#arthur harrow

Damage Control prided itself on taking the bad and turning it into something good.

At least, that was what they told the public.

The glossy commercials talked about rebuilding neighborhoods, recovering dangerous technology, and keeping civilians safe after every superhero battle. They made it sound noble—like every employee was personally helping make the world a better place.

You weren't naïve enough to believe all of it.

There were too many locked doors, too many restricted files, and too many conversations that stopped the moment someone without the proper clearance walked into the room. Whatever happened on the upper floors of the facility, it was well above your pay grade.

Not that anyone planned on telling you.

Instead, you spent your days tucked away in one of the lower-level laboratories, cataloging and analyzing whatever oddity the field teams managed to recover. Most weeks, that meant running tests on melted fragments of alien alloys, unidentified biological samples, or whatever mysterious goo happened to be left behind after the latest superhero disaster.

It wasn't exactly glamorous. But every now and then… every now and then, you actually got to use the degree you'd worked so hard to earn.

Your teachers had been right. You were smart.

Turns out it was a lot easier to excel when you weren't spending every evening taking care of your little brother, cleaning up after your father, or wondering whether the lights would still be on when you got home. Back then, every parent-teacher conference ended the same way.

"Your daughter has incredible potential."

"She just needs support at home."

Your father, usually several beers deep before he even walked into the school, would nod absentmindedly through the meeting before dragging you home and assigning twice as many chores for "making him waste his afternoon."

You'd stopped expecting anyone to notice after a while.

Funny how different life looked now.

You blinked, pulling yourself out of the memory as you adjusted the focus on your microscope.

"I seriously don't know how you do it." Ellie's voice cut through your thoughts.

You looked up.

She was perched on the edge of one of the stainless-steel lab tables, absentmindedly spinning a pen between her fingers.

"Do what?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You tuned me out again."

"What? No, I was just..."

"Thinking about work?"

"Maybe."

Ellie laughed.

"I knew it."

You rolled your eyes, turning back to the microscope. "So what were you saying?"

"I was saying," Ellie continued dramatically, hopping off the table, "that I don't understand how you always find the coolest specimens."

You frowned. "I don't."

"You absolutely do." She pointed an accusing finger at you.

"Every single field assignment we go on, everyone else comes back with broken concrete or bent rebar." She counted on her fingers. "You? Mutated DNA, weird alien pollen, experimental technology, and that chunk of metal from that Spider-Man fight that turned out to be some incredibly rare alloy."

"That happened once."

"Once recently."

She folded her arms. "I could keep going."

A reluctant smile tugged at your lips. "Guess I'm just lucky."

Ellie snorted. "Either lucky..." She leaned in conspiratorially. "or you've got an insider."

You raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"Spider-Man."

You laughed. "I wish."

"Think about it." She spread her hands dramatically. "You always end up exactly where the interesting stuff is."

"I end up where the paperwork tells me to go."

"Sounds exactly like something someone covering for Spider-Man would say."

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself. "If Spider-Man actually wanted an inside scientist, I think he'd pick someone way cooler."

"You have a degree in biophysics."

"So do plenty of people."

"Not with your track record."

You shrugged. "I just like solving puzzles."

Ellie grinned. "See? That's what I mean." She gestured toward the microscope. "You see impossible science, I see a reason to leave work on time."

You laughed quietly. "I don't believe that for a second."

Ellie sighed dramatically as she began organizing her own slides. "You know what your real problem is?"

You didn't even look up. "I feel like you're about to tell me anyway."

"You have no life outside this building."

"I do."

"You don't."

"I run."

"Exercise doesn't count."

"I read."

"You read research journals."

"They're books."

"They're textbooks." 

You paused. "Still books."

Ellie pointed triumphantly. "Exactly."

You tried not to smile. "I have hobbies."

"Name three."

"...Running."

"Already said that."

"...Reading."

"Nope."

You stared at the ceiling for a moment.  "...Cooking?"

Ellie blinked. "You meal prep."

"That's basically cooking."

She laughed so hard she had to lean against the counter. "I rest my case."

You crossed your arms. "I have a perfectly balanced life."

"You went home yesterday and reorganized your apartment because you were stressed."

"How did you know that?"

"You texted me a picture asking which direction your couch looked more 'emotionally stable.'" 

Your face immediately warmed. "I was tired."

"You labeled the options 'existential' and 'slightly less existential.'"

"I forgot I sent that."

"I didn't."

You groaned, hiding your face in your hands. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I tolerate you."

"There it is."

Ellie pointed again. "That's the closest thing to affection I've gotten out of you all week."

Before you could come up with a response, Henry's booming voice echoed across the lab.

"Alright, everyone, listen up!"

Conversations immediately died down. Henry strode through the room carrying a tablet tucked beneath one arm.

"We've got a fresh cleanup assignment."

A collective groan spread through the lab. Henry ignored it.

"Spider-Man just got into a fight with someone using experimental tech downtown." He glanced down at the tablet. "Orders came from upstairs, they want every fragment recovered before anyone else gets to it."

You stood, stretching your arms above your head. "Looks like your favorite part of the week."

Ellie bumped your shoulder with hers. "This conversation isn't over."

You sighed dramatically as you grabbed your field bag.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

**********

The scene looked almost identical to every other cleanup assignment you'd been sent on. Police officers milled about behind yellow barricade tape, taking witness statements and loading another unlucky supervillain into the back of an armored transport. EMTs checked over civilians with varying degrees of patience while reporters fought one another for the best camera angles.

Just another Tuesday in New York. You silently hoped it wasn't Scorpion again. Honestly, the man deserved points for persistence. Not intelligence, certainly.

But persistence?

Absolutely.

At this point, you were convinced he viewed getting punched through buildings as a hobby. Henry gathered everyone into a loose circle, tablet in hand.

"Standard procedure," he called over the noise. "Spread out in teams of two. I want the immediate area cataloged first, then work outward. If you find anything unusual, don't touch it until you've photographed it."

A chorus of half-hearted acknowledgements answered him. You nodded along, though you barely registered a word. Your attention had already wandered. About thirty yards away, a figure clad in red and blue stood speaking with one of the detectives.

Spider-Man.

Even from a distance, he never seemed to stop moving. One hand gestured animatedly while the other rested on his hip, his head tilting every few seconds as though he couldn't decide whether to stay put or swing away immediately.

You couldn't hear the conversation. Only the cadence of his voice. Animated. Apologetic. Almost... nervous. It was strange. The city treated Spider-Man like this untouchable legend, but every time you caught glimpses of him, he just seemed like...

A guy.

An incredibly weird guy.

Still.

You shook yourself out of it. You weren't here to people-watch. You were here to collect samples.

Or...

More accurately...

You were here to collect the samples everyone else missed.

You waited until Ellie and the others had become absorbed in arguing over whose turn it was to carry the equipment cases before quietly slipping away from the main scene. The interesting evidence was rarely where everyone expected it to be. Fragments were thrown by explosions. Organic residue traveled farther than debris. If there was anything worth finding, it was probably outside the police perimeter. You walked another block, scanning rooftops and storm drains as you went.

Nothing.

A discarded soda cup. A bent parking sign. Half a traffic cone.

Disappointing.

Thwip.

You stopped walking.

Your head tilted upward.

"What?"

Another soft thwip echoed somewhere above you. Before you could pinpoint the source, a voice landed directly in front of you.

"Hey!"

You jumped hard enough to nearly drop your evidence bag.

"What the-"

Spider-Man stood less than three feet away. Apparently he'd landed so quietly you hadn't heard him.

"Whoa! Sorry!"

He immediately raised both hands.

"I didn't mean to scare you."

His words tumbled over one another.

"I just…uh…it isn't exactly safe over here right now."

He gestured vaguely toward the destroyed intersection behind him.

"I literally finished fighting someone like... five minutes ago."

You blinked.

"I know."

He waited.

You waited.

Finally, you pointed toward the Damage Control logo on your jacket.

"I'm with Damage Control."

His mask tilted. "Right."

A beat.

"Oh!" He pointed enthusiastically. "Right! I knew that."

"Did you?"

"No."

You couldn't help the tiny smile threatening the corner of your mouth.

Spider-Man cleared his throat awkwardly. "I just meant..." He pointed back toward the cleanup crews. "They're mostly working over there."

"I'm checking the outskirts."

"Oh."

"Looking for overlooked evidence."

"Oh."

"It's my job."

"Oh."

The conversation died an awkward death. You studied him for a second. Ellie's voice echoed through your head.

"You always end up where Spider-Man is."

"Maybe you've got an insider."

You almost laughed. Then, entirely against your will, your scientific curiosity kicked in. Interesting. He was favoring his left leg. Subtle enough that most people probably wouldn't notice. But it was there. His left shoulder also sat slightly lower than the right.

An injury.

Fresh.

You found yourself wondering how quickly someone with spider-based abilities healed. Real spiders could regenerate lost limbs over multiple molts. Obviously humans couldn't molt. Probably. So where exactly did the biology overlap? Could enhanced cellular regeneration—

"You okay?"

Spider-Man waved a hand in front of your face.

"You've kinda got the thousand-yard stare going."

You blinked.

"Oh."

"Sorry."

"I was thinking."

"Should I be worried?"

"Only if you're secretly participating in a long-term medical study."

Spider-Man laughed.

"I don't think I am."

"You'd probably know."

"I'd hope so."

Silence settled again. He shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other."Well…I should probably get going."

You nodded.

"So should I."

He hesitated.

"Just..." His voice softened slightly. "Be careful, okay?"

You looked at him for a long moment before answering. "I'm more worried about you."

His head tilted. "What?"

"You've been limping since you landed."

His shoulders stiffened almost imperceptibly. "...I have?"

"A little." You pointed toward his left side. "You keep favoring it."

He looked down instinctively. "Huh." Then he laughed a little too loudly. "Guess I should work on my superhero posture."

You folded your arms. "Probably."

"Noted."

He raised one hand in a small wave. "Stay safe."

"You too."

He lifted his wrist. A web shot toward a nearby building.

"See ya!"

The web attached. Unfortunately it attached much closer than he'd anticipated.

"Oh." The realization hit him exactly one second too late.

Instead of a graceful launch, he was yanked forward with enough force to send him hurtling straight toward the brick wall.

"Uh-oh."

At the last possible second, he twisted in midair, planting both feet against the building before vaulting upward in a much more controlled swing. A second web caught properly this time. Within moments, he disappeared between the skyscrapers. You stood there for another second, staring after him. Then, despite yourself...

You laughed.

"So much for the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man."

Still smiling, you adjusted the strap of your evidence bag and continued searching the outskirts of the scene, wondering whether every conversation with the city's most famous hero was destined to be that painfully awkward.

**********

The walk to the cemetery wasn't long.

It was one of New York's newer burial grounds, small, quiet, and still mostly empty compared to the older cemeteries scattered throughout the city. Rows of fresh headstones gleamed in the afternoon sunlight, the silence only interrupted by birdsong and the distant hum of traffic.

You followed the winding path toward the center of the grounds before stepping off the pavement and onto the soft grass. No one paid you much attention.

Good.

You preferred it that way. Once you were certain you were alone, you lowered yourself onto your knees. Your fingers instinctively wrapped around the amulet resting against your chest. The familiar warmth pulsed beneath your fingertips. You closed your eyes. The world around you faded. The breeze. The birds. The city.

Everything became distant as you focused instead on the earth beneath you. You reached outward, not with your hands, but with whatever strange piece of power had become woven into your soul. The ground answered. Slowly, you opened your eyes.

"Hello?" you called softly.

Only silence greeted you. You waited. Then a low groan drifted through the still air. Your shoulders relaxed.

"There you are."

Several feet away, the earth shifted. Wet soil rolled aside as skeletal fingers clawed their way toward the surface. A man slowly pulled himself free.

Time had not been kind to him.

Half of his face had decayed away, exposing yellowed bone beneath weathered flesh. His clothes had long since rotted into little more than stained fabric hanging from his frame, and his cloudy eyes wandered across the cemetery as though he were seeing the world for the first time again.

Most people would have screamed. Children probably would have run. You simply offered him a small smile.

"I hope I didn't wake you too abruptly."

The corpse turned toward your voice. Recognition slowly settled across his weathered features. Not recognition of you. Recognition of the magic. Of the goddess.

"I was wondering..." you began gently, "...would you happen to be one of the oldest spirits buried here?"

The corpse gave a slow nod. His neck creaked with the movement. "Thank you."

You hesitated before asking your next question. "Were you... a mutant?"

The corpse's expression fell.

Slowly, he shook his head.

"I figured." You smiled apologetically.

"Do you know someone who was?"

For a moment, nothing happened. Then the corpse nodded. Relief washed over you.

"Would you mind showing me?"

Without another sound, he turned and began shuffling deeper into the cemetery. You followed at a respectful distance. The farther you walked, the fewer polished headstones remained. Granite gave way to simple wooden markers. Then even those disappeared. Many of the graves had no names at all. Just weathered stakes driven into the ground. Some had numbers. Others had nothing.

People no one had come to claim. People no one wanted to remember. Mutants labeled monsters. The forgotten. The abandoned. The feared.

Eventually, the corpse stopped. He turned toward a patch of earth with no marker whatsoever. Only freshly settled soil. He let out another low groan before looking back at you.

"I understand." You knelt beside the grave. "Thank you."

You lifted your hand in a small wave.

The old man returned the gesture with surprising gentleness before his body slowly dissolved back into the earth, the soil closing over him as though he had never been there. Silence returned once more.

You settled onto your knees again. The amulet pulsed warmly beneath your palm. You focused. The earth trembled. A soft crack split the ground before delicate fingers emerged from the dirt.

Your breath caught. She couldn't have been older than ten. Her pink sundress was caked in dried mud. Faded ribbons still tied her pigtails together. Her neck rested at an unnatural angle, clearly broken long before she had been buried. Slowly, she climbed from the grave, wide frightened eyes fixed entirely on you.

"It's okay," you whispered.

She immediately shrank backward. Tiny hands reached toward the dirt as though she intended to bury herself again.

"No." Your voice remained gentle. "I'm not here to hurt you."

She hesitated. Carefully, you reached out your hand.

"You don't have to be afraid."

After several long moments, she cautiously placed her cold fingers into yours. They felt impossibly small. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

"Were you... a mutant?"

The little girl looked down. Then she nodded.

Your heart broke. "And..." You struggled to finish the question. "...Is that why you're here?"

Another tiny nod. You closed your eyes for just a second. Sometimes you hated being right. When you looked back at her, your voice was barely above a whisper.

"I'm so sorry."

The little girl simply stared at you. She didn't seem angry. Just...confused. As though she didn't understand why any of it had happened. You took a slow breath.

"I need to ask you something." 

She tilted her head.

"It might sound strange." Another pause. "I'm trying to help people like you."

You glanced briefly toward the grave. "I want to understand why some mutations become unstable... and maybe find a way to stop other children from ending up here."

Your fingers tightened around the amulet.

"But I need DNA to do that."

The words felt heavy.

"I was wondering..."

Your voice almost cracked.

"...if you'd be willing to let me take a sample."

The little girl blinked. She looked down at herself. Then, after only a moment's thought, she reached up to one of the faded bows tied into her hair. With a soft, sickening crack, she pulled it free. A small piece of scalp came with it. You flinched despite yourself.

She held the ribbon out proudly. Waiting. Like a child showing a parent a drawing. Asking if she'd done a good job. Your vision blurred.

"You did." Your voice shook. "You did wonderfully."

Very carefully, you accepted the ribbon. 

"Thank you."

The little girl smiled. It wasn't a frightening smile. Just an ordinary child's smile. One she should have had the chance to wear for decades longer. You returned the smile through watery eyes. With a gentle wave of your hand, the magic released her. Her body slowly dissolved back into the earth, disappearing beneath the soil as peacefully as she'd arrived.

The cemetery fell silent once again.

You sat there for another minute, clutching the faded pink ribbon in your hands. Children. There were always children. Too many. Far too many.

You carefully placed the ribbon inside a sterile evidence bag before slipping it into your satchel.

"I'll help you," you whispered to the empty grave.

"I promise."

Whether you were speaking to her, or every child buried around her, you weren't entirely sure. After wiping the moisture from your eyes, you stood and made your way back toward the cleanup site.

The sounds of sirens and conversation gradually returned as the cemetery faded behind you. The moment Ellie spotted you, she hurried over with an eager grin.

"Well?" she asked. "Find anything interesting?"

You looked at the evidence bag tucked safely inside your satchel. Then back at your friend. After a long pause, you forced a small shrug.

"Nope."

You offered an easy smile.

"Nothing at all."

**********

You didn't know what being kidnapped was supposed to feel like. Movies always made it seem obvious. Dark basements. Cold concrete floors. Rusted chains bolted to the wall. A single flickering light hanging from the ceiling. Instead, you woke in what looked more like an expensive hotel room.

Soft sheets covered the bed beneath you, and warm sunlight poured through a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking rolling green hills. Wildflowers swayed in the breeze, and snow-capped mountains stretched across the horizon like something ripped straight from one of those Swiss tourism commercials that always played between reruns of old sitcoms.

For a brief, disorienting second, you wondered if you'd dreamed the whole thing. Then the pounding ache in the back of your head reminded you otherwise.

"You’re awake."

The deep voice came from the doorway. You startled, your gaze snapping toward the man standing there.

He looked ordinary. Well-dressed. Calm. Far too calm.

"That's good," he said, offering a small smile. "Very good."

Your heart hammered against your ribs.

"Where am I?" Your voice came out rough, your throat painfully dry. "Who are you?"

"My name is Arthur." He stepped into the room with measured confidence.

"And for now," he continued, "all you need to know is that you're safe."

A bitter laugh escaped you. "Safe?" You stared at him in disbelief. "You kidnapped me."

He inclined his head. "We did."

He didn't even try to deny it.

"I'll admit," he said almost thoughtfully, "it wasn't my preferred method." His cane clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he walked farther into the room. "But we've been waiting for you for a very long time."

Your stomach twisted. Waiting? For you?

"I..." Your voice cracked. "I have to go home."

Arthur stopped walking. "Home?" He regarded you almost sympathetically. "Home to what?" His words were quiet. Controlled. "A mother who's already gone. A father who drinks until he forgets he has children. A little brother forced to rely on his older sister because he has no one else."

Each sentence struck harder than the last.

"A home built on survival instead of love."

Silence filled the room. You hated that you couldn't argue. Because none of it was untrue. You loved your mother. You loved your little brother more than anything.

But there had been nights...

Far too many nights...

When you'd wondered what life might have been like if your mother had lived. If your father had stayed sober. If you'd been allowed to be a child instead of another parent. Arthur watched the realization settle over you.

"So tell me," he asked gently. "Why return to a life that has only ever hurt you?" He took another step closer. "You could become so much more."

His eyes drifted toward your chest. "May I see it?"

You frowned. "See what?"

"The necklace."

Instinctively, your hand flew to the pendant resting against your collarbone.

You took a step backward. "No."

His expression remained patient. "I won't take it."

"It's all I have left of my mom." Your voice shook despite your best efforts. "I'm not giving it to you."

Arthur smiled faintly. "I merely wish to examine it."

Slowly, he reached out. His fingertips brushed the edge of the pendant. The world exploded.

An invisible force slammed into him with enough strength to launch him across the room. His body crashed into the far wall before collapsing to the floor. You screamed. Your back hit the wall as panic flooded your body.

"What was that?!"

Arthur slowly pushed himself upright. Instead of looking frightened...he looked pleased. Satisfied. As though something had just confirmed a theory.

You looked wildly around the room. The wooden floor beneath your feet groaned. Then cracked. Thin fractures raced across the floorboards. One by one, skeletal hands burst through the splintered wood. Gray fingers clawed desperately toward the surface. Rotting arms followed. Then faces. Empty eye sockets. Broken jaws. Bodies dragging themselves upward from beneath the earth.

 You screamed. Your eyes slammed shut. Your fingers wrapped desperately around the necklace.

Please.

Please.

Please.

Your mother had always prayed when she was afraid. You didn't know if anyone was listening. But you prayed anyway. The room fell silent.

Slowly...

Carefully...

You opened your eyes. The floor was whole again. No cracks. No bodies. No hands. Nothing. Only Arthur. Still standing. Still watching you.

"I just want to go home."

The words came out barely louder than a whisper. Tears blurred your vision.

Arthur sighed. "I have a proposal."

"No." You rushed toward the door."I don't want a proposal. I want to leave. I want to go home."

"You need help."

"I don't."

"You do." His voice remained unnervingly calm. "I can teach you to control whatever just happened."

You stopped walking. Only because part of you already knew he was right.

"You would only need to help my cause in return."

You turned slowly to face him. "I said..." Your voice hardened. "I want to go home."

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose, almost as though you were an exceptionally stubborn student.

"Tell me." He leaned slightly on his cane. "Were you a sickly child?"

Every muscle in your body tightened. "How do you know that?"

"It fits."

"Fits what?"

"Your predicament."

You frowned. "My... predicament?"

Arthur blinked. Then something almost resembling surprise crossed his face. "You don't know."

Your heartbeat quickened. "Know what?"

He studied you for several long seconds before speaking again. "Let me guess. You were constantly ill as a child. The doctors never found a cause. Your parents worried endlessly."

You couldn't breathe.

"Then one day..." He pointed toward the pendant still clutched tightly in your hand. "Your mother gave you that necklace. You recovered. And not long afterward..." His voice softened. "Your mother became sick."

Your vision blurred. 

"No."

"There was no explanation."

"No."

"No treatment."

"No."

"And she couldn't wear the necklace." Arthur's eyes met yours. "Because you already had it."

The room suddenly felt too small. You remembered. Your mother fastening the chain around your neck. Her smile. Her tired eyes. How she'd insisted everything would be okay.

How you'd started getting better.

How she'd started getting worse.

"No..."

The word barely escaped your lips.

Arthur nodded once. "That..." He gestured toward the amulet. "...is not simply a family heirloom."

"It is the only thing keeping you alive." He let the silence settle before delivering the final blow. "The women in your mother's family have been cursed for generations."

His cane tapped softly against the floor.

"And that..." He pointed once more to the pendant resting against your chest."...is the cure."

**********

You swallowed hard as memories of your first night with Arthur faded back into the recesses of your mind. It always happened like this. One thought became another. One memory unraveled the next until you were reliving moments you'd spent years trying to bury. By the time you reached your apartment building, your chest felt tight.

You stepped into the lobby, offering the night security guard a distracted nod before pressing the elevator button. The familiar hum of the ancient elevator filled the silence. You leaned against the wall, rubbing tired circles into your temples as you waited. Today had been... a lot. Spider-Man. The cemetery. The little girl. The DNA sample tucked safely in your satchel. You closed your eyes.

Ding.

The elevator doors slid open. You stepped inside, pressing the button for your floor before resting your forehead briefly against the cool metal wall. Maybe tonight you'd actually sleep. The thought alone almost made you laugh. When the elevator finally stopped, you shuffled down the hallway toward your apartment, keys already in hand. Then—

Thud.

"...Ow."

A muffled curse echoed through the hall. Your head snapped up. Peter stood outside his apartment, one hand fumbling with his keys while the other pressed against the doorframe for support. Something immediately looked... off.

His hair was messier than usual. His hoodie was torn near the shoulder. A thin trail of dried blood ran from a split in his eyebrow down the side of his face. And unless you were imagining it he was favoring his left side.

"Peter?"

He looked up so quickly that he immediately winced.

"Oh." He forced a smile. "Hey!"

His voice came out just a little too cheerful. "What's up?"

You walked a few steps closer, your eyes scanning him. "Are you okay?"

"What?" He laughed nervously. "Yeah! Of course! I'm great." His voice climbed an octave by the end of the sentence.

You stared at him. "You're bleeding."

His hand instinctively flew to his eyebrow. "Oh. That."

"And you're limping."

"I am?"

"Yes."

"Huh." He glanced down at himself as if hoping the injury had somehow disappeared.

You folded your arms. "What happened?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "I...Fell down the stairs."

You blinked. "The stairs."

"Yep."

"And the stairs split your eyebrow open."

"They were... aggressive stairs."

You couldn't stop the tiny laugh that escaped you.

Peter looked relieved. "So you don't believe me."

"Not even a little."

"Fair."

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Your gaze drifted back to the cut on his forehead. Without thinking, your hand lifted slightly, instinct urging you to check how deep it was. You caught yourself just before your fingers touched his skin. The movement didn't go unnoticed.

Peter glanced briefly at your hand before meeting your eyes again. "I'm okay," he said more quietly this time.

You nodded. "If you say so."

You knew better than to push. Everyone had secrets. You of all people understood that. With one last glance toward him, you turned and unlocked your own apartment door. You'd almost made it inside when his voice stopped you.

"Hey?"

You looked back over your shoulder.

Peter was still standing outside his apartment, shifting awkwardly from one foot to the other. He looked...nervous.

"This is probably going to sound weird," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck again. "But..." He hesitated. "Do you have any plans tonight?"

You frowned."Why?"

Your guard immediately shot back up. You'd promised yourself you wouldn't fall back into whatever strange orbit Peter Parker seemed to have over your life. Not again.

Peter looked down at the floor. "It's just..." He laughed softly to himself. "Today's my birthday." 

The words were almost embarrassingly quiet. "And..." He shrugged. "I don't really have anyone to celebrate with."

Something inside your chest twisted. 

He looked up quickly, clearly trying to play it off. "I figured maybe..." He gestured vaguely between your apartments. "birthday cake might make up for the whole keeping-you-awake-all-night thing."

Another awkward laugh. "So...kind of a peace offering? Win-win?"

Silence settled between you. You really looked at him then. Not the smile. Not the jokes. Not the awkward attempts at conversation. You looked past all of that. The exhaustion hidden beneath his bright expression. The dark circles beneath his eyes. The fresh cuts he clearly hadn't bothered treating. The loneliness. 

It was impossible to miss once you knew where to look.

And for just a moment...he reminded you of yourself. Trying so hard to convince everyone else you were fine that you'd almost started believing it. Almost.

You sighed. "Well..." A small smile tugged at your lips. "I happen to have a personal rule."

Peter tilted his head.

"No one spends their birthday alone."

His eyes widened. "Really?"

You nodded. "I'll be over in twenty minutes."

For a second, he simply stared at you. Like he genuinely hadn't expected you to say yes. Then his face broke into the brightest smile you'd seen from him yet.

"Seriously?"

"Seriously."

He fumbled with his keys so badly that he dropped them onto the hallway carpet. "Oh." He bent down to grab them before immediately regretting the movement. "Ow."

You couldn't help smiling.

He finally unlocked his apartment and looked back at you.

"Great. Yeah. I'll..." He pointed toward his door. "...I'll see you in twenty."

"You will."

You stepped into your apartment, gently closing the door behind you. The smile lingered on your face for another few seconds before you realized it was there. You immediately shook your head.

Peter.

Fucking.

Parker.