#bweep

The day wasn't particularly windy, but your hair decided to fall all over your face, the sensation grating on your nerves more than usual. You felt a step behind your body and all you could focus on was your breathing.

Too quick, too shallow. Slow down and take in more air before you cry. Since when were you on the verge tears? You could've sworn you were fine just a second-

The rush of a car passing by made you freeze up, the only evidence that it was there in the first place was the breeze that mussed your hair further and the faint resonance of its engine rumbling in the distance.

That gave you away because your stopping caused you to tug Steven back a bit, especially as your grip tightened on his hand.

"Love? Is everything alright?"

The action hardly caused him to stumble, but when he turned around to look at you, his eyebrows knit together and his posture stiffened; the traits that gave away the fronting of Marc.

"What's wrong?"

He took a step closer, his head tilting down to align himself with your line of sight. You really tried to focus on him, but your eyes refused you and stared off into the distance blurrily instead.

"Deep breaths, we're almost home. We still need to figure out what we're gonna eat for dinner, remember? Can you try coming up with ideas for me?"

He gently squeezed your hand, reminding you to answer with another nod. He began walking again, but this time, he didn't let you leave his line of sight.

The rest of the commute was a blur, and you were standing in the middle of his flat, watching Marc hang up his coat and roll up his sleeves while you stood still, unable to bring yourself to move. But he came up to you, lightly tugging your jacket off and putting it away for you.

"Did you come up with something?"

There was only patience in his gaze although you knew how long your response took.

"We still have some pre-made stock and vegetables in the fridge."

Your gaze drifted along the small kitchen, seeing the half-sliced loaf of bread in its box. Words failed to keep cooperating with you so you pointed to it instead.

"Soup and bread sounds good. Can you wash the veggies for me?"

He led you to the fridge, and this time you were able to take the initiative by opening the door and taking out the bag of stale growing but still edible vegetables. You found your way to the sink, pushing up the handle and pulling out the vegetables as the water ran cold.

It was like watching outside of your body as your hands moved without your thinking, mindlessly rinsing and putting aside carrots, potatoes, miscellaneous. You noticed Marc taking out a pot as silently as he could to not disturb you. When he took the clean pile you'd created, he mumbled a soft thanks as he started chopping them into smaller pieces.

The rest of the cooking followed similarly. Marc gave you easy instructions of pouring in the stock or stirring the pot, while he handled the more dangerous aspects of using the knife and likewise.

The noises weren't intrusive, just soothing repetition of the water bubbling or the gentle clinking of the ladle against the metal of the pot. Soon enough the hearty scent of the soup filled the air, making it a little easier to breathe.

You felt a warm hand envelop yours, raising it to rougher lips that faintly pressed against your palm. The earthly browns of his eyes bore deep into your own, and the sight along made your heart tremble because it made you realize: he knew.

His thumb wiped away the wet streaks sliding down your cheek as he guided you close to him.

"It's okay, you're okay. You're alive and safe, and everything's gonna be alright."

Your lip trembled, but you let your head fall into his chest, finding it easier not to give into the thoughts that would normally run rampant in your skull.

"I'm not going anywhere."

With that, you were able to keep breathing steadily.

For Privacy purposes I will call you R.  Even though I know you will never read this.

R.

You told me we were soulmates.

I truly thought this friendship would last forever.

I now know these are empty lies.

I started off as the fool. I didn’t know how to talk about the things I loved, and I choked on my words and they all came rolling off my tongue faster than my heart could pulse.  Sometimes, I wondered what you were thinking when we exchanged accounts.

I never thought I’d see you again. 

And then at my first TFCon, you were my refuge from my abusive mother. 

You were the first person to ever ask me how I wanted to be called. I didn’t have to pretend to be the good little girl I was taught to me.

I was allowed to be me.

And for such a small gift, I gave you everything I had.

I knew how deprived, corrupted, and broken I was. I wasn’t nearly changed as the perfect person. I was forcibly drowned in the cruelty and darkness my family created for me. I breathed acid, and I didn’t know how to cut myself open and remove the parts that were evil.

And so I played pretend.

 I really thought, if I could say the perfect words, and string together the perfect melody, you’d be satisfied.

And that, our relationship was perfect in those split moments of sweet words and kind responses.

I never needed emotional support. It was enough that I could breathe freely in the car you drove, and that you allowed me to stop eating when I couldn’t eat anymore.

You were the parent I wish I had.

And so I continued to give you the world that I did not have.

I got on my two knees, and handed over power and my soul on a silver platter lined with gold. I gave you undying loyalty for the pennies that you held in your hand. 

That was my biggest flaw.

But unlike most relationships, I wasn’t the only flaw.

It had only been less than a year since my father left my life for good. I was struggling to pick up the pieces of my life while my mother threw them away. I didn’t know who I was, nor did I feel worthy of who I was.

Somehow, being around you R., made me realize that the world I lived in, could be kinder. That maybe, the hatred that was taught to me, wasn’t the only way to live life.

So I looked to my books for answers. How to be a perfect human.

And it was too much. I completely cracked under pressure. I didn’t understand how to always be the perfect shining star. The perfect friend. The perfect feel-good person everyone wanted to be around.

You saw me then. And that night I remembered the words you told me.

“It’s okay. You can be yourself.”

That was your first mistake.

I shouldn’t have believed those sweet words.

As if you’ve broken a curse, I began to unravel. The acid oozed out of my skin as you realized what the people who raised me did to me.

Perhaps in a perfect world, I wouldn’t be such a terrible person.

But seeds don’t choose the ground they are planted in. They grow regardless until the day they die.

In the beginning, I was manageable, and then it began to change.

One problem became two, and two became many. 

You tried to help me, but we both knew it wasn’t enough. I decided to seek help. 

It wasn’t enough. If it was, the problems should have slowly disappear.

But they didn’t.

Recovery was short lived and I slipped.

I continued to whisper those perfect words like a prayer, but at some point, you forgot to listen to them.

None of us knew how to deal with me. I wanted to leave, but you wouldn’t let me.

Human life is precious, but it’s funny how disposable to everyone.

To society.

To authorities.

To peers.

To family.

To you.

I remember that day you broke down.

You wrote your own sins on the public walls for everyone to see and some decided to act and bring you to justice.

And I felt conflicted. Something was wrong. The sins may have been written by you, but they were written in blood. Nothing seemed right. Somehow I wanted to believe that the sins were not who you were.

And so I reached out, and gave you the gift of the gods.

compassion

And I heard your weakness. The tears.  The pain.

I stayed on the phone, until you were safe. I went and tried to tell others that maybe, you weren’t a bad person. You were someone who did bad things and are willing to change.

I lost people too that day.

How ironic that the tables would turn

And how the the beginning of the end began.

My life began to fall apart faster than I could keep it together.

The trauma came in and I couldn’t breathe. And mistakes were made.

With the tears and blood from my injuries, I wrote words I could never take back.

I never even saw what I wrote.

But it costed me greatly.

I lost everything.

I gained nothing.

I never really saw what I wrote that night. I was confused, lost, and unsure. It wouldn’t be the first time my memory failed me.

And then you came at my darkest hour.

Not as a savior.

You took the golden cup of compassion and filled with disgust and contempt.

I went to the hospital that night, wondering where we went wrong.

Only to realize that I was the one who was wrong.

More and more people began to leave.

You unfollowed me at some point and I knew that we were finished.

You knew that this platform was the only place I spoke about myself, and you didn’t want anything to do with me. 

You didn’t say a word, but I prepared myself. I spoke to more people. 

I didn’t want to be alone.

And so I did. 

I searched, and I found.

I began to rebuild.

The call was the final nail in the coffin.

“We’ve run our race.”

I could only agree. 

I saw it coming.

You couldn’t change.  You said it was impossible to change. Anger was your friend, and anger is my poison.

We should have spoken, listened, and communicated, but there were no more words inside of you.

And yet, I couldn’t bring myself to remind you of the broken promise.

You told me I could be myself.

You didn’t know what you got yourself into.

We said our goodbyes, and I cried.

Since then, I began to reflect on the year long friendship.

R., I gave you my world, and in exchange, you gave me the fleeting vision of what my past could have been.

When did our relationship move from equality, to such a corrupt partnership?

As I think about it, I didn’t cry because it was you I missed.

I cried because you were an idea I never can have.

You took the cup of compassion, and drank all of it, leaving none for me when I needed it the most. 

Perhaps it was best we parted.

You have people that rely on you. You did not need the extra burden of change when many would take you for who you were.

As for me, I would continue. I don’t have a choice.

Trapped in the vines of corruption, I will cut myself free .

I will take this knife and cut away everything that is wrong with me.

I will fix all my impurities with the blade stained with regret.

I will be reborn, but until then, I have much work to do on myself.

The journey with you is over.

I will carry the pennies you gave me, and walk forward into the unknown path ahead.

I hope wherever you walk with your fortune, that you do good, even though I know you won’t.

Goodbye R.

“I took care of the guys who hurt you. I’m gonna let you go now, okay?” Your breathing is still shallow, which concerns him, but he cuts away at your binds the moment you give him the go ahead. 

His touch is light and way too gentle to be any way reminiscent of those who kidnapped you. You can’t help but laugh shakily, just relieved that it’s all over. He pauses at your reaction, and you can tell he’s confused. 

“Sorry, I’m just- I’m so glad they’re finally gone now.” Your voice is hoarser than you expected, making you cringe. But you can’t bring yourself to focus on that when you find your wounds aren’t aching anymore. At last he takes off your blindfolds, it takes you a moment to adjust your eyes and you see him. 

His brows are furrowed with careful concentration along with focused, piercing eyes that would’ve frightened you had you not know he was your savior. But with how intense his gaze was, he almost looked constipated. You stifle a laugh, which gains you more confusion from the man. 

“S-Sorry! Sorry, it’s just that, you look so serious. Do I look that bad?” His expression relaxes a bit, and he lets out a soft huff. Yet when he glances at your bruises, he finds that they aren't as exacerbated as they were before. He wears that silly, serious expression again and you’re tempted to smooth out the wrinkle that forms in his brows. 

Unfortunately, the impulse was immediately acted upon considering your lack of inhibitions from the whole ordeal. But you accomplish your goal when instead, his eyes widen and his expression relaxes under your hand. 

He doesn’t get it. He doesn’t understand the fact that with a single brush of your fingertips against his face, he finds fullness in the silence, reprieve with every breath he takes, peace in the moment. He watches you move your hand away when you find yourself, and though you appear embarrassed, he finds himself more so when he realizes how much he misses the contact already. 

“Sorry,” you utter again, “I wasn’t thinking and-” he grabs your hand again with urgency at first. Yet he remembers your condition, and his grasp becomes gentle. The action shocks the two of you, and while Marc is mortified he did that without thinking, he manages to recover from it quickly. 

“You gotta stop apologizing, you know.” Enraptured, you find yourself just nodding along. But again you realize the utter lack of pain you should be feeling. Another glance, and you notice, your bruises are gone. 

“Who are you?” You almost start to think this is some sort of dream. But the weight and warmth of his hand, even the details of the callouses upon his fingertips is just too real to ignore. 

“Marc. Spector.” He clears his throat, “Marc Spector.” He says altogether. A smile forms on your face as you tell him your name in return. 

.

“Marc..”

Steven, I’m not gonna hear it.

“But Marc-”

No, I already told you that this was how it’s gonna go.

They both knew you were something special. After Marc made sure you got home safely that night, the two of you shared contact information because there was a mutual understanding that there was something about the other neither of you could ignore. 

But no matter how much Marc longed to see you again, he was afraid of what you could mean to them. He was resigned to denying himself this chance, so already it took a lot of convincing from Steven to allow even the alter to meet you. 

“Alright, but you’re being a bit of a knob, you know that right?” He watched his reflection roll his eyes, so he frowned right on back as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. “I just don’t understand why you do this to yourself. It’s not like you’re the only one interested, not to mention, they seemed rather fancied too.” He mutters, trying to fix the stray curl that always managed to find its way back onto his forehead. 

He didn’t miss the hesitation Marc had at that statement, but both parties were distracted by the knocking at the door. 

To be honest, Steven was also quite taken to you after seeing you last. And opening the door to you dressed comfortably and looking at ease in your own skin already has him feeling something more. When you light up at the sight of him, he swears his heart flutters like nothing else before. 

“Steven, right?” The sound of his name from your lips easily brings a smile to his face, and you can easily feel the difference between the two of them.

“Yes! Come on in, love. Apologies for such a late notice, I hope it didn’t trouble you much.” Though the endearment causes you to blush, you shake your head as you enter. 

“No, not at all. I thought it as a good opportunity to meet you also.” You say as if it’s the most natural thing to do, getting acquainted with the other person of the same body. You were so understanding over the phone when he, or rather, Marc,  broke the news to you about his disorder. Rather than respond with apprehension or even any sort of displeasure at the revelation, you were curious, excited even to get to know Steven as much as Marc. The thought comforts him really, and he can’t help but get his hopes up. 

“Well, I’m quite fond of getting to know you too.” He pauses, before giving a cheeky little grin. “You know, Marc has spoken quite well of you since then.”

Steven…

But the man is pleased the mere statement has you flustered and tugging at your sleeves in a nervous habit. “Really? I wasn’t sure I made much of an impression.” 

Even if he had met you on the street, he’s sure he wouldn’t have forgotten you. He has a feeling Marc shares the same sentiment. 

“It’s not often someone can be as lighthearted after what you’ve been through. I only wish we could’ve met you in better circumstances.” He tuts, shaking his head, “But let’s not focus on that, I had a whole bit planned for us today if you’re up for it.” The thoughtfulness pulls a smile onto your face.

“I’d love to.”

. . 

Steven was softer spoken, but that didn’t mean he didn’t talk any less. Honestly, you didn’t mind, considering how excited he’d get about his topics of interest. That paired alongside his cute, little accent basically had you hanging on his every word. It also helped that he took you to the museum, his discounted tickets made it all the more ideal to go to. 

And he was such a darling about it too, always checking in on you to make sure you were enjoying yourself and overly fretting that maybe he was talking your ear off since he has a habit of speaking too much before he realizes it. You quickly shut down the thought by responding you were glad to have your very own, personal tour guide. To add on top of your statement, you made sure to ask a few extra questions just to encourage him to talk. 

Marc was quiet throughout the whole endeavor. After everything that happened in Egypt, he knew it’d be difficult to fall back into their normal routine again. Yet watching Steven talk to you so carefree and at ease, he couldn’t help but be relieved for a moment. But nonetheless, this was more of a date than he’d like it to be. He only acquiesced because he warned Steven to keep the distance, but right off the bat the man did and said what he wished. Damn Steven for getting so confident after everything, no matter how much it made him proud. Even so, he didn’t force his way to fronting either because he didn’t know if he had the courage to deny you. So he was left to watch, more jealous than he’d ever admit. 

“You mind if I ask a weird question?"” He blinked, not expecting it but quickly nodded to not allow you to shy away. 

“I don’t mind at all, it’s just been me speaking this whole lot anyways.” He gives a quick laugh. “What is it, love?” 

“How exactly do you talk to Marc? I mean, you are sharing the same body and everything.” That surprised him, and he glanced at the reflective plaque as if expecting Marc to respond. The man only shrugged, pretending not to care. “Sorry, was that too much of me?” He shook his head immediately.

“Of course not, you could never be.” He blurted, becoming embarrassed. “Er, what I mean is that it’s a perfectly reasonable question.” He scratched the back of his head, “It’s a little strange to admit, but he’s sorta my reflection.” He watches you look around to try finding the nearest reflective surface and he can’t help but laugh at how cute that is. 

“Hey.” You mock frown, but you’re secretly pleased to see the twinkle of delight in his eyes as he looks at you. You wouldn’t mind if he looked at you like that everyday. “Can you see him now?” 

Don’t tell her, Steven.

He nods, although curious, “Why do you ask?” 

“I have something I want to tell him.” You reply without hesitation, still trying to keep an eye out for anywhere with reflections. You do notice a particularly shiny pillar, but you think it’s rather far to hold a conversation with. But then that makes you wonder, do they have to talk aloud to communicate? “I mean, that is, if he can hear me.” 

“Yeah he can. You know he’s been off and grumpy in this plaque here for quite a while now. Think the lad’s jealous is what it is.” He taps on the piece of metal to further point it out. 

Steven! What the hell do you think you’re doing? I told you that you weren’t supposed to mention me at-

“Hey Marc?” You’re looking straight at the plaque, and for a moment, Marc swears you can actually see him then and there. “Thank you. I don’t think I ever got the chance to tell you that night, but I’m really glad I got to meet you and Steven.” And then you smile, and though it should be impossible since he’s not fronting, the sight takes his breath away. 

When you turn back to Steven, you see the fondest expression on his face that makes your face warm. He’s amazed by you is why he’s having such a goofy smile— the kind that stretches his lips and forms a little wrinkle on the edges of his cheeks. He remembers how you didn’t even question it when he told you Marc wasn’t going to see you today, only understanding that the man had his reasons. 

Tell her I just did my job that night.

His eyes widen and he looks at the reflection. You looked curious, “Did he say something?” Even Marc is looking back at him with surprise as well. 

I.. forget I said anything. 

“Yes, actually.” He sees Marc’s lips downturn to a frown. “He’s glad to have met you as well. I am the same.” Your blush starts to become quite visible, pleasing him as it seems to cause Marc to be at a loss for words. 

A sudden growl stuns the both of you, and he gets all bashful then. “Ah, that ruined the moment didn’t it? What a shame.” He laughs, lightly patting his stomach. “It seems I’m a bit peckish now, hm? Are you alright in finding some takeaway and ending the date at my flat?” He blinks when you look at him with a stunned look on your face. “S-Sorry! That was too forward of me wasn’t it?” Taking a deep breath, you feel emboldened to act up as well.

Reaching out, you carefully take his hand into yours, and give him a cheeky little grin. “Only if you’re alright with me doing the same.” Both his eyes and mouth are wide with shock, and he flounders for words which brings you to laugh. “Ah! I don’t mean to laugh, you just look so cute right now.” 

It feels as if time slows down then. This man who you’ve barely known for a day and some already makes you feel such affection for him. With the way he looks at you, he makes it perfectly clear that he feels the same way. The deep browns of his eyes have you mesmerized, and you catch him glancing down to your lips for a split second. He slowly starts leaning in, and you’re just about to reach up to cup his face when something in his gaze flickers and he pauses. 

“Let’s go get dinner then.” That American accent. 

Marc ends up leading you out of the museum, but you make sure to take note that while he did pull back, he never did let go of your hand on the way out. 

. . . 

He didn’t say much after getting the food or even getting settled down in the flat. He did reply to any inquiries you made with soft noises of acknowledgement, but hardly went beyond a ‘yes’. It astonished you truly how different the two men were. As you watched him walk about his kitchen, the way he carried himself was more confident, with straighter posture while he shuffled about silently. You helped him set up the food, and he didn’t even question it beyond a curious glance as he handed you utensils and napkins. The whole scene felt too domestic, and you could barely hold back a smile at the thought. 

“I had fun today.” He grunts with a nod. When he had first done so, you had taken it a little apprehensively, especially due to the sudden contrast from Steven. But with the crinkle in his brow that formed from concern, you knew that wasn’t his intention. You figured that he didn’t know how to respond, yet didn’t want to make you think he wasn’t listening. It was his way of showing he was indeed hearing you, and you found that sweet. You slowly open your box, blowing at the steam that puffed out. “I’m glad that I also get the chance to spend some time with you too.” You added on quietly as an afterthought. 

He froze which was made pointedly clear as he fumbled with his own box that tapped against the table. Nervous, you realized. That’s why he was so quiet. He slowly nodded, and not to embarrass him further with the silence, you thanked him for the food and quickly dug in. 

Which was a mistake because it was piping hot. 

The table jolted as you flinched. Your tongue burned, and you barely were able to swallow down the bite much to your discomfort. Marc shot up in alarm, and made his way next to you in a couple of strides, and his hands rose to hover over you worriedly. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” His voice was low, but it hardly hid how concerned he was. His eyes were scanning the food carefully as if it were an active threat, and you waved your hand to hopefully ward off his fears. 

“H-Hot.” You scrunch your face at the pain that rushes through your mouth from speaking. He kneels to get closer to you, a hand reaching up to your face to cradle it and assess the damage. When you open your eyes, he’s barely inches away. 

The crease in his brow was deepened, pressing down and shadowing his eyes and he was too preoccupied to notice the proximity. With his hand so close, you could feel the heat of him radiate off of it. You felt just as mesmerized when you first met him, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch. It was only then that he noticed the position and felt his breath stutter. 

But your own brows furrowed when you realized your tongue didn’t hurt at all. You gasped, immediately reactivating his protective mode, but you reached up to rest your hand on top of his. “It doesn’t hurt anymore.” He blinks. “My tongue.” Further confusion and you laughed. “Sorry- er, I mean- Well, it’s not just that. I forgot to mention also that night, you made my bruises go away too.” There’s a spark of recognition and he nods. “How’d you do that?” 

“I don’t know.” His gaze glances to where your bruises were, his gaze darkening from the memory. “It’s not something I can do.” Yet when you lightly brush your thumb over his knuckles, the tension is relieved from his face and he feels himself go still under your touch. “You affect me somehow too.” He says before he can think which makes him cringe. “I didn’t mean it like-” he sighs, “I don’t know how to explain it.” 

“As if I could trust you with my whole life despite barely knowing you.” He stares at you, a little too long that makes you think you’ve said something wrong for a moment until he leans in closer. 

“I didn’t mean to front today.” He pauses, looking away as he tries to find his words. “To be honest, I wanted to avoid you, but after seeing you talk with Steven, I..” he trails off, sighing as his eyes eventually find their way back to yours. 

For a moment he looks small. Eyes filled with uncertainty, but even so, you manage to see a glimmer of hope. His voice gets somehow quieter as he barely murmurs, “Can I?” And you know he’s referring back to your statement. Your hand falls from his, causing his heart to start sinking. But then you lean in, touching your forehead against his as your hand ends up resting on his shoulder. 

“I would trust you.” Your breath fans over his lips from the proximity, and his eyelids flutter to lay half-lidded. 

Since he left the museum, Steven had been talking at him almost nonstop from the takeout to the flat, even as he got ready to eat with you. He wasn’t responding as he should, he wasn’t honest with himself, he stole you away from your lovely time with Steven. And Marc knew that, but you didn’t make a single complaint. You smiled at him. And every sweet word that fell from your lips, he knew in his heart you meant it. You were happy to be with him just as much as Steven.

The alter in question went completely silent as his lips made contact with yours. And while envious to some extent, he was also relieved. Marc had finally allowed himself some good; he had found his peace with you.

//

You saw him across the room at the beginning of the evening. Peter Parker, your closest friend, confidant, something you were never able to have due to your background until it was viciously ripped away from you. But worst of all, he was your soulmate who was too close but too far as they say. You only wished you could’ve met him before Gwen did, but you had little time to ruminate on what ‘if’s. 

The world never made living easy for you. Since you were a child, you were living in and out of homes due to parents with checkered histories of their own. It wasn’t until after high school that their debts caught up to you, and you were forced to get caught up in muddy deals and sketchy criminals at best. But damn it, if you weren’t anything but stubborn which is the main reason you stood where you were today. You learned, even if it meant sacrificing every piece of yourself to stay alive. Still, you never gave yourself up completely, since you only came to this party to work out intel to have Kingpin’s syndicate slowly but surely crumble from the inside out. 

So you hung off the man’s arm, laughing to appease the masses, but your eyes kept careful track of your hazelnut haired friend. He shouldn’t be here, and you knew for a fact he noticed you when you felt that surge of resentment pass over you. You just hoped he felt the guilt in return.

When the music began to play, partners were switched off to encourage acquaintanceship and cordial terms before business ventures began. To your surprise, Peter walked up to you, extending his hand in an offer to dance. Never showing more than a quirk of your lips, you rested your hand onto his and followed his lead.

 Not a word was said at first. The both of you merely matched the pace of others, but you could feel animosity swath over you with each step you took. His grip was too tight, his eyes were piercing, and he looked like he had too much to say. And to further his frustration, you didn’t seem to bat an eye.

“You shouldn’t be here. It’s dangerous.” You cut through the tension as the dance slowed, speaking softly by his ear. He shivered. 

“So now she speaks.” You’re sure he felt the exasperation that ran through you as his lips pursed. 

“And you should listen.” Leaning back, you looked into his eyes. “You should leave when you can, before it’s too late.”

“Before your great king decides that I’m not good company?” His narrowed eyes shot a glance at the man who was easily dwarfing his own partner. “I think I can handle myself fine.”

“You don’t know what he has planned-”

“Oh and of course you do? You sure had plans when you up and left without a single word. You didn’t even say goodbye.” Sadness pooled in your belly as it glimmered in his eyes for a split second but soon simmered to bitterness. “And you seem just fine without me so far, so why don’t we keep it that way?”

For the first time that night, he saw your expression falter. Your lip quivered with your downcast eyes, and as he heard your heartbeat pick up, he couldn’t ignore the very real heartache those words brought you. 

But he felt it. And he’s never had that for anyone else other than Gwen. 

“There you are, sweetheart. Was thinking you didn’t wanna dance with me.” A heavy hand touched the small of you back, and you held back the impulse repulsion that bubbled up. Instead you smiled, craning your neck up high to look at the man towering above you. 

“Sorry dear, you know I don’t get out much.” Composed and controlled, you were yourself again. You didn’t fight as he led you away, easily falling into pace with him. But you were forced to a halt as the large man paused from the sound behind you.

A sudden “Wait!” was said from your ex-best friend, who with wide eyes, mirrored your shock at his own exclamation. He held your gaze nearly dumbfounded, but at Kingpin’s stare he found his words. “We, uh, didn’t finish our dance.”

The hand behind your back stilled, and you hoped the  man beside you couldn’t feel the panicked beating of your heart for Peter’s sake. But a sardonic laugh resounded and you felt it shake the room. “Sorry boy, she’s mine tonight. But if you’re still so keen, you can book her another day.” Nausea was felt at the back of your throat, but you continued the path Kingpin determined as he walked on.

However, you still felt the stare of familiar eyes on the back of your head, as you disappeared into the crowd.

.

He should’ve listened to you. 

Even if he was a hero, injuries didn’t hurt any less. Especially from endless goons with pipe bats, pistols, and small blades that consisted of his afterparty. Luckily, Kingpin hadn’t gotten ahold of his identity, but the man still caught wind that the spider-themed vigilante had infiltrated the event. Things were quickly shut down and you were quickly ushered away along with the rest of the guests. He just wished he could’ve had another chance to talk to you. Not even about his revelation, just to apologize for being such a jerk. That’s all he was after her death after all.

He felt blood bubbling up in his mouth as he sustained another hit due to fatigue. He was slowing down too much, but he didn’t have the stamina to run yet barely had the strength to keep fighting. Though to think ‘Spider-man: Career Ended By Mere Goonies’ being on the headlines irked him more than he liked so he kept as light as he could on his feet and threw more punches. There were only a dozen or so of them left, maybe he’d get lucky. But the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and as he turned, a smack to the side of his head rendered him on the floor and probably with a concussion. 

He only blinked for a second he thinks, but the area around him has become littered with bodies and he sees a shadowed figure in the distance. Another blink and the scene has shifted to a small sidewalk indicated by the flickering street lights above that gives him a headache. And he swears he only rested his eyes for a minute, but now he’s in a bed with too many pillows that are propping him up. It takes him a moment to gather his senses to hear the sound of running water as his eyes adjust to the low-lighting of the bedroom, and he feels his mask is off.

His mask is off and he’s in a stranger’s house. 

He jerks to a sitting position, but the spike of pain shooting through his body renders a string of curses as he falls back into the pillows. Again he barely registers a figure rushing over to him, with a small bucket and towel that are placed beside a box of medical aids he finds. It’s only when he looks back up that he realizes, that figure is you.

“I’d say, ‘I told you so.’ But I don’t think you can even hear me through that thick skull of yours.” With a dip, the towel is soaked easily, and after a quick squeegee, you lift it up and make contact with the gash on his cheek which he barely bothers to flinch at. 

“How?” His voice is crackly and sounds like death and that causes him to flinch, but you don’t bat an eye, rather, giving an amused look. 

“You aren’t the only one who learned how to fight.” The blood cleans off easier than he’d think, and you’re dabbing some antiseptic and bandaging it up with the kind of ease that tells him you’ve done this too many times before. “I get the whole hero thing includes being willing to die for your cause, but I don’t think rushing into a fight with the entire security of Kingpin’s building was justified.” With a sigh, you toss the cotton ball into the nearby bin. “May’s still alive, isn’t she? You have someone waiting for you at home, don’t go dying willy nilly like that.” 

He knows he’s staring, but he blames the concussion for slowing him down. “I’m sorry.” He blurts, it’s also limiting his impulse behavior it seems. You’re wiping your hands off with the towel, and when he glances down, he sees that the whole suit is off and the rest of his wounds have been tended to. He’s not really allowed to dwell on that when you respond.

“For what exactly? If you need, I can list why you should be.” The towel is chucked into the bucket while you lean into the bedside. “But I’m sorry too, for leaving you like that. I was forced into working in this industry is why, and I didn’t want to risk letting you know through all these years. Knowing the identity of Spider-man is too valuable information to let these kinds of people find out.” He knows your explanation condones your leaving, but he feels your guilt that returns at the statement. It doesn’t make him feel any better about how he acted.

But you’re looking at him with sympathetic eyes that he knows you probably could have never afforded to risk showing until now. In that moment, you remind him of how you were all those years ago. His friend who was always extraordinarily understanding of how he felt and endlessly patient with his excuses— that you even knew were pathetic— but always dismissed with a sarcastic comment. And that there makes him realize that you knew all along, the truth of his connection to you. 

“For saying all that shit.” The revelation sputters his mind to think, allowing him to finally piece his thoughts together to break the silence. The words feel heavy in his mouth, but he keeps trying to push them out anyways. “And for mixing up my spider sense with the soulmate tingle too.” All that pain he felt through the years he thought was his own. It was easy to have them all become so indistinguishable, especially given the grief he was faced with due to the many he failed to save. Oh, his eyes were getting all dewey too and staring at your shocked face, he comes to the realization that he just babbled all of that to you instead of just thinking it. 

You scoot closer to him, eyes filled with a sorrow-tinged warmth that you freely express to him. Your hand lifts to gently run through his hair in a manner that feels too intimate and gives his tears the permission to start dripping down his face. As you lean in to lightly press your forehead against his, his arms lightly wrap around your waist to hold you close to him as if afraid you might leave again. At that moment he feels like he’s finally come home after a much too long trip. He feels relief. He feels comfort.

He feels only you.