didn’t just drift.

She chose.

That was what made it hurt.

It took you three weeks to say something. Three weeks of watching her pull away in careful, deliberate increments. Three weeks of pretending you didn’t notice, of swallowing questions before they could reach your lips, of convincing yourself that if you just gave her space, she’d come back on her own.

She didn’t.

So you cornered her in the supply room.

Not because you planned it. Not because you had some speech prepared or a clear idea of what you wanted to say. It just happened. You saw her slipping inside, alone for once, and something in your chest snapped tight enough that you couldn’t ignore it anymore.

The door clicked shut behind you, louder than it should’ve been, and the sound made her pause.

“Are you avoiding me?”

The question came out before you could soften it.

Samira stilled, her back to you, hand hovering midair as she reached for a box of gloves. For a moment, she didn’t turn around, and that hesitation hit harder than anything she could’ve said.

“…No,” she answered finally.

It wasn’t convincing.

“You’re a terrible liar,” you said, the words steady even if your chest wasn’t.

That got her to turn.

You almost wished it hadn’t.

Because you knew her. You knew the way she carried herself, the way she held eye contact like it was a challenge, like she didn’t back down from anything. But now her gaze flickered, just slightly, like she couldn’t quite hold onto it.

Like you were something she was trying not to look at too closely.

“I’m not avoiding you,” she said again, softer this time.

“Then what is it?” you asked, sharper than you intended. “Because you don’t text anymore, you barely talk to me unless it’s about work, and you stopped—”

You cut yourself off before you said too much.

Before you said you stopped choosing me.

Her expression shifted anyway, like she heard it.

Silence stretched between you, heavy and thick, filling the small room until it felt impossible to breathe around it.

“I’m leaving.”

The words were quiet.

Simple.

Devastating.

They didn’t land right away. Your brain lagged behind, trying to make sense of something that didn’t fit into the version of reality you’d been clinging to.

“…What?”

“I put in a transfer,” she said, like it was nothing, like she hadn’t just pulled the ground out from under you. “It’s been in the works for a while.”

A while.

The phrase echoed in your head, sharp and disorienting.

“A while?” you repeated. “Since when is a while, Samira?”

She hesitated.

Just long enough.

And everything clicked.

The distance. The fading texts. The way she’d been stepping back before you even realized there was something to step back from.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, the realization settling heavy in your chest. “You’ve known.”

“It wasn’t finalized—”

“You’ve known,” you said again, louder now. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want to—”

“Didn’t want to what?” you cut in, anger rising because it was easier than anything else. “Tell me? Or deal with this?”

Her jaw tightened. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You stepped closer without thinking, frustration pushing you forward. “Because it feels like you just decided to disappear and hoped I wouldn’t notice.”

“I’m not disappearing.”

“You’re leaving the hospital, Samira!”

“And I’ll still exist outside of it,” she snapped, but it didn’t land.

Because you just shook your head, something aching in your chest.

“That’s not the same and you know it.”

It wasn’t just about the building. It was about everything tied to it. The late nights. The shared exhaustion. The quiet moments that only existed because you were both there, in the same place, at the same time.

That was where you happened.

“You didn’t even think I deserved to know,” you said, quieter now.

“I did. I do.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me?”

She looked away.

And that was your answer.

“Because this—” she gestured between you “—is exactly why.”

Your stomach dropped. “…What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means this wasn’t supposed to turn into something that made leaving hard.”

The words hit harder than you expected, knocking something loose inside you.

“Wow.”

“I’m serious,” she said, like she couldn’t stop now. “We said no strings. No expectations. Just… whatever this is.”

“A situationship,” you said flatly.

She winced. “Yeah.”

“And you think that means it doesn’t matter?”

“I think it means we knew what we were doing.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Did we?”

Because somewhere along the way, it had stopped being casual for you.

You didn’t know exactly when. Maybe it was the night she fell asleep on your shoulder in the break room, her head heavy against you while the fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. Maybe it was the time she showed up with your favorite snack after a brutal shift, tossing it onto the table like it wasn’t a big deal even though she’d clearly gone out of her way.

Or maybe it was something smaller. The way she always found you in a crowded room. The way her gaze lingered just a second longer than necessary. The way she said your name like it meant something.

You thought she felt it too.

“You’re acting like this is easy for me,” Samira said, pulling you back.

“Is it not?”

She hesitated.

And that was enough.

“God, Samira…” You dragged a hand through your hair, frustration bleeding into something softer. “You’re really just going to walk away like none of this mattered?”

“It does matter,” she said quickly. “That’s the problem.”

“Then stay.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

They hung there between you, heavier than anything else that had been said.

Samira stilled, like the entire world had narrowed down to that one sentence.

“Stay,” you repeated, quieter now. “If it matters, then don’t go.”

For a moment—just a moment—you thought she might.

Something in her expression shifted, something raw and unguarded breaking through the careful composure she’d been holding onto.

But then she shook her head.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because this place…” she exhaled, and the fight drained out of her voice. “It’s not good for me anymore.”

Your anger faltered.

“What?”

“I’m burning out,” she admitted. “I can’t sleep. I can’t think. And every time I walk in here, it feels like I’m just waiting to mess up.”

“That’s not true—”

“It is to me,” she said, cutting you off gently this time. “And that’s enough.”

You didn’t know how to argue with that.

Didn’t know how to fix something that wasn’t about you.

But it still hurt.

“You could’ve told me.”

“I know.”

“I could’ve helped.”

“I know.”

“Then why didn’t you let me?”

She swallowed, her voice quieter than you’d ever heard it.

“Because if I let you, I wouldn’t be able to leave.”

The truth settled between you, heavy and undeniable.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Because it meant you mattered.

Just not enough.

You took a step back, putting space between you before you did something you couldn’t take back.

“You don’t even want to try,” you said.

“That’s not fair.”

“Then what is it?” Your voice cracked despite your effort to hold it together. “Because it feels like you already decided I’m something you can live without.”

She flinched. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Silence stretched again, longer this time, like something was ending and neither of you wanted to acknowledge it.

“They approved the transfer,” she said eventually. “I leave in two weeks.”

Two weeks.

Fourteen days.

It didn’t feel like enough time.

“…Okay.”

The word felt small. Insufficient. But it was all you could manage.

She looked like she wanted to say more, like there were words sitting just beneath the surface that she couldn’t quite bring herself to say.

But she didn’t.

“Are we… okay?” she asked quietly.

The question almost made you laugh.

“Yeah,” you said.

You lied.

Because what else could you do?

Ask her to stay again? Beg her to choose you over everything else?

No.

If she was going to leave, you weren’t going to make it harder for her.

Even if it destroyed you.

She nodded slowly, like she didn’t quite believe you, but she accepted it anyway.

That was the thing about the two of you.

Always almost.

Always just enough to feel real.

Never enough to actually be something.

“Okay,” she said.

And then she walked out.

The absence she left behind felt immediate, like the air had shifted the moment the door closed.

You stayed there longer than you meant to, staring at nothing, trying to process something that refused to settle.

Two weeks.

You didn’t know what to do with that.

The first time you met Samira, you didn’t think she’d matter.

She was just another face in the chaos of the Pitt, another person moving quickly through crowded hallways, focused and distant in a way that made her seem untouchable.

It wasn’t until later that you realized how wrong you were.

You remembered the first time she really talked to you. Not just a quick exchange or a passing comment, but an actual conversation. It had been late, well past the point where either of you should’ve still been functioning properly. You were both exhausted, running on caffeine and adrenaline, and somehow that made it easier.

She’d leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching you with a quiet curiosity.

“You always stay this late?” she’d asked.

“Only when I have no self-preservation,” you’d replied.

She’d huffed a small laugh at that, something soft and unexpected.

“Good to know I’m not the only one.”

That was how it started.

Not with anything dramatic or obvious.

Just two people, too tired to keep their guard up.

Later that night, the subway felt too loud.

Too crowded.

Too full of people who weren’t her.

You sat by the window, staring at your reflection in the dark glass, watching the city blur past in streaks of light and shadow.

Everything felt off.

Like something had shifted just slightly out of place.

Two weeks.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Did you get home okay?

The message sat there, simple and normal, like nothing had changed.

Like she hadn’t just told you she was leaving.

You stared at it for a long time, your thumb hovering over the screen.

You typed.

Deleted.

Typed again.

Yeah.

Three letters.

That was all you could manage.

The typing bubble appeared.

Disappeared.

Appeared again.

And then—

Nothing.

The train rattled on, the steady rhythm filling the silence she’d left behind.

Stops passed one after another, people getting on and off, life continuing like nothing had changed.

But everything had.

Because somewhere between one station and the next, the realization settled in your chest, heavy and unavoidable.

She wasn’t just leaving the Pitt.

She was leaving you.

And the worst part?

You were going to let her.

Because that’s what this was.

No strings.

No expectations.

No reason for her to stay.

Still, as the train disappeared into the dark tunnel, one thought lingered, louder than all the others.

The house was too quiet.

Reese knew that meant something was wrong.

In the Wilkerson house, silence didn’t exist unless it was hiding something—like when Dewey was being suspiciously well-behaved, or Malcolm had locked himself in his room to spiral about something nobody else cared about, or Hal and Lois were having one of those weird, intense whisper-fights that somehow felt louder than yelling.

But tonight?

Nothing.

No chaos. No noise. No flying objects.

Just silence. Reese lay flat on his back, staring at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed him.

“This sucks,” he muttered.

He flipped onto his side.

Then onto his stomach.

Then back again.

Still bored.

Still restless. Still thinking. And that was the real problem. Because lately, whenever things got quiet, his brain did this annoying thing where it drifted to the same place.

To the same person.

You.

Reese groaned, dragging his pillow over his face like that might suffocate the thought out of existence.

“Nope. Not doing this,” he mumbled into the fabric. “Not thinking about them. Not happening.”

He lasted about thirty seconds.

Then—

“What if they’re awake?”

He froze.

Sat up. Stared at the wall.

“…This is stupid.” It was stupid. It was late. Normal people were asleep. Normal people didn’t sneak across neighborhoods in the middle of the night just because they couldn’t stop thinking about someone.

Reese was not normal people.He swung his legs off the bed.Sneaking out wasn’t hard. Reese had been doing it for years—mostly for bad decisions, occasionally for worse ones. The trick was knowing which floorboards creaked, how to open the window without it making that awful screeching sound, and how to land without breaking something important.

He moved through the house like a shadow—or at least like a slightly clumsy shadow who knew how to avoid the worst mistakes.

Malcolm’s door was shut.

Dewey’s too.

From down the hall, he could hear faint snoring—probably Hal and Lois’s.That one, he avoided like it was a live wire.

He slipped into the kitchen, grabbed a hoodie off the back of a chair, and shoved it on as he made his way to the back window.He paused, hand on the frame.

“…I could just go back to bed.”

He didn’t. The night air hit him immediately—cool, sharp, and way too awake.

Reese shoved his hands into his hoodie pocket as he walked, kicking a loose rock down the sidewalk like it had personally offended him.

The neighborhood was quiet.

Streetlights flickered. A dog barked somewhere in the distance. A car passed once, headlights sweeping across the pavement before disappearing again. Everything felt… slower.

Like the world had finally stopped yelling for a second.

Reese wasn’t used to that. He wasn’t sure if he liked it. But he kept walking anyway. By the time he reached your house, his confidence had… significantly decreased. Which was saying something. He stopped on the sidewalk, staring up at your window.

“…Okay,” he whispered to himself. “If they’re asleep, I’m leaving.”

He nodded, like that was a solid plan. Then immediately didn’t follow it. He crouched down, grabbed a small rock, and tossed it lightly toward your window. Missed.

“…Wow.”

Another one.

Tap.

He froze.

Nothing.

“…Yeah, they’re definitely asleep. Cool. Great. Awesome. I’m leaving.” He did not move. A few seconds passed. Then—

Your window slid open.

Reese straightened so fast he almost tripped over himself.

You leaned out slightly, squinting into the dark.

“…Reese?”

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of everything—his posture, his voice, the fact that this was possibly the dumbest thing he’d ever done.

“Hey,” he said, like this was casual. Like he showed up outside your house at night all the time.

You blinked at him.“What are you doing here?”

He shrugged. “Breaking multiple laws. Wanna come outside?”

There was a pause.

“…That’s your explanation?”

“Yeah.”

You stared at him for a second longer. Then shook your head slightly, like you couldn’t believe him.

“…Give me two minutes.”

Reese tried not to react. Failed immediately.

“Cool,” he said, a little too fast.

Your window shut. And just like that, he was alone again. Except now his heart was beating way faster than it had any right to.

“…Okay,” he muttered. “Don’t make this weird.”

You found him in your backyard. Because of course you did.

Reese was sprawled out on the grass like he’d lived there his entire life, one arm behind his head, staring up at the sky like he had nowhere else to be.

You crossed your arms, trying to ignore the fact that you’d actually come outside.

“Wow,” you said. “You broke into my yard too?”

He didn’t even look at you.

“It’s not breaking in if there’s no fence.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Agree to disagree.”

You shook your head, but sat down anyway.

Not too close. But not far either. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The sky stretched endlessly above you—dark, deep, scattered with stars that felt brighter away from the usual noise and light of everything else.

Reese glanced at you. Quick. Then back at the sky. Then again.

“…You ever just look at it and feel like…” He trailed off, frowning slightly. “Like everything’s kinda… big?”

You turned your head toward him, surprised. Reese didn’t usually sound like that.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “All the time.”

He nodded, like that mattered more than he expected.

“Good,” he muttered. “So I’m not going insane.”

“Oh, you definitely are,” you said. “Just not because of that.”

He snorted.

And just like that, the tension eased. You leaned back onto the grass, staring up at the stars. Reese hesitated for a second—then did the same. Now your shoulders were just barely brushing. Neither of you commented on it.

“So,” you said after a moment, “what made you come here tonight?”

Reese didn’t answer right away. He picked at a loose thread on his sleeve, pulling at it like it had personally offended him.

“…Didn’t wanna be at home.” It was simple. Too simple. But you didn’t push.

Instead, you asked, “Then why here?”

That made him pause.

Really pause.

“…You’re easy to be around.”

The words came out quieter than usual. Less defensive. You blinked, caught off guard. Reese immediately stiffened like he’d said something wrong

.“Not like—easy easy,” he added quickly. “Just—less annoying than everyone else.”

You smiled a little

.“Wow. I feel so special.”

“You should.” The quiet that followed wasn’t awkward.It was… different. Comfortable. The kind of quiet that didn’t demand to be filled.

“Do you ever think about the future?” you asked.

Reese groaned instantly.“Ugh. No. That sounds like a Malcolm thing.”

“Come on,” you nudged him lightly. “Just try.”

He sighed dramatically.“…I dunno. People keep acting like I’m gonna mess everything up.”

You turned your head toward him again. There was no joke in his voice this time.

“That’s not true.”

He shrugged.“I mean… I kinda do mess everything up.”

The honesty in that hit differently. You looked back at the sky.

“I don’t think you’re as bad as everyone says.”

He huffed.“Yeah? You’re like… the only one.”

“Maybe I’m the only one paying attention.”

That made him go quiet.

“…What about you?” he asked after a moment.

You took a breath.

“I don’t know exactly,” you admitted. “I just… want something that feels like mine. Like I actually chose it.”

Reese nodded slowly.

“…Yeah.”

Another pause. Then—

“…You think people like me get that?”

You didn’t hesitate.“Yeah. I do.”

He turned his head toward you. “Why?”

“Because you care more than you pretend to.”

Reese blinked. Like that hadn’t ever been said to him before. And for once—He didn’t joke.

For a while, neither of you said anything. Not because there was nothing to say.But because somehow… it didn’t feel necessary. The night wrapped around you both in this quiet, steady way—the kind that made everything else feel far away. No expectations. No noise. No labels. Just you. And him.

And the sky stretching endlessly above. Reese shifted slightly beside you, like he was trying to get comfortable but didn’t want to make it obvious. His arm brushed yours again. This time, neither of you moved.

“…So what, you just couldn’t sleep?” you asked after a while, your voice softer now.

Reese exhaled through his nose.“Yeah. That—and my brain wouldn’t shut up.”

You smiled faintly.

“Didn’t know you had that problem.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “I don’t usually.”

There was a pause. Then, quieter—

“…It’s been happening more.”

You turned your head slightly toward him, but didn’t interrupt. Reese wasn’t the kind of person who talked like this often.If you pushed too hard, he’d shut down.

“…It’s stupid,” he added quickly, like he needed to take it back.

“Just… stuff.”“Stuff?” you echoed.

“Yeah. Stuff.”

You waited.

He lasted about five seconds.“…Like what I’m gonna do after school,” he admitted.

“Or if I’m just gonna end up… I don’t know. Working some random job I hate.”

He picked at the grass now, pulling up a piece and tossing it aside.

“Everyone else has some kind of thing. Malcolm’s got his genius thing, Dewey’s… weird but in a way people like, even Francis somehow figured stuff out…”He huffed.

“And I’m just… me.”

You didn’t respond right away. Not because you didn’t know what to say. But because you wanted to say it right.

“You’re not ‘just you,’” you said finally. He snorted.

“Yeah, I am.”

“No,” you said, more firmly now. “You’re you. That’s different.”

He turned his head toward you again, eyebrows pulling together slightly.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does,” you said. “You just don’t see it.”

He stared at you for a second like he was trying to figure out if you were serious.

“…You’re weird,” he decided.

You smiled. “Yeah. And you still came here.”

“Yeah, well,” he muttered, looking away again, “you didn’t kick me out.”

A breeze moved through the yard, soft and cool. You pulled your sleeves down over your hands slightly, and Reese noticed. Without saying anything, he shifted—just a little closer. Not enough to make it obvious. Just enough that the warmth was there.

“Do you ever feel like…” you started, then hesitated. “Like what?”

You stared up at the stars, tracing invisible lines between them.

“Like you’re supposed to be something more, but you don’t know what it is yet?”

Reese didn’t answer right away.

“…Yeah,” he said finally.

Quiet. Honest.

“Like there’s something you’re good at, but nobody’s given you the chance to figure it out.”

That hit a little harder than you expected.

You turned your head slightly.

“I think you already have things you’re good at.”

He let out a short laugh.

“Yeah? Like what—getting into trouble?”

You didn’t smile this time.

“You’re loyal.”

He went still.

“You don’t give up on people,” you continued. “Even when you act like you don’t care.”

He didn’t interrupt. Didn’t joke. Didn’t deflect.

“…And you notice things,” you added. “More than people think you do.”

There was a long pause. Reese swallowed slightly, his jaw tightening—not in a defensive way this time, but like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“…You’re wrong,” he muttered, but it didn’t sound convincing.

“I’m not.” Another pause. Then—

“…Nobody’s ever said that before.”

Your chest tightened just a little.

“Then they weren’t paying attention.”

A sudden thud came from somewhere nearby. Both of you froze. Reese sat up instantly.

“What was that?”

“I don’t know,” you whispered, sitting up too.

Another sound—like something hitting a fence or knocking over a trash can. Reese squinted into the darkness.

“…Probably just a raccoon.”

“That doesn’t make it better.”

“It’s fine,” he said, already standing up. “If it tries anything, I’ll fight it.”

You stared at him.

“You are not fighting a raccoon.”

“I could take it.”

“No, you couldn’t.”

“It’s basically a tiny trash goblin.”

“And you’d still lose.”

He looked offended.“I would not lose.”

“You absolutely would.”

“…Okay, maybe if it had backup.”

You laughed quietly, and just like that, the tension broke again. Reese smirked a little, clearly satisfied with himself. He sat back down beside you, a little closer this time without even pretending otherwise. Your shoulders touched again. Stayed that way.

“…Hey,” he said after a moment.

“Yeah?”

He hesitated. Then—

“If I did end up… you know. Nowhere special.”

You frowned slightly.

“What does that mean?”

“Like,” he shrugged, “if I don’t figure anything out. If I just… stay the same.”You didn’t let him finish that thought.

“You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

He looked at you again.“Why are you so sure?”

You met his eyes this time. Because this mattered.

“Because you showed up here tonight.”

He blinked.“What?”

“You could’ve stayed home. Done nothing. Ignored everything you’re feeling.” You gestured lightly around you.“But you didn’t. You did something different.”

He frowned slightly, like he was trying to follow.

“That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does,” you said. “It means you don’t want to stay the same.”

That… landed. You could see it. In the way he went quiet.In the way his usual defenses didn’t immediately come back up.

“…I didn’t think about it like that,” he admitted.

“I know.”

The stars seemed brighter now. Or maybe it just felt that way. A streak of light suddenly cut across the sky. Fast. Sharp. Gone in a second. You gasped, sitting up slightly.

“Did you see that?!”

Reese sat up too, eyes wide.

“Yeah—yeah, I saw it!”

“That was a shooting star!”

He grinned, a little surprised at himself.

“That was actually… really cool.” You gave him a look.

“Say that again.”

“No.”

“Say it.”

“I’m not saying it again.”

“You just did.”

“Yeah, once. That’s enough.”

You laughed, and he shook his head, but there was a small smile there now.“Make a wish,” you said.

Reese snorted.

“What am I, five?”

“Just do it.”

“No.”

“Reese.”

He groaned.“Fine. But I’m not telling you what it is.”

“Deal.”

You both closed your eyes for a second. Just a second. Then opened them again.

“…What’d you wish for?” he asked immediately.

“You just said you weren’t telling.”

“Yeah, but you can tell me.”

“That’s not how that works.”

“Wow. Betrayal.”You smiled.

“What about you?”

He hesitated. Then shrugged.

“…Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Liar.”

He smirked slightly.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

The night stretched on. Minutes blending into something softer. Quieter. At some point, your hand shifted slightly in the grass. And brushed his. He froze.You did too. For a second, it felt like everything stopped.Like even the air was waiting. Reese glanced at you. You glanced at him. Neither of you moved away .Slowly—carefully—his hand shifted just enough so that your fingers were barely touching. Not fully holding. Just there. Present. Real.

And for once— Reese didn’t ruin it. Didn’t joke. Didn’t pull away. He just stayed.

“…Hey,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?”

His voice was different now. Lower. More serious.

“If you ever, like… actually get out of here.”

You frowned slightly.

“What do you mean?”

“Like,” he shrugged, “you go do something big. Important. Whatever it is you want.”

You stayed quiet, listening.

“…Don’t forget me, okay?”

That hit deeper than he probably meant it to.You turned your head toward him fully now.

“I won’t.”

He looked at you. Really looked.

“Promise?” You didn’t hesitate. “Promise.” He nodded once. Like that was enough. Then, after a beat—

“…Also, if you get rich, you have to give me money.”

You laughed, the moment breaking just enough.

“There it is.”

“Hey, I have priorities.”

But even as you laughed—He didn’t move his hand.And neither did you. Time passed in that strange, quiet way it only did at night. Where minutes didn’t feel like minutes.

Where everything softened around the edges. Where the world felt smaller—but somehow bigger at the same time. Your hand was still next to his. Barely touching. But enough. Reese hadn’t moved it. And honestly—that alone felt like something important.

“…What time is it?” you asked quietly.

Reese squinted up at the sky like that was going to help.

“Late.”

“Wow. Super helpful.”

“I try.”

You huffed a small laugh, but neither of you really cared. Checking the time would make it real. Would remind you that this night had an end. And neither of you seemed ready for that. A faint sound came from inside your house. Footsteps. Both of you froze instantly.

“…Was that—” you started.

“Yeah,” Reese whispered. “That’s definitely a person.”

You sat up, heart suddenly racing.

“Oh my god—if that’s my parents—”

Reese was already moving, grabbing your wrist and pulling you down slightly.

“Get down.”

You dropped back into the grass with him, both of you instinctively going still. The backyard suddenly felt way too exposed. A light flicked on inside.

Then off. The footsteps moved again… then faded. Silence. You both stayed frozen for a few seconds longer. Just in case.

“…Okay,” Reese whispered finally. “I think we’re good.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“That was way too close.”

“Yeah,” he said, a little breathless—but there was a grin in his voice. “Worth it, though.”

You turned your head toward him.

“…Yeah.”You didn’t sit back up right away.Instead, you stayed there—lying side by side again. Closer now.Not by accident.

“…Hey,” you said after a moment.

“Yeah?”

“Why me?”

The question slipped out before you could overthink it. Reese went quiet. Not confused.Just… thinking.

“…What do you mean?”

“You could’ve gone anywhere tonight,” you said. “Or just… not gone anywhere at all.”You swallowed slightly. “But you came here.”

A pause.

Then—

“I dunno.”

You waited. Because you knew that wasn’t the real answer. He sighed softly.

“…You don’t treat me like I’m… something to deal with.”

Your chest tightened a little. Reese’s voice stayed low, steady—but there was something under it now. Something real.

“Everyone else does. Like I’m just… a problem waiting to happen.”

He picked at the grass again, but slower this time.

“But you don’t.”

You didn’t interrupt. Didn’t joke. Didn’t brush it off.

“…You actually listen,” he added. “Even when I say dumb stuff.”

You shook your head slightly.“It’s not dumb.”

He glanced at you.

“…Most of it is.”

“Not the stuff that matters.”

That made him go quiet again.

“…You’re different,” he said after a moment.

You smiled faintly. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“I didn’t say it was bad.”

“Then what is it?” He hesitated.

Like he didn’t have the words. Or didn’t trust them yet.

“…It’s just… you.”

That wasn’t a real answer. But somehow—It felt like one anyway. The air shifted slightly—cooler now.Closer to morning than night. Neither of you said it out loud. Reese shifted again, turning slightly onto his side. Facing you.Your breath caught—just a little.

Because now he was closer. Not just physically. But in a way that felt harder to ignore.

“…What?” you asked softly.

“Nothing.”

“You’re staring.”

“No I’m not.”

“You literally are.”

“…Okay, maybe a little.”

You smiled, but your heart was beating faster now.

“Why?”

He shrugged, but didn’t look away.

“…Just making sure you’re real.”

You blinked.“What?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, like he knew how that sounded.“I don’t know. This just feels… weird.”

“Weird good, or weird bad?”

He didn’t hesitate.“…Weird good.”

There was a pause.A longer one this time. The kind that felt like it was building toward something. Reese’s eyes flicked down—just for a second. To your lips. Then back up. Fast. Like he didn’t mean to. Like he definitely did. Your breath caught slightly. And suddenly—Everything felt very, very real.

“Reese,” you said quietly.

“Yeah?” But he didn’t move. Didn’t pull back. Didn’t break the moment. For once—He didn’t rush. Didn’t joke. Didn’t mess it up. He just stayed there. Waiting. Like he wasn’t sure what would happen next—But didn’t want to ruin it. Your hand shifted slightly between you.

And this time—Your fingers fully laced with his. Not accidental. Not hesitant. Real. Reese stilled completely. Then slowly—carefully—tightened his grip just a little. Like he was making sure this was actually happening.

“…You’re gonna make this weird, aren’t you?” you whispered.

A small smile tugged at his lips.

“…I’m trying really hard not to.”

You laughed softly. “I can tell.”

“Yeah, this is like—maximum effort.”

Another pause. Closer now. Quieter.

“…I meant what I said earlier,” he added, more serious again.

“About what?”

“Not forgetting me.”

Your expression softened.“I know.”

He searched your face for a second. Like he needed to be sure.

“…Okay.”

You hesitated.

Then—

“I don’t think I could forget you even if I tried.”

That caught him off guard.

“…Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You smiled slightly.

“You’re kind of hard to ignore.”

He smirked faintly.“Good.”

The sky had started to shift now.Just barely. A softer shade at the edge of the horizon. Morning coming. Too soon.

“…You should probably go,” you said quietly. The words felt wrong the second they left your mouth. Reese didn’t move.

“…Yeah.”

But he didn’t let go of your hand either. A few seconds passed. Neither of you doing anything about it.

“…This sucks,” he muttered.

You smiled faintly.

“Yeah.” Slowly, reluctantly, he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Your hand slipped from his. But just before it fully did—His fingers brushed yours again. Like he wasn’t ready to let it go completely. He stood, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket again.

Back to normal. Almost.

“…Same time tomorrow?” he asked, like it was a joke.

You sat up, looking at him.

“Maybe don’t make sneaking out a daily habit.”

“Wow. Crushing my dreams.”

“You’ll survive.”

“Debatable.”

He took a step backward. Then another. But didn’t turn around yet.

“…Hey.”

“Yeah?”

He hesitated.Then—

“…I’m glad I came tonight.”

Your chest tightened just a little.“Me too.”

He nodded once. Like that was enough. Then finally—Turned and walked off into the quiet street. You stayed there for a while after he left. Sitting in the grass. Looking up at the sky that didn’t feel quite the same anymore. Because now—It wasn’t just the stars.It was the memory of this night.

Everyone did warn you about med school though. It was supposed to be difficult. Professors warned you, family warned you, friends warned you, and even strangers online warned you about it.

But nope, nothing could have prepared you for the level of exhaustion that it came with it.

It was the kind of tiredness that made your thoughts feel slow and mushy. The kind that makes simple tasks- like trying to remember where you placed your keys- feel weirdly complicated. 

Which is exactly what you're struggling with right now.

You stood outside your apartment door, digging through your bag with one hand while balancing the strap on your shoulder with the other. 

“Where are they..?” you muttered.

Your fingers have brushed through a pen, textbooks, a granola wrapper, your headphones before finally feeling the cold metal touch of your keys .

“Finally.”

You pulled your keys out triumphantly and slid the key into the lock.

The door opened with a soft click.

Warm light spilled into the hallway as you stepped inside of your apartment and shut the door behind you. 

The sound of television greeted me again.

Your eyebrows furrowed.

Had Samira left the TV on again?

You slipped off your shoes and walked to the living room.

You checked to look at the living room and sure enough.

Samira Mohan was completely passed out on the couch, curled up under a blanket while some medical drama played on the screen in front of her. 

You looked at her for a moment.

Then you snorted.

“How ironic.”, you mumbled.

You grabbed the remote from the coffee table and turned the volume down slightly.

Samira didn’t move.

Out cold.

You shook your head with a small smile before heading toward the kitchen.

The apartment itself wasn’t anything special. The floors were slightly scratched, the cabinets were older than both of you, and the couch in the living room had definitely seen better days.

But compared to the terrifying Craigslist listings you had seen a few months ago, it felt like a luxury apartment.

Back then, you had been desperate.

Scrolling through listing after listing at two in the morning, trying to find something—anything—you could afford near campus.

Most of them had looked like the beginning of a horror movie.

Dim lighting. Suspicious descriptions. One listing literally said “roommate must be okay with unusual hours.”

You didn’t even want to know what that meant.

Luckily, orientation had saved you.

That was where you met Trinity first.

Then Dennis.

Then Mel and Victoria.

And finally Samira.

Somehow, your chaotic little friend group had formed almost instantly.

Study sessions quickly turned into late night conversations, which somehow turned into poker games that nobody actually knew how to play properly.

And two weeks after meeting you, Samira had casually offered you the spare room in her apartment.

Like it was no big deal.

You were still convinced it had been one of the luckiest moments of your life.

Your stomach growled suddenly, reminding you that the last thing you had eaten was a granola bar sometime around noon.

“Right,” you sighed, opening the fridge.

You grabbed a container of leftovers and shoved it into the microwave.

The hum of the appliance filled the quiet apartment.

For a moment, you leaned against the counter and closed your eyes.

Just thirty seconds of peace.

Then your phone buzzed loudly on the counter beside you.

You opened one eye and glanced at the screen.

Study Group Chat

You unlocked your phone.

Victoria: heyy! sooo big test on wednesday 😭 anyone wanna do study group again?

You huffed a small laugh.

Mel: why not! last time was fun

Trinity: yes pls i’m already burnt out studying alone

Dennis: what if it turns into another poker tournament again 💔

Trinity: honestly i wouldn't even mind that

Victoria: y/n and samira are you guys down??

You quickly typed a response.

Y/N: yeah of course! we can do it at our place again

Victoria: okayy see you then!!

You set your phone down just as the microwave beeped.

But before you could grab your food—

A voice croaked from the living room.

“Oh hey… you’re back already.”

You turned.

Samira was sitting up now, rubbing her eyes.

Her hair looked like it had been through a small hurricane.

You smiled.

“Yeah. Dr. Robby dismissed us early today.”

She groaned.

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.”

Samira flopped back against the couch dramatically.

“I swear that man is trying to destroy us.”

You laughed softly.

“That’s med school.”

The television flickered across the room, casting shifting blue light against the apartment walls. On screen, a dramatic doctor was shouting orders while nurses rushed around a patient as intense music played in the background.

You carried your container of leftovers into the living room and sank into the corner of the couch.

The cushions dipped under your weight.

For a moment you just sat there, staring blankly at the television while slowly eating your food. Your brain still felt foggy from the day’s lectures, and fragments of information drifted through your thoughts.

Drug interactions.

Dosage charts.

Clinical trials.

Your mind wandered back to campus.

The endless rows of desks. The sound of whiteboard markers squeaking against the board. The constant pressure of trying to keep up with everything.

Med school was draining you.

You tried to reassure yourself that it was worth it. That someday all the stress and exhaustion would lead to something meaningful.

Still, sometimes the workload made you question your sanity.

“Out of all careers,” you muttered quietly, taking another bite of your food, “I just had to pick the difficult one.”

The television switched scenes again.

Another dramatic hospital moment played out on screen. A fictional doctor yelled instructions while a group of nurses rushed around a patient who was apparently seconds away from dying.

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, sure,” you muttered. “Because real life is definitely that dramatic.”

You grabbed the remote and started flipping through channels.

A cooking show.

Some dating reality show.

A survival competition.

A nature documentary about dinosaurs.

Nothing held your attention for longer than a few seconds.

Then suddenly the screen switched again.

The bright logo of a news station filled the screen.

You were about to change the channel when the anchor’s serious tone made you pause.

“Breaking News tonight.”

You blinked.

The anchor continued.

“A mysterious individual in a red and blue costume reportedly stopped a bank robbery earlier this evening in Pittsburgh .”

You frowned slightly.

“What…?”

The broadcast switched to footage outside a bank building.

Police cars lined the street, their red and blue lights flashing across the pavement. Officers moved yellow caution tape across the entrance while reporters pushed through a growing crowd of people gathered nearby.

Some bystanders were holding up their phones, filming the scene.

The news anchor continued speaking over the footage.

“Multiple witnesses claim the unidentified individual intervened during the robbery and restrained several armed suspects before police arrived.”

Your fork paused halfway to your mouth.

Wait.

The screen shifted to a field reporter standing outside the bank.

“Thank you,” the reporter said, holding a microphone as flashing police lights illuminated the background. “I’m here at the scene where witnesses say something truly unusual happened tonight.”

Unusual was one way to describe it.

“Several individuals inside the bank claim that a person wearing what appeared to be a red and blue costume entered the building during the robbery.”

You leaned forward slightly.

A costume?

The reporter turned toward a woman standing beside her.

“Ma’am, you were inside the bank when the robbery occurred. Could you tell us what happened?”

The woman looked slightly shaken but nodded.

“Yes… of course.”

She took a breath before speaking.

“Well, I came to deposit a check earlier this evening. Everything was normal until suddenly these men ran inside with guns.”

Your grip tightened slightly around your fork.

“They started yelling at everyone to get on the ground,” she continued. “People were screaming. Someone dropped their phone. I thought someone was going to get hurt.”

You barely noticed your food anymore.

“But then suddenly…” she paused.

The reporter leaned closer.

“Something crashed through the front window.”

Your eyebrows lifted.

“The window?”

“Yes!” the woman said quickly. “Glass went everywhere. And then this guy just… landed in the middle of the bank.”

You stared at the screen.

“He was wearing this red and blue suit,” she continued. “Like some kind of superhero costume.”

Your brain struggled to process what you were hearing.

“And then he started shooting webs from his wrists!”

You nearly choked on your food.

“Webs?” you blurted out loud.

On screen, the woman nodded emphatically.

“Yes! Like actual webs! He tied the robbers up and everything.”

The reporter blinked.

“You’re saying the individual used some sort of web-like substance?”

“Yes!”

You stared at the television.

For several seconds, the only sound in the apartment was the quiet hum of the refrigerator.

Finally you grabbed your phone.

If this was some weird internet stunt, social media would already be exploding.

You opened Instagram.

Your entire feed had turned into chaos.

Video clips.

Blurry photos.

People arguing in comment sections.

One video showed a distant red figure swinging between buildings.

Another shaky recording showed something moving across a rooftop before disappearing.

Your heart thumped a little faster as you kept scrolling.

A headline suddenly caught your eye.

“It’s a bird! It’s a plane! It’s Spider-Man!”

You tapped the article.

A grainy photo filled your screen.

The image was low quality, probably taken from several buildings away, but the figure was still recognizable.

Red suit.

Blue accents.

Thin black web patterns stretching across the fabric.

And large white eye lenses covering the mask.

You stared at it.

“He actually looks like a spider…”

Your phone buzzed again.

The study group chat had exploded.

Victoria: WAIT ARE YOU GUYS SEEING THIS

Mel: THE SPIDER GUY???

Trinity: BRO WHAT IS HAPPENING

Dennis: THIS HAS TO BE FAKE

Victoria: SOMEONE ON TIKTOK POSTED A VIDEO

Trinity: I’M CRYING THIS IS INSANE

You quickly typed.

Y/N: i just saw it on the news

Mel: SAME

Dennis: if this is real i’m transferring schools

Trinity: WHY

Dennis: i refuse to live in a city with spider people

Victoria: spider people 😭

Trinity: what if he’s actually a superhero though

Dennis: that makes it worse

Another message popped up.

Mel: WAIT LOOK AT THIS

A link appeared in the chat.

You tapped it.

It opened a short video clip.

The footage was shaky and clearly filmed from far away, but you could see something red swing past a building.

A person behind the camera screamed.

“Oh my god he’s real!”

The video ended abruptly.

You blinked.

Your phone buzzed again.

Victoria: OKAY BUT WHAT WOULD HIS NAME EVEN BE

Dennis: spider dude

Trinity: absolutely not

Mel: spider man??

Victoria: WAIT THAT ACTUALLY WORKS

Dennis: i hate that

You laughed quietly.

Behind you, the couch creaked.

Samira shifted under the blanket.

“Mmm… what’s funny?” she mumbled.

You turned toward her.

“Apparently there’s a guy running around the city dressed like a spider.”

Samira opened one eye halfway.

“…What?”

You held up your phone so she could see the screen.

She squinted at the blurry photo.

“Oh.”

A pause.

Then she shrugged and dropped her head back onto the pillow.

“Cool.”

Within seconds she was asleep again.

You stared at her.

“That’s it?” you asked.

No response.

Typical.

You leaned back against the couch cushions again, still staring at the photo on your phone.

Outside the apartment window, the city lights glowed softly against the night sky.

Somewhere out there, people were still talking about the strange figure swinging through buildings.

Rumors were already spreading.

Some people claimed he was a stunt performer.

Others insisted it was some kind of advanced military technology.

A few conspiracy theorists online were already calling him a government experiment.

But the videos kept appearing.

Blurry footage.

Distant silhouettes.

Something moving across rooftops. You glanced back toward the window.

For a moment you wondered…

If somewhere out there—

Someone really was swinging through the skyline.

The city stretched endlessly beneath him. Streetlights painted soft gold patterns on the asphalt below, and the occasional taxi honked in the distance. From this height, everything felt strangely peaceful—quiet, even. Almost as if the chaos of the robbery had never happened.

Spider-Man crouched at the edge of the building across from Y/N’s apartment. His palms itched, the web-shooters on his wrists clicking softly as he flexed his fingers. Every muscle in his body ached from the chase tonight, from swinging between buildings, from landing and dodging bullets.

He exhaled slowly through the mask. Close call. Too close. He hated moments like that. The kind that left him wondering if he should have arrived five seconds sooner or thought two steps ahead.

But the worst part? The thought that someone—anyone—could have been hurt.

His “spider sense” had tingled too late this time. That flash of danger, the immediate panic, the sound of terrified screams—it all played in his mind over and over. He blamed himself, even though he knew rationally he had done everything he could.

“Not enough,” he muttered to the empty rooftop.

The wind brushed past him, tugging at his mask and cape, carrying the faint scent of the city—hot asphalt, fast food, exhaust fumes. Somewhere nearby, someone was probably scrolling through their phone, watching the footage of him swing between buildings and marveling at what had just happened.

His gaze flicked to another rooftop. Windows glowed softly in the night. Apartment lights illuminated little slices of people’s lives: someone eating dinner, a couple watching TV, a lone figure typing on a laptop. Lives he had fought to protect tonight, lives that hadn’t even realized how close they had come to danger.

He lingered a moment, crouched and silent, letting the adrenaline drain slowly from his system. The city didn’t feel threatening now. It felt alive. Vulnerable, sure, but alive.

And then—something caught his eye.

A figure across the street in a lit apartment. Barely more than a silhouette behind a partially drawn curtain, but… something made him pause. Something familiar about the way she leaned forward, eyes glued to a phone screen, completely absorbed in whatever had just happened.

He didn’t know her. Not really. But for some reason, he felt a pull toward that window, toward that quiet little life that was safely tucked away while the chaos raged outside.

A soft gust of wind ruffled the edges of his suit. He flexed his fingers again, adjusted his stance, and leaned slightly forward. For a fraction of a second, he imagined telling her everything—the danger, the fighting, the near misses. But of course he couldn’t. He never could.

And so he didn’t.

Instead, he stayed perched there for a few more seconds, letting the city breathe beneath him. Letting himself breathe.

Then, with a practiced flick of his wrists:

Thwip.

A line of web shot out and latched onto the building ahead. With a fluid motion, Spider-Man swung off the rooftop and disappeared into the darkness, leaving only the faint echo of the city behind him and the soft hum of possibilities just beginning to stir.

Somewhere, across the street, a window remained lit.

And somewhere, in that small, quiet apartment, someone had just seen the beginning of something extraordinary.