Star

Two Months Earlier

“Hi,” Peter rushes into your apartment, breathless and flustered as always. You get a firm kiss to the cheek before he disappears into your bedroom. 

Laughing slightly, you peer around the corner and try to get a glimpse of him. “Everything okay, Petey?”

You get a slight hum of acknowledgment before he goes back to what sounds like rustling through papers. Shaking your head, you bring the popcorn bowl over to the couch and wait for him to reemerge. 

It doesn’t take longer than a few minutes until he’s strolling back toward you, a slightly cocky pep to his step. You narrow your eyes at him but fail miserably at holding back a grin. “Whatcha up to, Parker?”

“Who, me?” He shrugs, playing dumb as he jumps over the back of the couch, landing on the cushion beside you. You spot something folded in his hand before he tries to hide it. 

With little warning, you lunge forward, reaching for his hand. “Hey!” He jumps back, unable to hold in his laughter. “That’s cheating, you know?”

You don’t acknowledge him, grunting in frustration as he holds his hand further and further away from you. “Alright, well, what happened to no secrets?” You push, slightly embarrassed at how breathless you sound. 

“Oh, wow,” his hand comes up, cupping your jaw as he pulls your face closer to his. “That’s playing dirty,” he whispers. You can’t subdue your smile, inching closer until your noses are brushing. 

“You like it when I play dirty.” Peter’s eyes widen, a visible flush on his face as your lips just barely brush together. The whisper of a kiss. He was so focused on that, he failed to notice you ripping the paper from his hands. 

He groans as you lean back on the couch with a triumphant grin. “You’re too easy, Parker,” you tease. 

He props his chin on your knee, “Only for you.” 

“Oh God, you are so cheesy.” He opens his mouth, a stupid grin on his face. You pinch his lips together and laugh, “Don’t say it again. For the sake of our relationship, please.” 

You release him and he presses a quick kiss to your hand before leaning back. “Well,” he nods toward the paper in your hand. “Don’t you want to see what you’ve won?” 

Excitement bubbles inside you as you unfold the small piece of paper. The print’s slightly smudged from your wrestling match, but when you bring it closer, you can’t help the sharp gasp that escapes you. 

“Peter!” He’s smiling widely, posture relaxed and completely smug as you gush. “I can’t believe you managed to get tickets.”

“One of the guys in my lab knows someone at the museum. He owed me a favor,” he shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal. Like he didn’t just get you into one of the most exclusive exhibitions in Queens. 

He lets out a slight grunt when you toss yourself at him, arms wrapping like a vice around the back of his neck. You can feel the exhale of a laugh as he buries his head in the crook of your shoulder, arms quick to wrap around your waist. 

“Thank you,” you whisper, pulling back slightly to get a proper look at him. He keeps his grip firm, reluctant to let you get much further. 

“You know I’d do anything for you,” he tells you and he has all the conviction of a man who really believes it. 

“That’s a big promise,” you smile. “Sure you can keep it?”

“‘Course I can.” When you lean in to kiss him this time, you make sure it's real. Not the whisper of a touch, but something deeper as he pulls you into his lap completely. You don’t think you’ll ever get over how wonderful it is to be loved by Peter Parker. 

“Christ,” you blow into your gloved hands and hope some of the warmth bounces back to your face. You knew it was going to be cold today, but you hadn’t thought it would be a problem. Peter had said he was going to meet you outside the museum, but it’s already been fifteen minutes and you’re losing feeling in your nose. 

He does have a mind going 100MPH most days. Usually, you like to give him a leeway on timing. But it’s absolutely freezing today and snowflakes have just started falling. If you were with your boyfriend, this would be like a scene out of a romcom. 

Instead, it’s about to be a nature documentary on wild stood-up girlfriends freezing in Queens tundra. 

Pulling out your phone again, you bite the thumb of your glove and tug it off. You’ve sent Peter about twenty messages, none of which have even so much as gotten a ‘read.’ You try calling him this time, tucking the phone between your shoulder and ear as you hurriedly tug your glove back on. 

“Hey, this is Peter, you know what to do.” 

You roll your eyes at his voicemail. “It’s your girlfriend, Pete. But, I swear, if you make me wait any longer in this damn snow, I’m going to be your ex.”

“Good thing you don’t have to wait.” With a squeak, you whip around to find Peter standing behind you. You slap his shoulder and he bounces back with a laugh. The tip of his nose has been nipped red by the cold and his cheeks aren’t much better. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” you snap. 

“Extremely,” he agrees, not an ounce of sarcasm in his voice. It softens you slightly. When you can feel your fingers again, you’ll consider forgiving him. He throws his arm over your shoulder, struggling slightly with the scarf triple-wrapped around you. 

Glancing down to hang up the call, you see a little news notification pop up. 

Spider-Man & Molten Man Spotted in Times Square

“What’re you looking at?”

You shake your head, tucking your phone away. “Nothing.”

You send him a smile that he returns eagerly. He passes the staff your tickets and opens the door for you as you step into the museum. You’d like for the first thing you appreciate to be the gorgeous mural on the wall in front of you. But you are far more interested in the blast of heat coming from the vents above. 

“Oh, thank God,” you grumble, blocking the door as you greedily soak up all the warmth you can. 

“Come on, bug,” Peter laughs, tugging you along so the line of people can get by. “We’ll get you an overpriced coffee at the cafe.”

“You’re paying,” you tell him sternly. “I still can’t feel my nose.” 

“Deal.” Peter doesn’t hesitate, just leans down and presses a quick kiss to the tip of your nose. It’s the type of thing you used to see others do in public and gag. 

You’d think about how you would never be one of those touchy-feely couples. Peter makes it feel so natural, though. As if you’ve been together all your life and this is just another one of your daily routines. 

The giddy smile on your face is wide and can’t even be hidden behind your scarf as you lean into him. He chuckles as he pulls you closer, taking you toward the cafe. “What do you want to see first?”

“I read online that they’ve got a bunch of Monets by the south entrance, we’ll go there and then circle back to the front.”

“You’ve had this planned since you saw the tickets, haven’t you?”

You laugh and shake your head. “Since I read about the exhibit. Remind me to thank you again when we get home.”

Peter glances down, brows raised with a cheeky look on his face. You snort and push his face away. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did,” you tease. Peter laughs, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as you get in line for a coffee. You don’t even feel like you need it anymore. You’ve been warmed inside-out just by Peter’s presence. 

God, when did I become such a cliche?

9:50

where the hell are you

they keep talking about distillation columns and thermo-something

you know I don’t understand nerd

Checking the time on your phone for the nth time, you feel your leg begin to bounce. Something uncomfortable has tied itself around your stomach, squeezing until you can’t stand one more sip of your beer. 

Peter’s labmates celebrate around you. They keep jostling each other’s shoulders, talking in technobabble. You have never felt as stupid as you did when Marcy asked you what your thoughts were on a plug flow reactor. Whatever the hell that is. 

You’d just said, “Oh, yeah, they’re great.” She’d smiled and slowly backed away, eagerly jumping into the next conversation. 

It’s not that they’re not nice people, but this clearly isn’t where you’re meant to be. Not without Peter, at least. You’d promised to come thinking, oh, you know, that your damn boyfriend would be here. 

10:30

Peter

Please

I feel so stupid

Nausea is thick in your throat as you hunch over the bar. Peter’s friends have all moved to a table, but you didn’t feel like following. It’s not like they were talking to you anyway. They didn’t know how and you didn’t either. 

“This is so stupid,” you mutter, dragging your hand down your face. You push away your empty beer and find yourself drawn to the TV, looking for any sort of distraction. 

It’s the news and, of course, Spider-Man’s swinging around the city again. His suit is bright against the night sky, and there’s an odd shape on his head that’s catching the snow. Leaning forward slightly, you snort when you see he’s wearing a red beanie. 

“Of course, New York gets the weirdo for a hero,” you mutter. You grimace as you watch Spider-Man get punched down by a man who looks like he’s made himself a megazord. Pulling back the sleeve of your blouse, you sigh at the time. 

There’s a tight pinch in your chest as you slide off the barstool. 

11:02

I’m going home

You debate saying anything else but decide not to. Tugging on your winter attire, you stop by the others’ table and bid them all goodnight. They’re nice enough to say bye, but you’re pretty sure they thought you had already left. 

The wind pushes against the bar’s door as you make your way outside. Snowflakes are quick to whip at your cheeks, landing in your lashes and melting into your scarf. You pull the scarf tighter and trudge forward. 

The cold isn’t bothering you any more than your absentee boyfriend is. You’ve always been gracious with Peter about being late. It’s a chronic sickness for him at this point and you’ve been around it the majority of your life. 

But it feels different now that you’re dating. Waiting outside an arcade or a restaurant for a friend isn’t a big deal. But when you’re sitting on your own at a table in a crowded restaurant, that’s absolute humiliation. 

He’s been dropping the ball a lot more lately and that hurts. But he hasn’t given you any other reason to worry about the state of your relationship. So, despite the sting, you’ve resolved to just swallow down the embarrassment and keep on going. 

You hear a small thud behind you and your hand instinctively goes to your purse. Swallowing thickly, you keep walking, hoping it’s nothing more than your paranoia. Then you hear the crunch of snow behind you, the clear footsteps matching your pace. Your hand wraps around the mace Pete bought you and you whip around on them. 

To your absolute horror, Peter’s standing behind you. He throws his hands up and lets out a nervous laugh. “Okay, an hour late is really bad, but please don’t mace me.”

You tilt your head and give him a flat look. “Two hours, actually.”

His face screws up and you cross your arms. “Sweetheart, I am so sorry.”

You shake your head and turn back around. “Forget it, Pete. Just go celebrate with your friends.”

Peter jogs to catch up with you and darts in front of you, a frown on his face. “Wait, no, come on. Why don’t you head in with me?”

You let out what can only be described as a guffaw and push past him. “And suffer through more questions about plug flow-whatever’s? Pass.” 

“Plug flow reactors?”

You glare at him over your shoulder and he fails horribly at hiding the amused look on his face. “Trying to speak nerd with them was humiliating, Peter.” His face softens at that and he reaches forward to pull you closer. 

Out of pure stubbornness, you should resist. But standing outside in the cold is making you desperate for Peter’s insane body heat. “Come inside, just for a little while,” he brushes a hair off your cheek and smiles softly. “I swear, I’ll teach you all our science jargon.”

You roll your eyes, but he knows he’s won when you sink into him. “You’re way too persuasive,” you snap. Peter does his best to lace your mittened hands together as he turns you back toward the bar. 

“Yeah, but you love me.”

“Unfortunately,” you glare at him, but your smile gives you away. 

For once in your relationship, you’re the one running late. Something you know Peter is about to take far too much joy in. He’s already sent about fifteen texts. The majority of them bemoan being all alone and then asking if this is how you always feel. Those were followed by an influx of apologies. 

You’re not thinking about the texts, though, as you jog down the street. You spot Peter waiting outside the diner, leaning against the wall. He’s got his phone in his hands, fingers moving rapidly across the screen. 

Sure enough, you can hear your phone ding with yet another passive-aggressive text. “Would you quit it?” You demand, completely out of breath, as you stop in front of him. 

He tosses his head back dramatically and groans. “God, finally. I thought you were just going to leave me out here to freeze.”

“Would serve you right,” your brows furrow. “When’d you get this?” You flick the edge of the red beanie shoved over his hair. 

Peter shrugs and readjusts it. “I dunno, I’ve had it forever.” You frown, biting your lip as you think. You swear to god you know it from somewhere, but you must’ve just seen Peter in it before and forgot. 

He holds the door of the diner open for you and lets out a relieved breath as you both step into the warmth. You would feel bad for him if he hadn’t done this to you five times within two weeks. 

“How come you wanted to…” The go to this place so bad trails off into a laugh. You should have known when he kept badgering you about coming here. 

Plastered floor to ceiling are comic book characters, clips from the stories, and various forms of memorabilia. You’re absolutely surrounded by a hundred different fandoms, and you’re honestly surprised Peter hasn’t had a heart attack yet. 

“I really should have seen this coming.” 

Peter laughs and leads you over to an empty table. A busty woman with a purple leotard stares you down from where she’s painted on the wall. You give Peter a flat look and he flushes. 

“I mean… the name is Strips.”

“Oh, seriously, Parker. Why would my mind immediately go to comics? I was worried you were taking me to a strip club or something.”

Peter wrinkled his nose and frowned. “That’s way too on the nose. I’d take you somewhere classy like Jumbo’s Clown Room.”

Your lips part and you just shake your head. “I don’t want to know if that’s a real place. And if it is, I don’t want to know how you found out about it.”

“Blame Flash,” he mutters as a waitress comes over with a coffee pot. 

You smile and thank her as she walks away. “Oh, I don’t think I’ve gotten a chance to tell you about this, yet.” Peter perks with interest and a wide smile blooms on your face. “You know how I was trying forever to be Professor Beeter’s TA. The position never opened but,” you trail off slightly as the people behind you start getting loud. 

“Oh my god, he is wrecking this place!” Frowning, you glance over your shoulder and take a look at what they’re watching. Someone’s phone is propped in the middle of the table and you see yet another ridiculous villain punching through the Chrysler building. 

Rolling your eyes, you settle back in your seat. “What was I saying?”

“Um,” Peter’s leg bounces under the table and his gaze shoots toward the door. “I’m not sure.”

You frown, watching him warily as he grows more antsy. “Oh, it’s about Professor Beeter. He offered me a-”

“Sweetheart,” he interrupts you and jumps to his feet. “I’m so sorry, but I just remembered I promised I would help May today.” He presses a kiss to the top of your head. 

“What? Peter! You wanted to come here!” He’s already running out the door. You watch, astounded, as he races past the window like hell’s nipping at his heels. You sink back into your seat with a stunned expression and your heart aching. 

Clearing your throat, you look up to find your waitress giving you a pitying look. She offers you a sympathetic smile that only makes you sick to your stomach. Grabbing your bag and coat, you jump out of the booth, rushing outside. 

What the hell is going on with him? You think, glaring down the street where Peter had gone. Pinching the bridge of your nose, you swallow down a lump in your throat and decide to just head back home. 

After his abrupt exit, you haven’t heard from Peter all day. You’ve sent him a few texts, checking in on him and asking about May, but you only got one answer before he went AWOL. 

You:

Everything good with May?

Petey:

Yeah

Her pilot was out had to make sure she had heat

After that, you’ve gotten nothing from him. Also, as far as you’re aware, May doesn’t use gas for heat. Peter hooked her up with better appliances forever ago. 

It’s as you’re dialing May’s number that you have to try and convince yourself you haven’t gone total psycho girlfriend. It’s perfectly normal to want to check on your boyfriend. Especially after how he was acting today. The line only rings a few times before she picks up. 

“Hello?”

“Hey, May.”

She says your name and you practically hear the smile in your voice. “Hey, sweetie. How are you?”

“Fine,” you answer quickly. “I just wanted to be see how Pete’s doing?”

She’s silent for a moment too long. She clears her throat and you frown at the pitch of her voice. “Oh, yeah, Pete’s fine. I’d let him talk to you, but he’s busy right now.”

You hum, fingers twisting your hoodie (Peter’s hoodie) strings as your stomach ties itself into a knot. “Right. Uh, what’d he say he was helping you with, again?”

“Cleaning out the gutters. Apparently, it can be a fire hazard or something, I’m not sure.”

Your body goes cold while something venomous rushes up your throat. “Okay,” you can barely hear your own voice. “I’ll let you go, then.” You hang up before she can respond, phone slipping from your hand and clattering to the ground. 

“Oh, my god,” you let out a panicked whisper, smoothing your hands over your hair as you try to think of a reasonable explanation. But there are no anniversaries, no birthdays, nothing special coming up that he might be lying about for a surprise. 

You’re honestly more shocked that May would lie to you. Growing up, she’d always seemed like the type of woman to protect a girl from sleaze-bag boyfriends. 

So maybe that means Pete isn’t doing anything bad. Maybe she’s covering for him for a good reason. 

So, why can't you think of one damn reason May would lie to you?

You don’t want to start spiraling for no reason. People lie, not just boyfriends, and not always for insidious reasons. Plucking your phone off the floor, you call Gwen. She’s usually good at pulling you out of your head when you start getting bad. 

The phone rings a few times before she finally answers. “Hey, what’s up?”

You frown and cross your arms across your stomach, trying to keep the nausea down. “Why do you sound so out of breath?”

“What?” She clears her throat but that only makes her sound worse. “No, I’m not. Did you need something?”

“Uh,” slightly taken aback by her tone, you struggle to find the right words. 

“Gwen!” Your heart beats ruthlessly against your ribs as your entire body stills. 

“Is that Peter?” You know it is. You could pick his voice out of a crowd if you were blindfolded. 

Gwen lets out a tense hum. “Yeah, it is. Uh, he was helping me with some chem stuff. So, I gotta go. Call me later, yeah?”

She’s hanging up before you can say anything else. Your hands are trembling as you set your phone on the table. Squeezing your throat to try and keep the lump back, you shake your head. 

There’s a reasonable explanation for everything. Right?

The nausea’s still coiled tight around you by the time Peter gets to your apartment. Your eyes are staring blankly at the wall, the only light coming from your window. You’re not sure how long you’ve been lying there. Trying and failing to sleep as you consider all the reasons Peter might have lied to you. 

Why he would be with Gwen instead of you. 

You hear him padding through the hall and shut your eyes, tugging the blanket slightly over your head. 

“Bug?” He calls softly. He’s quiet as he approaches the bed. He brushes a hair off your cheek and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. “You awake?”

Part of you wants to tell the truth. She wants to spring up and start laying into him, demanding to know why he lied. And the other half, she’s a coward. So, you stay curled into a ball, eyes closed, and pretending like you’re not falling apart. 

Peter lets out a low groan as he settles in your bed behind you. It takes everything in you not to jerk away when he wraps his arm around your stomach, pulling you into his chest. The last thing you want right now is to have him touching you. But saying that requires being awake. 

And that’s more painful than a sleepless night. 

Peter wakes up slowly, his body aching after last night. He’s not sure who decided a “living robot” was a good idea. But his ribs are paying the price. 

Stretching, he ignores the twinge of pain along his side. His arm gropes blindly along the sheets, searching for you, for your warmth. When his fingers brush against the wall, he reluctantly opens his eyes. 

He frowns when he realizes you’re not in bed beside him. Turning toward the rest of the apartment, he doesn’t hear you. You’re not in the shower or humming in the kitchen. 

With something cold settling inside him, he gets out of bed. “Sweetheart?” He calls out, hoping to hear you answer. It’s Saturday, and while it’s never been something you’ve both spoken aloud, traditionally, you spend all day in bed together. Just crashing from stressful weeks and overloaded uni schedules. 

“Bug?” He tries again, wandering through your apartment. He already knows, deep down, that you’re not in here. But he doesn’t want to accept it. He’s barely had any time for you this week and he was really looking forward to just being lazy with you all day. 

In the kitchen, pinned to your fridge, he finds a pink note with his name on it. 

Prof. Beeter asked me to come in. Someone messed up last week’s research log

Should be home for lunch <3

The only thing stopping him from spiraling is the little heart at the bottom of the note. He knows it’s silly, but he’s slightly worried that you’re mad at him. He can’t explain where the feelings are coming from, but it's gnawing along the back of his mind. 

Peter glances at the clock and groans. It’s only 9, and lunch to you is usually 2 O’Clock. He’s not sure if he’s patient enough to last that long. Peter glances at the note again and leaves it on the counter to go get dressed. 

He had Professor Beeter last semester and they got along pretty well. He’s sure the older man wouldn’t mind Peter bugging you for a little while. 

Still heavy with the feeling that he’s done something wrong, Peter brought along your favorite sweet treat from the cafe on campus. Hopefully, that will soothe his worries and give you a boost for the day. He knows you look forward to Saturdays just as much as he does. 

Peter’s heading toward the lecture hall when his brain finally catches up with the rest of your note. What research were you talking about? You hadn’t told him you were a part of any projects. 

He’s always yapping to you about his labs. He figured you would do the same. Maybe it’s new, he thinks. 

Pushing open the door, he spots you immediately. You’re at a desk, papers and books piling all around you. There are three other people with you, each of whom he has a vague recollection of. 

“I mean, I don’t even know how we’re supposed to salvage this.” Your voice sounds strained, completely pulled taut. Peter frowns, wishing he could just take your problems and shoulder them for you. 

“It’ll be okay,” one of the girls assures you. 

You finally lift your head from your hands. “Twelve pages with zero references, we’re going to be at this all damn day.” Peter draws back slightly, suddenly wondering if this is such a good idea. 

He knows how testy you can get about school. Especially major projects. Sometimes just leaving you alone seems to work better than smothering. But, then, before he can back out, one of the girls, he thinks her name’s Mila, catches sight of him. 

“Peter?” She calls out. Your eyes instantly snap to him. If he thought you were angry at him before, he does not feel any better now. Your gaze is sharp, lips in a flat line, and there’s absolutely nothing on your face except perpetual irritation. 

“What’re you doing here?” You snap and your voice is way sharper than he was expecting. Holding his hands up slightly, he approaches slowly. He doesn’t want to treat his girlfriend like a stray dog, but you look ready to go for someone’s jugular. 

“I thought you might want something to eat. Figured you didn’t have any time before you left to get something.”

Mila and the other girl both aw over him and it gives him the briefest amount of hope. But then you’re shoving out of your chair and storming toward him. Peter swallows roughly as you approach. He almost wishes he were fighting that living-fire guy right now. 

You snatch his sleeve in your hand and drag him back toward the door. “Peter, why are you here?” You demand, voice lowered so the others can't hear. 

He frowns and shrugs helplessly. “It’s Saturday, we always spend Saturday together.”

You cross your arms, a sharp, derisive look on your face. Okay, definitely mad. “Oh, so you can remember dates now? What’s next? Are you going to show up on time for once?”

“Hey,” he objects, hoping to lighten the mood. “I was on time yesterday.”

Your eyes narrow and something on your face goes blank. He can’t place it exactly, but it’s like there’s a wall where he can usually read you so well. “Yeah, doesn’t count if you ditch me ten minutes later, babe.”

The venom in your voice makes him take a step back. He looks down, knowing you’re right. But he doesn’t want you any more mad than you are, instead of addressing it, he nods toward your desk. 

“What’s going on here?”

“We’re working on the dementia research project with Professor Beeter.”

Peter wants to light up, to hug you, and congratulate you for finally getting an in with the professor you’ve been trying to work with since last year. But you deliver him the news so flatly he feels like you’d only get more mad.

“You didn’t tell me about that,” he says instead. Which is very clearly the wrong answer, by the way you back off with a sharp scoff. 

“I’m not sure when I would have, Peter. I got placed two weeks ago and I haven’t seen you for more than an hour since then. Besides, when I tried to tell you yesterday, you fucking bolted to May’s.” You pause, and your lips curl up into something cruel. “Or was it Gwen’s place? Sorry, I can’t remember which lie you bullshited your way through.”

Peter feels his heart drop to his feet. It’s like a film goes over his eyes as his mind scrambles for any explanation that isn’t ‘I was busy beating up a robot with a weird, creepy human brain in it.’ Because he’s pretty sure that would be grounds enough for you to dump him right now. 

You really don’t give him a chance, either way. You snatch the bag from his hand and the smile drops from your face. “Thanks for the visit. You can go now.” You turn back toward your teammates without another look at him. “Hungry?” You call out to Mila.

She gives a hesitant nod and you toss Peter’s pastry at her. “Dig in.” Even when you sit down, you don’t look up from your books. Not even a twitch as he opens the door. 

Peter walks out, still slightly numb from the whole… argument? Did that even count as an argument? Or was that just you finally calling him out?

You’ve let him get away with a lot and maybe he took advantage of that, but he’s worried you might have the wrong idea. He doesn’t know why you would bring up Gwen, but the tone of your voice was so accusatory that he feels sick to his stomach. 

Yes, he was at her house last night. But that’s because he needed to be stitched up. She’s known about Spider-Man since high school. It was either bleed out or have her use her beginner's sewing kit. 

Peter lets out a shaky breath and runs his hands through his hair restlessly. You’ve both gotten into worse fights before. It’s not like you were a perfect couple. Surely, you could find a way to get over this. He just needs a half-decent excuse for his lying.

Peter perks up as he hears you step into the apartment. He glances at the clock and grimaces. You’re going to be pissed that you had to stay there until 6, fixing someone else’s screwup. When you round the corner and see him, he hears you let out one of the most exhausted noises he’s ever heard from you. 

“Peter,” he finally turns to meet your eye. “Why are you here?”

His chest clenches as he forces a smile. “I figured you would be hungry.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Are you ever at your own place?”

Ouch. “I just wanted to make you dinner. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as it’s done, bug.”

You shrug off your jacket and take a seat at the kitchen island. Peter takes your silence as agreement and goes back to stirring the pasta. When you speak again, his ears practically touch his shoulders. This dreadful feeling in his stomach has just been mounting all day. He feels ready to vibrate out of his own skin.

“Peter, where were you last night? I want the truth.”

Peter’s hand clenches around the spoon and he keeps his back to you. “Went over to May’s to help around the house and then I saw Gwen.”

You let out a loud scoff and your hands slap against the counter. “Did you all get your stories straight? Am I hearing the right lie, now?” 

Peter drops the spoon and turns to face you. He expects anger, maybe sadness. But you’re not giving him anything. You’re just… cold and Peter hates it. He’s seen you use that look before. It’s always been directed at people you don’t care about. You don’t hate them, you don’t love them, you just… don’t care. He doesn’t want to be someone you don’t care about. He can’t be. 

“Look me in the eye,” you command. “Tell me the truth.”

Peter takes in a steadying breath, doing his best not to make it obvious. “Sweetheart, I swear, I went to help May with the heat and the gutters. Gwen called and she needed my help on her chemistry project. I’m sorry that I got home late-”

“I can’t,” you clear your throat and the way your voice cracks makes his heart ache. “I can’t believe that you’re just going to stand there and lie to me.”

He shakes his head and takes a desperate step forward. “No, bug, I’m-”

You hold your hand up and his jaw snaps shut. “You’ve talked Peter, now it’s my turn. I have put up with a lot from you. If anyone treated me the way you do, you know what you would tell me?”

He opens his mouth and you shoot him a look that makes him shrink into himself. “Do not answer that, I am still talking. You would tell me to cut them out. If someone doesn’t respect my time, my dates, if they lie straight to my fucking face, then that’s not someone who deserves to be in my life. You are never on time, if you even show up at all.”

He wants to object, he really does, but he knows you’re right. Still, you must sense his apprehension. “Scroll through our texts from the past two months. It’s just a block of me asking where you are and telling you how stupid I feel. Then you show up, make everything better, and I just let you get away with it. Because I have known and loved you for so long, I let you disrespect me. I can handle missing dates, I can handle not being on time, always being at my place and never letting me over at yours. But I can’t do this, I can’t just swallow down you lying straight to my face. Getting your aunt and my best friend involved in this is sick, Pete. What do you expect me to think when Gwen’s lying about why you’re at her place?”

“No, sweetheart,” he finally speaks, rushing toward you, voice breaking on something desperate. He reaches for you, but you jerk back and he swears something cracks open inside him. “I would never.”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “Why would I ever believe you?”

Peter flounders. He tries to think of anything. Anything that isn’t a lie and isn’t the truth about who he is. But his mind is blank. The panic flooding through him is overriding anything that might get you back, might get you in his arms again. 

You suck your teeth and give him a jerky nod. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you?” He whispers, afraid that if he speaks any louder, he might actually cry. 

“I think this has been happening for a long time, Peter. It’s just your first time realizing it.”

No, no, he can’t handle that. He can’t handle knowing that this awful, barbed feeling ripping through him is how he’s made you feel for so long. But he can’t just spill his guts and tell you everything. 

Right after Gwen had discovered him, it was like the bad guys had a missile lock on her. She kept getting thrown into danger, nearly dying, because of him. He can’t be the reason you get hurt. He can’t live with that. 

But he’s hurting you either way and for once, he can’t think of a way to make this all smooth over. 

You take in a sharp breath and turn away from him. You walk to the stove, turning off the burner as the food begins to smoke. “I think you should go, Peter.”

“Bug,” but he doesn’t have anything to say and you still won’t look at him. He just wants you to look at him. He feels as if you did, if you saw how sorry he was, something here might be fixed. 

“I’m going to take a shower. When I’m done, I expect you to be gone.” You toss the pot in the sink and head down the hall, not another word spared for him. And Peter…

He just spirals. Every mistake, every time he showed up late, just pummels into him as he realizes this is all his fault. 

You turned off your phone yesterday. The missed calls and texts from Peter were bordering on obnoxious and you couldn’t take it anymore. Even Gwen kept trying to call you. Kept texting you that it’s not what you think. 

But did they ever offer any other explanation?

No, they fucking didn’t.

So, not only did you lose your boyfriend, the man you’ve been in love with as long as you’ve known him. You also lost your best friend. 

Best. Week. Ever.

Sick of being sad in your bed, you decide to go be sad outside. Maybe just grab a pint of ice cream from the bodega and lock yourself inside your apartment for the rest of your life. That sounds like a decent plan. 

Leaving your phone, you grab your keys and some cash. It’s still cold outside, though the snow has calmed down a little bit. It soaks through your tennis shoes, now, seeps along the hem of your sweatpants. No part of you can be bothered to care about that as you trudge toward the shop. 

It’s unusually quiet as you walk inside. Usually it’s a lot busier this time of night. Maybe the universe decided to give you a break. 

Digging through the freezer section, you frown when you don’t see your favorite flavor. You turn toward the shop owner, Al, who has gotten used to you coming down here the past few days. “You guys don’t have any more Turtlesaurus Rex?”

Al’s silent and you frown, finally turning to fully face him. A man in a black jacket lingers by the counter, hands stuffed deep in his pockets. Al gives you a tense smile, and your brows furrow as dread picks at you. 

“All out. Maurie down the street might have some.” There’s something about how wide his eyes are that’s making you think you probably should have brought your phone. Especially because you definitely just saw the handle of a gun in that man’s jacket and you really need to call the cops. (Even though they probably won’t do anything.)

“Yeah, I’ll go check over there.”

“Have a good night.”

You try not to sound stiff as you return the sentiment. But you’ve barely made it to the door when you hear the distinct sound of a hammer being pulled back. 

“You think I’m stupid?” What a wonderful time this would be for a freak in red and blue spandex to show up. 

You turn slowly and shake your head, absolutely zero idea how to defuse this. 

“I think the lady’s just being polite. Personally, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone encapsulate the term ‘mouth-breather’ so well.”

Your eyes widen, and you whip around to see Spider-Man standing at the entrance of the bodega. What the fuck is your life? 

“Hey, jackass,” you hiss, and his head whips toward you. “Who’s he pointing the gun at?”

Spider-Man shrugs, “What gun?” You barely have a second to blink before a thick white string is twhip-ing past you and jerking the gun out of the man’s hands. 

“Smartass,” you mutter under your breath. 

“I think you mean, ‘thank you, Spider-Man for saving my life,’” you shoot him a flat look and walk out of the bodega. Maybe it’s time to just accept that you’re not meant to be in the outside world. You’re better off cocooned in your bed. 

There are no robbers there. No cheating boyfriends and conniving best friends. 

About a minute later, you hear rapid footsteps approaching. “I don’t have a purse, phone, or wallet.”

“Wow, great mugger-deterrent. I totally don’t want to rob you now.”

You plant your feet in the snow and hear Spider-Man let out a sharp breath as he skids around you. “I thought you were the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Not the quippy, neighborhood pervert who follows girls around at night.”

Spider-Man lets out a noise that can only be described as a guffaw. “I’m making sure you get home safely. Since clearly you don’t care. I mean, who walks around this late at night without mace at least?”

“Me,” you tell him flatly. 

“Pretty girls shouldn’t be walking around here on their own.”

Your lips curl and you gag as you continue toward your apartment. “Okay, first of all, totally not helping with your creep angle.” He groans and you almost laugh at the defeated sound. “Also, I’m fresh off a break-up, so keep the compliments to yourself.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Spider-Man quickly jumps in front of you and you frown as he blocks your way. “Breakup,” his voice is pitched so high, you swear it almost sounds familiar. “You broke up with someone?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“R-really?” He tries to lean against a lamppost, slips, and then straightens awkwardly like he meant to do that. “Because you know sometimes people think that it’s just a break and not a breakup, you know? Big difference. Are you sure this isn’t just a break?”

He’s talking so rapidly you can barely understand him. It doesn’t help that he’s got that mask on, so you can’t try to catch the words on his lips to decipher them. You think you might have gotten half of that word-vomit.

“Well, I’m the one who did it. I feel like I should know.”

“Does he?” He holds up his hands, quick to correct himself. “Or she? Spider-Man doesn’t judge.”

“Oh, good to know, he’s a pervert, but at least he’s an ally.” You push past him. “Look, if he doesn’t know, then he’s a lot stupider than I gave him credit for.”

You hear a low, “Ouch,” behind you and figure you might be being a tad harsh about Peter. But what the hell would Spider-Man care?

“You know,” Spider-Man continues after you. 

Jesus, he’s like a damn dog.

“I’ve always believed that everyone deserves a second chance.”

You glare over at him and swear you see the eyes of his mask turn down. You’ve never seen a mask emote before; it’s incredibly bizarre. “Do they deserve a second chance after sleeping with your best friend?”

Spider-Man shrugs, throwing his hands in the air. “Do you have evidence that it happened, though?”

“Dude,” you snap. “What do you care? And what other evidence would I need besides the fact that he wouldn’t tell me the truth? If there was nothing to hide, why would he continue to hide shit?”

You hear his inhale of breath and shake your head, holding your hands up. “No, you know what, no. Alright? I didn’t get my Turtlesaurus Rex and I am not going to listen to some weirdo in a unitard give me relationship advice.”

“Unitard?” He scoffs. “I’m not a weirdo.”

“Oh, yeah?” You call over your shoulder. “Then stop following me home!” It takes a few minutes to believe he’s actually gone and you can finally breathe again. What weird ass fever dream was your life turning into?

You sit on the ledge of your roof’s building, a blanket wrapped around your shoulders. You’re scrolling through all the texts Peter’s sent you in the last three hours. There are at least fifty of them. But it’s the one at the end that really catches your eye. 

Is this really it? Are we done? Bug-

You stop reading at the nickname and put your phone down. Reluctantly, Spider-Man’s words from the other night pop into your head. Some people think it's a break, not a breakup.

How could Peter not have gotten the message by now?

“Fancy meeting you here.”

You let out a screech and jolt forward. Arms winding wildly as you try to regain your balance. The city tilts below you until something’s latched onto the back of your shirt and you’re suddenly being pulled into a firm chest. 

“Why would you sit on the edge?” Again, his voice gets an impressively shrill pitch. 

Shoving away from him, you whip around and slap his shoulder. “Why would you scare someone sitting on the edge?”

You can hear his sharp intake of breath before his argument fizzles out. “That’s what I thought Spider-Boy-”

“Man.”

“Whatever.” You walk back to the edge and rewrap yourself in your blanket. With a pointed glare over your shoulder, you hop right back on your perch. Spider-Man lets out a world-weary sigh before he jumps up beside you. 

“You know,” he drawls. “Most people say thank you when a superhero saves you.”

“Oh,” you laugh. “Is that what you are, now? A superhero?”

“Dude. What is your problem?” His voice goes so flat, all humor sucked out of it, that, for some weird reason, it’s the first thing he’s said to get a real laugh out of you. He seems just as confused as you are if the way he tosses his hands up means anything. 

“I cannot figure you out.”

You shake your head and brush a stray curl from your eyes. “It’s not you, Bugboy-”

“Rude.”

“It’s life,” you spread your palms out, gesturing to the sprawling city across from you. “Just broke up with the love of my life. Lost my bestie. The research project I’ve been trying to join for a year is falling apart at the seams. Oh, and I almost got shot yesterday.”

You point your face to the sky and let out a dramatic sigh. “God hates me.”

There’s a light nudge on your arm and you look over to see that Spider-Man’s moved closer to you. “God doesn’t hate you.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah. Because I didn’t let you get shot. I’d say that’s pretty damn lucky.” You snort and from the mask, you think he’s… pleased? It’s really hard to tell. 

“I guess that’s fair.” 

Spider-Man lets out a satisfied hum as he turns to the city. “You gotta stop being so hard on yourself, bug.”

Your entire body goes still. Your eyes widen as they stare down at your lap, adrenaline rushing through your blood as you turn toward Spider-Man. “What’d you say?” You ask, voice so low you’re surprised he even registers it. 

He shrugs, “I said to stop being so hard on yourself.”

“No, you called me something. What’d you call me?”

“Bug,” Spider-Man drawls and you swear you’re going crazy because that voice is painfully familiar. “You called me Bugboy, I thought it would be fair.”

It’s too hard to distinguish whether this swooping feeling in your stomach is relief or disappointment. And you hate yourself for not knowing which one you want it to be. 

“Right,” you scoff and rub your eyes. “I’m going crazy, now.”

Spider-Man lets out a long sigh as he watches you. “You kind of seem like you’re having a mental breakdown. Maybe, I don’t know, get off the edge of the very tall building.”

“Oh, don’t tell me Bugboy’s got a crush.”

Your lips curl at his scoff. “You’re impossible.”

Feeling only slightly guilty for the hell you’ve given him, you slip off the edge and get your feet planted firmly on the ground. “Better?”

He surveys you suspiciously before nodding. You pick your phone up off the ledge and, for some reason, are compelled to open up the texts with Peter. You should have guessed how nosey Spider-Man was going to be about it. 

“That the ex?”

You shoot him a flat look as he kicks his legs over the ledge. “Yeah. That’s the ex.”

“So, what are you going to tell him?” He motions toward the last text. “Break or breakup?” Your mind snags on how Peter called you bug and Spider-Man’s weird slip-up before you force yourself to dispel the thoughts. 

“Breakup. I guess I should have made it more clear.” Your fingers hover over the keyboard before you shoot Spider-Man a look. His back has gone weirdly tense and you frown. “Hey, you’re a guy. How’s the nicest way to tell him it’s done.”

“Don’t.” His voice is clipped, almost angry. “He’ll get the hint. Trust me.” 

Your brows furrow as you eye him warily. “Are you okay?”

“Gotta go. Superhero business, you know?” You shrug, but he doesn’t seem to care. He’s already leaping off the ledge, thwip-ing his way to the building across from yours. 

“Weirdo,” you scoff. 

You figured that after Spider-Man’s abrupt departure on the roof, that would be the end of it. But, no, it’s only gotten worse for you. He’s everywhere now. He’s somehow more consistent than your ex ever was. 

Walking home from late research sections, look who wants to be a walking buddy. 

Heading to the bodega for a midnight snack, somehow, Spider-Man had the same idea. 

Your life is now a Sunday comic strip in the paper. It’s like there’s some sadistic artist out there exploiting your misery for humor. It’s not just him, either. It’s the month. In all your drama with Peter, you’d failed to keep up with the dates. 

Now, freshly single for the first time in a couple of years, you sit alone preparing yourself for the next week. Valentine’s Day is Saturday, which means suffering through pink streamers all over campus and girls walking around with gift baskets lovingly curated by their boyfriends. 

“I don’t like how often I find you on this ledge.”

You spare a glance over your shoulder and smile. “I don’t like that you still haven’t learned not to scare me.”

“Touche,” Spider-Man breathes out, taking quick strides toward you. “You seem tense. Feel like sharing? I’m a great listener.”

“Nothing big, just Valentine’s Day. I’ve had a boyfriend for so long I forgot how bitter and annoying it is for single people.”

“Tell me about it,” he sighs. 

“Really? The Spider-Man is single?”

“I appreciate the surprise in your voice, no matter how forced it is.” You let out a wry chuckle and you swear you can hear a smile in his laugh. 

“Probably a good thing, though. I can’t imagine any girlfriend would be happy with the amount of time you spend on this ledge with me.”

“No,” he agrees,  “probably not.” The next noise he lets out is soft, tired in the kind of way that resonates with you. For the most part, your interactions are shallow. There’s banter, stupid quips, and then he’s off. You don’t usually hear something so real from him. 

“Freshly single?” You ask. His head whips toward you and you shrug. “I recognize the misery of your sigh. It resonates within my withered heart.”

Spider-Man swats your shoulder lightly and you grin. “Yeah, it’s fresh. I still don’t think I’ve accepted it.”

You prop your chin in your hand and smile at him. “What level of not accepted are we talking here? Stalking? Or just crying over Instagram posts?”

Spider-Man goes quiet and you pull back. He recognizes the suspicion on your face and waves his hands. “No, no, no, this doesn’t count as stalking. Not really. I mean, it’s consensual?”

He sounds more unsure of himself at the end than you did. “Let's just not talk about that,” you offer. “I don’t think I want to know what your idea of consensual stalking is.” Spider-Man snorts and you shake your head. 

A billboard across from you catches your eye. It’s Gwen’s favorite band, an announcement that they’ll be coming through soon. There’s a sharp ache in your chest when you remember you can’t just text her about stuff like that anymore. 

“Gwen would love that,” you say, almost without thinking. 

But what’s worse is when the man beside you doesn’t think either. “Oh, yeah, she would.”

Consensual

Stalking

Oh. My. God. 

Your entire body stiffens as you turn to Spider-Man/maybe your ex-boyfriend. He doesn’t seem to realize his slip-up and that just makes you freeze up. You don’t know what to do. You can’t just blindly accuse him of being Peter. If you start hinting at secret identities, he might stop talking to you. 

Loathe as you are to admit it, you’ve begun to enjoy his company. The main reason being he reminded you of how it was with Peter before you guys started dating. 

Oh, Jesus, you’re gonna throw up off the ledge of your building. When the pavement below seems to swim up to you, it’s time to slip off the ledge. Slowly, fighting off the vertigo of your discovery, you drop back to safety. 

Spider-Man watches you, head tilted in question. “Um, I have to go.” You search for an excuse, but none comes. “Yeah, I have to go.”

“Oh,” he seems taken aback, but doesn’t comment. “Alright. I’ll see you later?”

You let out a noise between a hum and a squeal as you rush back into your apartment building. Your mind is racing while you scramble through the door of your apartment. Like a detective, you flit through different memories, red string connecting each one as you start to line up Peter’s disappearances with Spider-Man's greatest hits.

Every missed date, every time he showed up late, it was all right there. But you never thought to connect it because… Well, why would you? Peter is Peter. He’s not a superhero. He definitely doesn’t have webs. Please, don’t let him have webs. 

Scrambling for your phone, you dial the first number you can think of. It’s barely ringing before it’s getting picked up. “Gwen,” your voice is incredibly shaky as you try to calm yourself down. “I’m going to ask you something and if you don’t tell me the truth, we’re never talking again.”

Spider-Man/Peter Parker/ex-boyfriend-

No, no, too many titles. Peter has not been around in the past week. Not as his alter ego, and not at his lectures. Unfortunately, a lot of your schedule seems to intersect and the majority of your day is spent hiding in a hoodie and trying not to make eye contact. 

But there hasn’t been any of that at all this week. 

Maybe Gwen told him you know. He’s probably losing his mind right now. 

But, no, she swore she wouldn’t and you know she’s not going to risk hurting your friendship again. Though you did profusely apologize for ever thinking that she could do that to you. And then she berated you about thinking she would ever be attracted to Peter. 

Which… Ouch. 

It’s Saturday, which used to mean days spent with him. Instead, it now means watching people get all mushy on Valentine’s Day. That used to be you, disgustingly in love, kissing way more than you should in public. 

Now, you watch it all on the subway with that same old glare you used to have before Peter. You’re thinking about him a lot more than you want to. Especially given that he’s supposed to be an ex. 

After your long speech on respect and boundaries and honesty, you should be completely over him. But it sort of makes sense now. Especially after Gwen told you what happened to her when she found out about him. 

Peter wanted to protect you. You can understand that. But it doesn’t just erase all of the pain you felt while you were in the dark. You let out a low groan, ignoring the people around you as you walk home. You just keep going in circles over and over again. 

The streets around you begin to thin out the closer to home you get. You’re still so deep in thought, you don’t notice the man dangling in front of you until your forehead is smacking into his. 

“Ow,” you hiss, pressing your palm to the bruise that’s probably already forming. Backing up, Spider-Man, Peter, is dangling from the small overpass, upside down, as he waits for you. 

“Dude,” you drawl. “How long have you just been hanging out here?”

He shrugs, “An hour, maybe.” Only in Queens would people pass by a dangling man in spandex and not question a thing. 

One of his hands is tucked behind his back, and the other is holding onto his webbing. “Here,” he says. “I’ve got something for you.”

He untucks his free hand and passes you a bright pink, smothered in glitter, Valentine's Day card. You can hear his proud smile as he asks, “Be my Valentine?”

Narrowing your eyes at him, you shake your head with a low laugh. This is the dork you fell in love with. The boy you swore you would follow anywhere. It’s not his fault he’s such an idiot, not really. 

Something soothes the ever permanent ache in your heart as you imagine the smile he’s probably got plastered on face. God, you bet he’s so proud of himself for this silly little Valentine. 

A deep longing echoes through you and you reach up, going for the edge of his mask, when he reels back. “What’re you-”

“Relax, Parker,” you whisper. He goes completely still and you take hold of the mask. 

“Did Gwen tell you?”

“You did, dumbass. You know, you’re really bad at the whole secret identity thing when it comes to consensually stalking your ex.” He lets out a low groan as you peel down his mask, just enough for his lips to be visible. 

Pulling back, you take his face in your hands and smile. “Do you want me as your Valentine, or not?”

“What do you think, bug?” With a soft laugh, you lean forward and press your lips to his. It takes a second to get the angle right, what with his chin brushing your nose and all. But you don’t need perfect, you just need him. 

Pulling back, he’s got a goofy grin on his face and you smirk. “Parker?” He hums as you fix his mask. “If you ever lie to me again, I’ll cut a hole in the crotch of your unitard. Or, worse second option, I’ll tell Jonah Jameson where you live. Got it?”

He goes still and you raise a brow. “You’re not joking?” You shake your head, expression flat. “Yeah, I got it, sweetheart.”

Smiling, you press a kiss to his cheek and step back. “Be home by six,” you tell him. “And bring some takeout.” You walk around him as he swings himself back up to the top of the overpass. 

“I love you!” He calls after you. 

“I know you do, Bugboy!”

𝘞𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘴𝘵 𝘉𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘜𝘱 𝘈𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯 𝘓𝘢𝘴𝘵 𝘕𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵

𝘚𝘢𝘣𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘢 𝘊𝘢𝘳𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳                  ♥︎

⇄              ◁◁  I I  ▷▷          ↻

⁰² ⁰⁸ ━━━━━━━━━●━ ⁰⁰ ²⁵

💿 We've been here before and we'll be here tomorrow 💿

a/n: this was meant to be angstier but, well, I started writing him in the Spider-Man “voice” and folded like a wet paper towel

Bruce left not long after. Despite everything—despite the drinking, the kidnapping, the revelations—the exhaustion hadn’t caught up to you yet. you felt wide awake, your mind was reeling.

You poured yourself a glass of ice-cold water and wandered toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Gotham, the city spread out beneath you in a glittering sprawl of light and shadow.

Gotham. 

A city of sin and corruption. 

A city you had always wanted to help. 

And the city Bruce had been protecting all along.

For years, you’d only ever seen the mask he chose to show you—the careless playboy, the billionaire who spent recklessly, partied endlessly, and drifted through life untouched by consequence. And yet, all this time, he had been Gotham’s silent guardian.

Looking back, the signs felt painfully obvious.

Batman needed money to have such fancy gadgets. Bruce had it.

Batman vanished at night. So did Bruce.

The scars. The motivation. The years-long disappearance.

You had noticed everything—just never let yourself connect the dots.

Now that you had, you were left trying to reconcile the man you loved with the man he had hidden from you. 

You exhaled slowly, fingers tightening around the glass before you took a sip, the cold grounding you.

You loved him. As much as you had tried not to. As much as you had tried to leave… You still loved him and it turned out he loved you too. 

Your gaze drifted across the rooftops, scanning the skyline, half-expecting to find a his silhouette perched in the shadows, watching you. Protecting you from a distance, the way he always seemed to have.

For the first time, you didn’t know whether you wanted him to come closer… or give you space.

The next morning, you woke to the sound of relentless knocking.

With a groan, you rolled out of bed, your head pounding in protest as you shuffled toward the door. When you pulled it open, a delivery man stood there, clipboard tucked under his arm.

“Mrs. Wayne?” he asked.

You sighed. “As of this moment, still.”

He blinked, clearly unsure what to do with that, before recovering and holding out the clipboard and pen. “Signature, please.”

You signed absently.

The moment you handed it back, he stepped aside and waved over his shoulder. “Bring them in!”

Your eyes widened as several men filed into your penthouse, arms full of bouquets. One after another, they kept coming until the entryway was overflowing with colour and the air was thick with sweet, familiar floral scents.

You stared, stunned.

They weren’t just any flowers.

They were your favourite flowers. Every single one of them. The ones you loved and would bring to the manor in a small fresh bouquet every week. It was a little thing that you did to bring joy to your day.

By the time the last bouquet was set down, your penthouse looked more like a conservatory than a home.

You didn’t need to ask who was responsible.

What tightened in your chest was the realization you hadn’t expected—that despite everything, despite the distance and the secrets, he had paid enough attention to know every single one of your favourite flowers without you telling him.

As the delivery men filed out one by one, Selina strode in, her steps confident. She stopped short, eyes widening as she took in the sheer amount of flowers filling your space.

“Well,” she mused, a slow smirk spreading across her face, “I guess someone finally came to his senses. Grovelling suits him.”

Your head snapped up at the sound of her voice. “Oh my god—Selina!” You rushed toward her without thinking. “Are you okay? I completely forgot to text you. I should’ve checked—”

She waved you off dismissively. “Relax. This kitty has nine lives. Just a bump on the head.” Her expression softened as she looked you over more carefully. “What about you? Are you alright?”

You let out a slow breath. “I’m fine. Br—” You cleared your throat, catching yourself just in time. “Batman got to me before Riddler could do anything.”

“Did he now?” Selina drawled, one brow lifting as she very clearly clocked the near slip. “So he finally got the balls to tell you.”

You blinked. “What?” You frowned, doing your best to ignore the way your heart stuttered as you forced an air of innocence. “Tell me what?”

Selina gave you a long, unimpressed look. “Sweetheart,” she said lightly, “I’m already aware that your husband moonlights as Gotham’s favourite bat.”

You went completely still. “He told you?”

She shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Not exactly. Let’s just say we run in… similar circles.”

You stared at her, processing, then blurted, “You’re a vigilante too?”

Selina laughed, the sound warm and sharp. “God, no. I have standards.” She smirked. “You probably heard of me as Catwoman.”

“The burglar?” you asked flatly.

She pressed a hand to her chest in mock offence. “Thief, darling. Burglar sounds so… inelegant.”

You stared at her, mind scrambling to reconcile the woman standing in your penthouse with Gotham’s most infamous cat-themed menace. “You’re telling me one of my closest friends is a wanted criminal.”

Selina grinned wider. “Allegedly.”

You let out a breath that was half a laugh, half disbelief. “Gotham really does love a double life.”

“Occupational hazard,” Selina said lightly. Then, more seriously, “But now you know why I clocked Bruce years ago. Takes one to spot one.”

You shook your head slowly. “I was married to Batman and best friends with Catwoman.”

Selina gave a satisfied hum. “You do have excellent taste in company.” Then she winced, like she’d just remembered something she probably should’ve led with. “Me, Bruce, Oliver, and Clark.”

Your eyes narrowed immediately. “What about Oliver and Clark?”

She met your gaze. “Green Arrow and Superman.”

You stumbled back a step before dropping onto the couch, elbows on your knees, head falling into your hands. “So what—” you let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh, “—you all knew? All this time? And no one thought to tell me?” You looked up at her, hurt flashing through the shock. “Was this a joke to you? Some kind of… club I wasn’t allowed into?”

Selina’s expression softened immediately. The teasing edge vanished.

“No,” she said firmly, crossing the room to sit across from you. “It was never a joke.” She leaned forward, forearms on her thighs. “It just wasn’t our secret to tell.”

You let out a weak scoff. “That seems to be a running theme.”

“Bruce didn’t want you knowing about this life,” Selina said evenly. “And out of respect—for him, and for you—we kept you in the dark.”

You grumbled under your breath, anger and exhaustion tangling in your chest.

Selina reached out then, placing a steady hand on your shoulder. “As much as I hate to admit it,” she said, wry but sincere, “the idiot did have a point. Knowing paints a target on your back. A bigger one than the one you already had just by being you.”

You swallowed. “So instead, I got lied to.”

Her grip tightened slightly. “You got protected the only way he knew how,” she said quietly. “Poorly? Yes... But out of love. He’s an idiot most of the time, but he does love you. And he’s been miserable ever since you asked for the divorce.”

You lifted a brow slowly. “So you knew about that before I even told you?”

Selina winced. “Guilty. He confessed the night you asked for it, and while he might not have said it outright, he was heartbroken.”

She drew in a breath, then sighed. “And if we’re committing to honesty…” Her gaze held yours. “I should probably tell you I’m the reason you got kidnapped.”

Your stomach dropped. “Selina.”

“I know,” she said quickly, before you could speak. “I know.” Selina exhaled, running a hand through her hair. “Nygma owed me a favour. Oliver and Clark were nearby, making sure you were safe. I took a gamble.” Her gaze held yours, unflinching. “You needed to know the truth—and Bruce needed to stop freezing. He was going to let you walk away because he thinks suffering quietly is some kind of virtue.”

You closed your eyes and drew in a slow, steady breath. When you opened them again, you looked at Selina, exhaustion weighing heavy in your chest.

“But does knowing the truth even make a difference at this point?” you asked softly.

Selina shook her head. “Only you can answer that.”

When you didn’t respond, she sighed, her tone gentler now. “Then let me ask you this,” she said. “Do you love him?”

Your throat tightened. You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded instead.

Because you did. You always had.

You pressed your lips together, fingers curling in your lap. Loving Bruce had never been simple—but trusting him with your heart, after years of distance and coldness? That felt like standing at the edge of a building and deciding whether to jump again after already learning how badly the fall hurt.

“Loving him isn’t the problem,” You swallowed. “Trusting him is.”

Selina reached out, squeezing your hand once. 

“You’re allowed to love him and be angry,” she said gently. “You’re allowed to take your time. And you’re allowed to walk away if, in the end, loving him costs you more than you can afford.” She paused, her gaze sharpening just a little. “But don’t walk away because you’re scared.”

You looked at her.

“Bruce let his fear control him,” Selina continued softly. “And it almost cost you. Don’t make the same mistake—don’t let fear decide for you and then live with that regret.”

Monday finally arrived, heavy with all your unresolved problems.

Bruce still hadn’t signed the papers, and after everything that had come to light between you, you existed in a strange, fragile in-between. Nothing was settled, nothing was resolved. So you chose the one place that had always grounded you.

Wayne Enterprises.

It might have been your husband’s company by name, but you had made it your own in every way that mattered. You ran the operations. You commanded the meetings. You had built your confidence there, forged your backbone steel-strong against men who looked down on you. In the business world, your reputation was known to be razor-sharp—a shark, they called you.

And right now, you needed that side of yourself.

You still hadn’t returned to the Manor choosing to stay in your penthouse that was under your name. After getting ready, you headed downstairs—only to stop short.

Bruce was waiting for you. A cup of coffee in one hand. A folded paper bag in the other.

At the sound of your approach, he scrambled to straighten up—shoulders squaring, posture instinctively formal despite the nerves written all over his face.

You slowed a few feet away.

“I thought you were giving me time,” you said quietly.

He nodded without hesitation. “I am.” Then, after a beat, he added, softer, “But I never said anything about me.”

You watched him carefully as he went on, voice steady but raw beneath the surface. “I’m choosing you. Whether you choose me in the end or not.” His jaw tightened, resolve settling in. “I will always choose you. I’ve just done a terrible job of showing it.”

For a moment, you had no words.

He took a small step forward and held out the cup and the bag. “Breakfast,” he said. “From the coffee shop on 23rd. The one that you love.”

You accepted them slowly, almost absently, then glanced at the order—and froze. Everything was right. The exact order down to the littlest preferences.

“How…?” you started.

“You always skip breakfast,” he said, cheeks flushing faintly. “And having it sent to your office would’ve been made it cold by now.”

Your brows furrowed as the implication sank in. You’d always assumed it was your assistant who would make sure you had your breakfast—another small convenience you never questioned.

“You…” The word slipped out before you could finish the thought.

He shrugged, almost sheepish. “You get too busy to eat otherwise.”

You were still reeling but he didn’t wait for a reply. He opened the passenger door and gestured for you to get in, tentative but hopeful.

“Can we go to work together?”

You nodded.

Relief crossed his face instantly, softening into a boyish smile you hadn’t seen in years. He helped you into the car before sliding in after you.

As the car pulled away, you tried very hard not to blush under the weight of his attention. He kept glancing over at you—quick, stolen looks—as you lifted the cup and took a sip. There was something almost painfully earnest about it, like an eager puppy watching for approval. It made you remember the boy he used to be, before the two of you grew apart.

You reached into the bag and pulled out the pastry—then paused.

His lips parted slightly, anticipation flickering across his face. But at the sight of your hesitation, a frown began to form, as he assumed it was a sign of rejection.

Instead of taking a bite, you broke it cleanly in half and held one piece out to him.

His eyes widened. “It’s for you,” he started to protest, already shaking his head.

“Just accept it, Bruce,” you said evenly.

He hesitated—then nodded and took the offered half.

From the front seat, Alfred caught the exchange in the rearview mirror. A small, satisfied smile curved his lips at the sight of you two.

“So…” Bruce began, his tone trying and failing to be casual, as if he hadn’t been worried about your reaction all weekend. “Did you get the flowers?”

You nodded, taking another bite of your pastry. “I did.” You glanced sideways, curiosity flickering. “How did you know all my favourites?”

His gaze met yours. “Every week,” he said quietly, “you bring home a vase of fresh flowers. Always the same ones.” He swallowed, then went on, softer. “They’re the ones that grow in your parents’ garden. You used to say it was the most magical place in the world when we were kids.”

Your breath caught at the memory—running through the garden with Bruce as you played hide-and-seek, laughter echoing between the hedges. Lounging in the sun when the games tired you out, his head on your lap as he napped while you carefully weaving flower crowns from whatever you could pick from your mother’s garden without getting scolded.

A faint smile crossed your lips as the image surfaced of him wearing the crooked crown you’d made proudly. When you glanced at Bruce, the look in his eyes told you he was remembering it too.

You hadn’t realized how much of that boy he’d kept hidden, holding onto such memories.

You didn’t get the chance to say anything more before the car slowed and Alfred pulled up in front of the company.

Bruce moved before Alfred even had the chance to open the door. He stepped out first, then turned back, extending a hand toward you without hesitation. You accepted it, your fingers sliding into his, and his grip tightened slightly as he helped you out. Almost instinctively, he drew you closer, his hand shifting to rest at the small of your back.

Together, you began to climb the steps toward the entrance.

“Bruce!”

You stiffened at the sound of Julie’s voice. You made a move to keep walking, unwilling to watch her hang off of him. But Bruce’s hand shifted, firm at your waist, holding you in place.

You shot him a sharp look. He ignored it.

Instead, he turned with a polite, tense smile as Julie approached.

“Bruce,” she greeted brightly, then her gaze flicked to you and lingered a beat too long. Her smile thinned. “Oh. You two made up?”

You lifted a brow, unimpressed. “Is that a problem?”

Julie shook her head quickly. “No, of course not. It’s just—” she hesitated, tilting her head. “That fight looked serious. You seemed very harsh on Bruce. Unfair, even.”

Before you could respond, Bruce spoke.

“My wife had every right to be angry,” he said smoothly, his tone calm but firm. “If anything, she’s been more than understanding.”

Julie paused, her gaze flicking between the two of you as she tried to figure out what changed between you two. “Well… that’s good,” she said at last, forcing a smile. “I was actually here to see if you wanted to go for brunch, Bruce?”

Bruce turned to you instead. “Do you want brunch, honey?”

You blinked at the endearment, momentarily caught off guard, then shook your head. “I have work to get done.”

“You’re always such a workaholic,” Julie laughed lightly.

“She is,” Bruce agreed mildly, a faint curve to his mouth. “That’s why the company is where it is. She’s the true powerhouse at Wayne Enterprises.”

Julie laughed lightly but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Of course,” she said tightly. “Still, brunch wouldn’t take long. It might be nice to get out of the office for a bit.”

You shook your head. “Unfortunately, I have a full day.”

Time was already slipping through your fingers, and Eden wasn’t going to secure itself. You needed focus on closing that deal.

Julie’s smile brightened, quick and eager. “I guess it’s just me and you then, Bruce.”

“I have a full schedule as well,” Bruce replied evenly. “A board call, then meetings.”

Julie blinked, then laughed again, as if brushing it off. “I’m sure Y/N doesn’t mind handling that.”

Something sharpened in Bruce’s expression. His gaze narrowed, voice firm and unmistakably cold. “She’s my wife,” he said. “Not my secretary.”

“Besides,” he added calmly, “now that our deal is over, it wouldn’t be appropriate. I’m a married man.”

Julie recoiled as if struck, her composure cracking before she scoffed. “Since when does that matter? You two are divorcing.”

“That’s not your place to comment on,” Bruce said coolly.

You turned to look at him, genuine shock flickering across your face.

Julie’s laugh died mid-breath. Her eyes widened. “Bruce—”

He didn’t let her finish.

“—and it never has been,” he continued, voice low and precise, the tone he reserved for boardrooms when someone had just crossed a line they couldn’t uncross.

Julie’s mouth opened, then closed. “I was just—”

“My marriage is not a topic for your speculation,” Bruce cut in smoothly. “Our divorce—if and when it happens—is not your business. Nor is how we handle our relationship until then.”

Color bloomed high on Julie’s cheeks. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly. “I’m just saying there’s nothing wrong with two friends going out." She looked to you, "Come on, Y/N—you shouldn’t overreact about Bruce and I being close.”

You lifted a brow, but before you could respond, Bruce spoke again.

“Julie, you seem to forget,” he said calmly, “the only reason I attended those brunches was because you had information I needed.” He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t need to. “And for the record, my wife hasn’t said a word about your behaviour. If anything, she’s been far too patient. This isn’t about her—it’s about you and your lack of respect for my marriage.”

You look at Bruce in surprise, wondering exactly what information he needed from her to be going to these brunches.

Julie laughed, the sound was sharp and brittle. “So what—because I’m done helping you, you decide to dump me?”

Bruce arched a brow. “Our relationship was purely business. You helped me by confirming who’s been leaking details of the Eden project to Lex,” he said evenly. “But let’s not forget how you’ve been playing both sides—feeding Lex personal information as well. Including news about my marriage.”

Julie’s face drained of colour.

“You—you can’t prove that,” she said, the scoff coming a beat too late, and too shaky to sound convincing.

Bruce didn’t blink. “You were the only one we told,” he said evenly. Selina and Alfred didn’t count because he knew they would never betray you and him “And the very next day, media outlets started speculating. Lex suddenly seemed very certain about the state of my marriage.”

Julie opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“I’ve been clear with you before,” Bruce continued, his voice steady and unraised. “Y/N is the only woman I will ever choose. That hasn’t changed. It won’t change—marriage or not.” His gaze didn’t waver. “I fulfilled my end of the deal. I made sure Lex left you alone. In return, you helped me find who was leaking company information and trying to sabotage Eden. That means there’s nothing left between us.”

With that, he gently pressed a hand to your back, guiding you forward.

Julie panicked and reached out, fingers wrapping around his arm. “Please, Bruce!” she pleaded. “He threatened me!”

Bruce stopped—but only long enough to look at her, his expression glacial. He calmly shrugged out of her grip.

“You went back to him of your own free will,” he said coolly. “After I pulled strings to make sure he left you alone. Your choices—and their consequences—are not my responsibility.”

“Bruce!” Julie cried.

He didn’t look back. He simply led you past her, his hand firm and steady at your back, leaving her standing there with nothing but the knowledge of her own mistakes.

“So,” you murmured once you were out of earshot, your voice low, “that’s why you were hanging around Julie.”

He nodded without hesitation. “She was close with Lex,” he said quietly. “And he’s been doing everything he can to sabotage Eden—blocking permits, stirring up Nexus, trying to gain control of those properties. Julie was the access point I needed to shut it down.”

He glanced down at you then, lips curving faintly. “What?” he added, almost incredulous. “You actually thought I liked her?”

He scoffed softly, shaking his head. “There’s only ever been one woman for me. That’s you.” His expression softened. “You’ve been working too hard on this project. I didn’t want to distract you with Lex’s schemes—not when I could handle it quietly.”

You nudged him gently at the side, a small smile tugging at your mouth despite yourself. “You certainly went about it in the most frustrating way possible.”

As the two of you stepped inside, your assistant was already there, posture snapping straight at the sight of you. Her gaze flicked to Bruce—questioning, wary—but you gave a subtle shake of your head, a silent later.

She cleared her throat, clutching her tablet a little too tightly. “Lucius wanted to meet with you about the Central City and Metropolis branches. They—”

“That can wait,” Bruce cut in smoothly.

He didn’t even look up at her. His attention was fixed on his phone, a slow, almost smug smile spreading across his face at whatever he was reading.

“We have a meeting to attend.”

Both of you blinked.

“I do?” you echoed, at the exact same moment your assistant sputtered, “She does?”

Your assistant went pale instantly, fingers flying across the screen as she scrolled through the itinerary, panic sharpening her movements. “I—I don’t have anything flagged. There’s no meeting listed, no external call, no—”

Bruce finally looked up.

He turned the phone toward you, tilting it just enough for you to see the screen.

Eden Project – Partnership Confirmation

Dear Mr. Wayne,

Dear Ms. Wayne,

On behalf of the Nexus Board of Directors, we are pleased to inform you that Nexus has voted to move forward with the Eden Project in partnership with Wayne Enterprises.

Following further internal review, we are confident that Wayne Enterprises’ proposed framework—particularly its emphasis on environmental remediation, regulatory compliance, and long-term community infrastructure—aligns with Nexus’s strategic and ethical objectives.

Pending final legal review and standard contractual formalities, we are prepared to proceed with the transfer of the designated properties and to establish the agreed-upon equity and oversight structures discussed in prior negotiations.

Our legal and operations teams will coordinate with Wayne Enterprises within the week to finalize timelines and next steps. Final terms can be discussed in person today.

We appreciate your patience throughout this process and look forward to a productive partnership.

Sincerely,

Andrew Cunningham 

Chief Executive Officer 

Nexus Corporation

For a moment, the world went quiet.

Your eyes traced the words again, slower this time, as if you needed to be sure they were real. Voted to move forward. Prepared to proceed. Final terms can be discussed today.

Your breath caught in your chest.

“They agreed,” you whispered, the words barely audible.

Bruce’s mouth curved into a soft, satisfied smile. His hands settled on your shoulders, warm and steady. “They did,” he said simply. “You did it.”

Your assistant made a sound somewhere between a gasp and a choked laugh. “Oh my god—oh my god, you did it,” she blurted, already moving. “I’ll—uh—I’ll clear the rest of the day. Legal, Lucius, ops—everyone.” 

You barely heard her.

Years of planning. Of roadblocks. Of watching Lex circle like a shark, trying to tear it out from under you. All of it crystallized into that single email glowing on Bruce’s screen.

You looked up at him, disbelief and triumph warring in your expression. 

“You knew,” you said softly.

He nodded. “I didn’t want to say anything until the decision was officially confirmed. A… coincidental leak of Julie and Lex discussing the real motivations behind his interest in the Nexus properties found its way to the board late Friday night.” His mouth twitched faintly. “Andrew doesn’t like being cornered. But he hates being lied to—and threatened—even more.”

Friday…the night you were kidnapped. 

The realization hit you all at once. That was why he’d asked for time when you confronted him about Julie. He hadn’t been stalling to make an excuse. He’d been waiting until he could lay everything out at once.

Part of you could have chosen anger. Could have clung to the fact that, once again, he’d been doing this behind your back. And there was still so much to unpack about his disastrous communication skills. 

But beneath all of that, the truth remained.

He’d done this for you.

Selina was right. If you walked away now—if you let fear make the decision for you—you’d regret it. Because as flawed as his choices had been, as much as he’d hidden and hurt you along the way, Bruce had never stopped standing at your side. Protecting you through the shadows. Taking care of you the only way he knew how.

Something warm and dangerous bloomed in your chest.

The world seemed to narrow then, the hum of the building fading until there was only the two of you amid glass windows and polished floors. Without thinking, you reached up and cupped his face, your fingers trembling as tears blurred your vision and finally spilled over.

“Thank you,” you choked out.

Bruce’s expression softened instantly. His hands came up to cradle your face in return, thumbs brushing gently beneath your eyes as if he could catch every tear before it fell.

“I know I haven’t been the best husband,” he said quietly, the words stripped of bravado or charm. “I know I’ve hidden behind excuses and silence.” His voice thickened, raw and unguarded. “But if you can find it in your heart to give me one more chance, I’ll prove to you the feelings I’ve been too much of a coward to show.”

A shaky breath left you as you nodded, tears slipping freely now.

“One chance, Bruce,” you whispered.

It wasn’t blind forgiveness. It wasn’t even a clean slate—you refused to pretend that years of absence, silence, and hurt could simply be erased.

But all relationships had their ups and downs, and yes, yours was less a series of bumps and more of a mountain—a steep, unforgiving mountain carved with old wounds.

But if he was willing to climb it with you—honestly, this time—then you were willing to take one last step forward and give him a chance.

The grin that broke across his face was brighter than anything you’d seen from him in years—unrestrained, almost boyish. You barely had time to gasp before he surged forward, kissing you deeply, as if afraid the moment might slip away if he didn’t seize it.

Around you, the office erupted—whistles, cheers, and clapping—but Bruce seemed to exist in a world where it was only the two of you.

When you finally pulled back, breathless and laughing through tears, he reached into his pocket. Your heart skipped as he opened his palm, revealing your wedding ring.

He took your hand and slid it back onto your finger with a tenderness that made your chest ache, as though he understood exactly what he was silently promising you. After how close he’d come to losing you, this time he was determined not to make the same mistakes.

“Well, Mrs. Wayne,” he murmured, resting his forehead against yours, “let me finally give you the marriage you deserve.”

And for the first time since you’d said divorce, the word husband no longer felt like a hollow title—but the promise it was meant to be.