Stuck In The Upside Down

michael couldn't believe it. his son was almost falling asleep and now he was asking for one more story?

“yes, daddy! i want another story…hmm…this time about a princess”

his sweet little girl, who had her eyes closed and he swore was dreaming, asked him for one more story.

“alright. alright. i'll tell one more story, but you guys have to promise this will be the last one, okay?”

he stared at his children, waiting patiently for them to lie on the bed again. he gave a soft sigh, before trying to take a book from the shelf.

“no daddy! i don't want a story from a book!!” his little girl squinted her eyes. oh, she could be so much like her mom. michael laughed and took her tiny hand.

“alright, princess. do you have any ideas for a story, prince?”

“daddy, it's your story. you should tell us!!”

okay. none of them wanted to help daddy. michael sat on the carpet. his voice was calm. he reached out to the lamp, turning it on again.

“once upon a time, a prince—”

“is this me, daddy?” his little guy asked him. michael almost laughed.

“no, prince. this is another prince, a prince for a princess”

“oohhhhhhhh…so there are more princes….”

michael couldn't hold back his laughter anymore. his children could be so funny without realizing it. he cleared his throat, continuing to tell his story.

“the prince wasn't lonely…he had a lot of friends around the world…but when he met this princess, everything changed. he just wanted to be with her. he had fallen in love with the princess. but the princess was always—”

michael looked at his children. they were sleeping. he didn't even talk for ten minutes, and they had their eyes closed, snoring! he turned off the lamp, giving each one a kiss. a smile tugged at his lips as he watched his babies. he closed the door.

you were lying on the bed. the light was off. maybe you were already sleeping. he lay carefully on the mattress, trying not to wake you up. he turned to the side of his nightstand, when he felt your arms around him. you were hugging him.

“that was pretty quick”

“i thought you were sleeping”

“i can't sleep without my tiny spoon”

he closed his eyes, feeling your touch brushing against his skin. the prince also lived happily ever after.

“You can almost see the steam coming out her ears,” your son chimed in, plopping back down in the armchair, the tv blaring amidst the loud talking.

You'd just come home early from your Pilates class, your mat in hand, as you walked into your home. The first thing you could make out was the chatter that came from the living room, three familiar voices echoing through the hall, yet they were too busy talking about you to notice the fact that you'd come home earlier than expected.

“I love the woman, but man does she have a temper,” Michael laughed, recreating one of your signature looks.

Now you could've ruined their fun right then and there, but you wanted to hear what else they had to say about your so-called temper, which if they were to ask you, you'd say it was absolutely not a temper.

“And you better not be in my kitchen when I'm cooking,” your son muttered in what was supposed to sound like your voice.

“Ion even care what Mom has to say, I'd be ready to eat,” he smacked his lips absentmindedly, swatting his hand in the air.

Michael let out a laugh that was short-lived when he caught you peeking around the corner, arms crossed, that all too familiar annoyed look plastered over your face.

“C'mon, don't say that, you should listen to your mother,” Michael scolded, a complete shift from his earlier tone.

“Oh, don't act like you're scolding him now,” you stepped into the living room, your mat still pressed tightly in your crossed arms.

“Ooh, she's going to chew you out,” Marlon's eyes glanced between the three of you, eager to see how the scene in front of him was going to play out.

“Baby, I've been scoldin' him this whole time,” he stood up in attempts to cool the tone he was sure was brewing.

“That's interesting because I've been standing here the whole time, don't lie now,” you shook your head, your acrylic nail pointing at him.

“Oh yeah, I see the steam,” Marlon let out a laugh, pointing to his ears.

“Oh, shut the hell up, Marlon, go on to your own damn house,” rolling your eyes before pointing at both your boys. “And I'll deal with you two later,” you'd finally walked off, ready for a nice bath after the intense Pilates session you'd had.

“Mom, we were just playing.”

“Well, let me get out of here before she kicks my ass too.”

©angelfacediary

Requests : open

Taglist :

You feel his hands first, holding onto your waist from behind. His chest is pressed into your back, warm and strong. His fingertips dig into the skin of your hips, holding you tight; like he’s scared to let go. You place your own hands over his, rubbing your thumbs over his knuckles. You whisper something, but it comes out faded. It sounds like you’re underwater, or deep in a cave. The words float away from you, you can’t even tell if he heard you. You slowly turn around, smile pulling your cheeks up high. Before your eyes can even meet…

You bolt up in bed, eyes wide and breathing ragged. You blink several times, trying to wake up properly. You try to figure out what’s happening, what time it is, what day it is. You fumble for your phone, slapping it around on the end table until you find it. You pull it up to your face, wincing when the bright screen nearly blinds you. You turn it down through squinted eyes, blinking again before you try to look at the date and time. Nearly five in the morning, the darkness outside already dissipating.

You sigh loudly, throwing your phone down on the bed next to you. You dig your hands into your hair, pulling it away from your face. You run your palms over your forehead and the back of your neck, trying to wipe the beads of sweat away. This is your second dream, the same man taking over your subconscious. You instinctively run a hand over your hip, the same place he’d been holding you. The touch felt so familiar, so real; like it had happened in real life before. His face was never visible, you woke up before you could see him. You swear you know him, or have known him; but you can’t figure out who exactly it is.

You take a deep breath, exhaling loudly before ripping the blankets off yourself. You walk into the bathroom, begrudgingly getting ready for the day.

You rush out of the house quickly, already late for work. Somehow, even after waking up early, you still manage to run late. You’re walking so fast you don’t even realize you’ve already passed your usual coffee shop. You groan, not having time to turn back. You keep walking, heading into a different cafe. You quickly walk up to the counter, blurting out your order so fast you don’t even think the barista heard you properly. You can feel a pair of eyes on you, their gaze burning into you like a brand. You don’t have time to look, too busy worrying this is the time you finally get fired. You rummage through your bag until you find some loose cash. You place it into the barista’s hand, thanking them before walking back to the front door.

A man bumps into you, luckily avoiding your fresh cup of coffee. You look over, ready to yell or insult him. He stumbles back, eyes wide as he apologizes profusely. Something about him, the way he looks at you, his presence…It feels so familiar.

“I-I’m really sorry! Are you okay?” His voice holds sincerity, but it sounds so quiet and unsure. It sounds like it physically hurts him just to speak to you. His voice rings through your ears like a song you haven’t heard in years. A song that brought you so much joy and warmed your heart, until you forgot all about it. How could you possibly forget a voice so calming?

“I’m…Fine.” Your eyebrows furrow, staring at him like a puzzle you can’t seem to solve. He nods slowly, eyes darting back and forth from you to the floor. He looks uncomfortable, but at the same time he looks like this is all he’s been dreaming of. He looks at you like you’re a piece of art only he understands the hidden meaning of, like no one else could ever truly capture how complex and perfect you are. He quickly excuses himself, pushing out the door. The bell above it rings obnoxiously, like it’s mocking you. The soft tinkling sounds like vicious screeching to your ears, like it’s scolding you for something you have no recollection of.

You shake your head, snapping yourself out of it. You look down at your phone, holding back a scream as you realize you’re about to be even later.

You don’t stop thinking about him the whole day. No matter what you’re doing, whether it be typing up something quick on your computer, or running to the copy room, or reading through and sorting papers. He’s takes up your mind like he belongs there, like nothing else has the right to occupy your brain. You zone out so much you have to keep saying, “I’m sorry what?” Everyone in the office starts getting obviously annoyed, your spacing proving to be a distraction. Your friend ends up walking into the copy room to keep you company at some point, her hand brushing across your hip. You flinch, visibly tense your entire body. She notices instantly, apologizing and asking what’s wrong. You can’t even answer, you don’t know what’s wrong.

Her touch, previously a great comfort to you; now seemed so wrong. Your dreams have tainted your thoughts, affecting your reactions to such a simple action. Her touch somehow erasing the feeling of his hands on you completely. You had been thinking about it all day, still able to feel his loving grip on you. The second she brushed her hand there, it erased everything you originally felt. You couldn’t picture it perfectly anymore, you couldn’t feel him anymore. You don’t blame her by any means, you don’t even know what’s wrong with you. The loss of his imaginary touch has your chest feeling hollow. Your heart should feel like it’d been torn out, like it always does when upsetting things happen to you. Instead, you can still feel your heart beating inside your chest, but it’s like it doesn’t even matter anymore. The pumping of your blood feels pointless, because no matter how much your breathe, or how much blood runs through your veins, or how fast your heart beats, you still feel lifeless.

You tell your friend you aren’t feeling well, asking her to inform your boss. She quickly agrees, telling you to head home and rest for the day. You gather your things, heading back outside.

You walk down the sidewalk, people passing by you over and over. You walk with your eyes unfocused, you aren’t even moving yourself; it’s like you’re on autopilot. You only snap out of it when the smell of coffee hits your nose. You look up, seeing the same coffee shop you visited before going to work. You stand still for a moment, looking in through the window. You can’t spot him anywhere, and somehow it makes you feel even worse. Your perseverance and willpower fades immediately, making it almost impossible to keep walking forward. You want to stop, you want to stop moving and fall through the ground until it swallows you whole. It feels like you’re walking through wet concrete, each step draining the energy from your body.

You finally get home, by some miracle; throwing yourself on your bed. You bury your face in the pillow, hoping for sleep to take you quickly. You also hope you have another dream, a fleeting thought before you finally lose your grip on reality.

“I missed you.” He whispers, his voice low and rough; like he had been crying. Your vision is dark, no scene playing before you. You can’t see him, but you can feel him. His presence is something you could never miss, consuming your soul. His entire being seems to capture you, pulling you into him; so tight you have no choice but to stay. It should feel scary, or unsettling; but it doesn’t. It feels like it’s where you’re meant to be, like home.

“I’m right here, silly.” You can hear yourself giggle, still such a distant sound. You can feel the whole ambiance of the room shift with your words. You can practically feel the frown on his face, taste the tears in his eyes; it makes you ache.

“No you aren’t…Not really. I wish you would remember.” He whispers, barely audible over the loud whooshing in your ears. You feel your eyebrows furrow, your shoulders falling as you feel your body stray further from his.

“What are you talking about?” You ask, his voice coming out completely muffled. You try to listen, try to brush the sound away from your ears so you can hear. It’s useless, his voice raising but the words flying right past her. “Please, I can’t hear…I don’t understand!” You beg, tears streaming down your face. You hadn’t even noticed them before, the wetness trailing over your cheeks like salty rivers. You try to speak again, but your own voice comes out muffled…You open your eyes, trying to find him. The room becomes visible, no longer shrouded in darkness. You see his silhouette, standing far from you. He looks familiar, like you’d seen him before; like you’d seen him too many times to count. Fluffy brown hair, goofy clothes and thick glasses…

Your eyes fly open, the darkness of your room taking over your vision. You shake your head, slowly reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. You sigh, blinking back more fat tears. You close your eyes again, praying for something…Anything else.

You’re sitting on the couch, legs swung over the lap of someone else. You glance over, finding a blurry version of the same man; the one you can’t recall properly. You’re laughing, the movie playing on the TV drawing it from you. This isn’t a dream, it feels too different. His hand reaches up to rest on your calf, his thumb brushing soft patterns across your skin. He’s looking at you, you can feel it. His gaze is persistent, burning into you like a brand…You’ve felt that same gaze before. This isn’t a dream, it’s a memory. You know him, you’ve been with him before, the realization is so close yet still so far.

You can feel his touch, hear his voice, smell his cologne, taste the coffee on his lips. It’s so familiar, so peaceful and safe. It feels like a giant chunk of your life has just vanished, this man who you can feel meant so much…Now feeling like nothing. His touch lingers on you, trailing sparks along your skin. Your chest feels heavy, in the best possible way. It’s the complete opposite of how you’ve been feeling, everything feels right, and perfect. This is where you belong, forever. But…Where is that? Where are you? If only you could just figure it out. You can feel yourself slipping, your body trying to wake up. You force it back, grounding yourself in the memory; you need to remember.

“You look a little lost.” He laughs, the sound piercing right through your heart. You feel your head shake, hair flitting across your cheeks.

“Just thinking.”

“About what?” He asks, hand resting still on your leg; no longer tracing patterns. All of his attention is on you, you can feel it. Nothing else even matters, nothing else even reaches him; it’s only you. He stares at you with purpose, with focus, with love.

“You.”

“That’s funny, I was just thinking about you too.” He chuckles, head tossing back against the back of the couch. He still looks at you, head tilted to the side.

“What about me?”

“How much I love you, how much I miss you when you aren’t around. I don’t know what’d I’d be without you.” He smiles, eyelashes fluttering.

“You don’t have to think about that, you’ll never have to live without me.” A lie, one you didn’t realize at the time. You knew…You thought you’d stay by each other’s side forever, never straying, never faltering. But you did…Because you can’t remember. You can’t see him, you can’t find him in real life, you don’t know who he is.

“I love you, Mx. Spidey.” He grins like a fool, the nickname making you roll your eyes. Wait…The nickname-

You jolt up in bed again, eyes wide and chest tight. Everything comes back to you suddenly, all at once, in one fluid motion. All of the memories, all of the words, all the conversations, all the feelings, it’s all there. His face is clear in your mind, crystal clear; like he’s the only face you’ve ever tried to really remember.

“Peter.” You whisper. The rest happens so fast you don’t even have time to think. You pull on warmer clothes, a sweater and pants over your short pajamas. You run out of your apartment, almost forgetting your keys. You can feel yourself running, your breath failing you, but it still feels like you’re dreaming. You know you aren’t, because what you’re feeling is too vivid; too strong. But everything else seems to fade away, like every other building or street is irrelevant. Nothing else matter except him. His apartment, his street, his voice, his eyes, his laugh, his words, his love, him.

You finally reach the front door to his apartment building, and it starts feeling real again. It’s no longer a blur, because you’re finally here. You pull the door open, running up the stairs. You trip a few times, scraping your knee once. You persist, pushing yourself back up and running again. You reach the top floor, his door right in front of your face. Everything feels like too much, your heart is racing so fast, your brain is still trying to gather the years memories you regained all at once. You try to take a deep breath, but it only makes your chest hurt. You take another one, finally getting enough air to your neglected lungs.

You slowly but surely raise your fist up, knocking on the door before you can second guess it. But as you wait for him to answer, all the doubts and insecurities hit you like a wave. What if he doesn’t want to see you? What if he hates you, for forgetting him? What if he found someone better after you forgot him? What if he doesn’t need you anymore? What if-

The door creaks open, his face coming into view. His eyes instantly widen, mouth hanging open. He stutters, voice getting caught in his throat. His eyebrows furrow as he searches your face, trying to determine whether this is a dream or an accident. The world simultaneously spins and slows around you, your head feeling fuzzy. Every previous thought leaves you, every effort to gather yourself, it stops; because it doesn’t fucking matter. What matters is him, here, right in front of you. Tears gather in your eyes, spilling out before you can stop them. Peter’s face falls, hands instinctively reaching out before pulling back. He hates seeing you cry, he always has.

You sigh, laughing to yourself as you stare up at him. You shake your head, in awe that this is actually real. You can finally see his face, feel him for real; his presence, his light. It warms you from the inside out, soothing you in a way nothing else could. Peter opens his mouth again, the words finally coming out.

“Are you…Uh, okay?” He asks, trying to act nonchalant. He doesn’t know that you remember, and he doesn’t want to scare you away by caring too much right off the bat. You look up at him with those teary eyes, smile pulling at your cheeks. Your eyes dart around his entire face, taking him in like it’s the first time all over again.

“I remember.” You almost sob, tears falling relentlessly. Peter’s eyes go wide, staring at you with hope. His own tears make his eyes glassy, making him blink them back.

“Y-You remember what?” He needs you to say it. You laugh again, looking down at your feet as you shake your head. You quickly wipe your eyes, the tears blurring your vision. You look back up, Peter’s impatience obvious on his face.

“You, Peter. I remember you, I remember us.” You grin, and Peter crumbles. He falls into you like you’re his lifeline, pulling you into him and hugging you tight. You wrap your own arms around him, pulling yourself impossibly closer. You want to pull yourself so close your souls intertwine, hearts becoming one. You can feel tears hitting your shoulder, Peter letting them fall freely.

“God, I missed you.” He cries, his voice cracking.

“I’m sorry I took so long.”

Peter hated spring.

But he hadn't always. No, he used to actually love spring, because someone else had once helped him to see the true beauty in the season, in the flowers that bloomed.

But he didn't have that person anymore. He didn't have anyone, so what was the point?

Now, he dreaded spring. Now, the warm feeling in his chest he used to get from it was replaced with an ache, filled with a longing for something that seemed like a lifetime ago. The blooming nature only served as a reminder, rubbing it in his face that everything he had was gone.

He couldn't wait for the season to end.

He walked past a florist shop everyday on his daily route through New York. He noticed that the shop had become busier ever since spring had started, with citizens staring at the vibrant and colourful flowers displayed in front of the shop. Multiple times, he had to hold back from stopping and looking himself.

He refused to stop at the florist shop, to even hover there. He was too afraid of the risk, the risk of running into the owner of the store who he observed as easily as breathing. How you arranged your flowers in the early morning inside the store, playing soft music in the background while you existed in your own world. How your eyes lit up when someone walked in, how you laughed whenever talking with a customer, how you charmed a flower to look more beautiful with a golden glow beneath your hands when you thought no one was looking, how you always launched into precise detail whenever you were asked questions about a certain flower.

And most of all, he noticed the yellow dahlia necklace you still wore. The necklace your hand still played around with, whether you were conscious of it or if it was just an instinct. He had given you that necklace, so he wondered how warped your memory had been about receiving it.

He didn't think you had ever noticed him before, not like you used to. You would barely spare him a glance now.

It hurt for it to be that way, to have things change so drastically, but with time, he had accepted that his wounds from it would never be tended to. Just as long as you were never inflicted with another wound of your own again, he was okay with his unhealed ones, and he could settle for watching from afar.

But then he came across an obstacle that challenged his decision of keeping a distance from you. When he was taking his usual route and reached the part of passing the florist shop, you were there.

You were always there, but this time, you were right there. You were standing outside the shop, adjusting the flower placements on the displays at your storefront. The morning sun beamed down on you, highlighting the shine in your hair.

Peter halted in his tracks, his heart doing a backflip. He looked around frantically to see if there was another way of passing without being so close to you, but the next pedestrian crossing wasn't until the next intersection, and the last one he had passed was a few minutes away, and he really didn't feel like turning around and taking so much time just to avoid you.

You didn't remember him. He was completely erased from your mind, why would you bat an eye if he walked by? He would just be another citizen to you.

So he shoved his hands into his pockets, kept his head down, and continued straight forward, quickening his step to walk past you as quickly as possible.

With his gaze glued to the ground, he couldn't see the way yours flicked to him and stayed there.

He was someone you saw often. One of those strangers that you somehow always spotted in a bustling city, a stranger you never acknowledged. He always walked past your shop, and you were pretty sure he always looked in, but he had never once stepped foot inside. You wondered if he wasn't a flower person, or if he just never had any special occasions to buy flowers for.

Because something you always took notice of was that he looked sad. It was easy to spot in his face. The weight he carried in his eyes like he was hiding a heavy burden, the exhaustion lining his features, the timidity in his body language like he was trying to make himself smaller.

You don't know why you always noticed him. Many people walked past your shop everyday, lots looked and never walked in, and he had done nothing in particular to be different from the others. But whenever you saw him, you always felt a strange tug in your chest, and it proved a challenge to tear your eyes away from him, like he was some sort of magnet. It felt like you could tell what kind of mood he was in just by taking one look at him, like that was something you had grown familiar with, which didn't make sense because you had never met him before.

You were pretty sure you had never met him before, but your gut quietly told you otherwise. You always ignored it, because what did it know?

And suddenly, he was right there. Walking past you, shoulder nearly brushing against yours as he passed, and it felt like you had actually made contact with the way you shivered.

You were in the middle of handling a bouquet of yellow dahlias, rearranging some of the flower displays in front of your ship. You looked down at the flowers in your hands, and then back to the man who was now walking away from you.

Your mouth moved before your mind could think.

"Excuse me!" You called out, and the man immediately stops in his tracks, clearly having heard you.

For one embarrassing moment, you thought he was going to ignore you and keep walking until he slowly turned around, a cautious look on his face like he wasn't sure if you were talking to him. When he met your direct gaze, surprise flickered across his face, his eyes visibly softened in a way that felt like it was meant just for you.

"Sorry to bother you, I just..." you said, now regretting calling for him as you fumbled around nervously with the flowers in your hand until you were just holding one. You approached him with the flower, and hesitated a moment before holding it out for him to take. "Here, this is for you."

He blinked, the surprise intensifying on his face as his eyes flitted between you and the flowers. "What?"

"It's for you," you repeated softly, sending him a kind smile.

"The flower? Oh, um... how much for it?" He asked.

Your smile widened. "Well, it depends on the customer. But in your case, it's on the house."

His eyes widened. "Oh, wow. That's really kind of you, but I couldn't possibly take that."

"Please, I insist," you said, even without knowing yourself why you were insisting. "Unless you don't like this kind of flower? I can get you a different one-"

"No, that's okay. I don't want to make you go through any more trouble," he said hastily, and you let out a soft chuckle, your chest fluttering in a way that felt vaguely familiar.

Since he still wasn't taking the flower, you took matters into your own hands and reached forward to place it into his chest pocket. He jerked slightly, startled by your advances. You quickly pulled away at the fear of making him uncomfortable while he stared at the flower now tucked into his chest pocket.

"It's a yellow dahlia," you informed him with a soft smile. "Lovers used to get those when they reunited."

You weren't sure why you told him such an intimate fact, and you didn't even know why you were giving him a free flower in the first place. You never really gave people flowers on the house anymore ever since your business had started booming, but it felt different with him. Like he had done more to deserve it. Perhaps you had just wanted to brighten his day since he looked so sad. Perhaps it was more, a more you couldn't remember.

You couldn't read the intense look in his eyes as he stared at you, his expression having changed when you told him about the lovers reuniting. You couldn't tell if you had said the wrong thing, and you really hoped you hadn't, because there was something about this man that made you want him to like you even though you had just met, even if it didn't feel like your first time meeting.

He cleared his throat abruptly, breaking your gaze as he turned his head away, and you swore that his eyes looked glassy for a second.

"Thank you for the flower, but I should get going now. Good luck with everything Y/N," he said softly, glancing at you again before he turned around and walked off at a brisk pace, his head hanging low.

You blinked at his abrupt departure, your curiosity piqued as you watched him leave, your chest feeling weirdly warm from the interaction in a good way.

Then you realised something.

You had never told him your name.

All comments and reblogs appreciated!

Dividers by: @hearts4mychem and @cursed-carmine