#sonyverse

You try to push the thoughts down, try to think of anything else as you swing your legs over the side of the bed. Jesus Christ. That dull pain in your ribs that's always throbbing, never ceases, makes itself abundantly obvious when you move. To be fair, you did say you felt okay. Not that you felt good.

By the time you glance back at your phone again, he's already responded.

[ I'll swing by in an hour. :) ]

Biting at your lip a little, you try to hide your smile. You're downright giddy. You've never been on a date before. You've almost been on plenty...but never actually made it to one.

It hurts just a little too much to put any real effort in, but you felt guilty about making him wait. So you were gonna push through it today. Eyeliner, mascara, a cute dress, a cardigan, and your favourite red Converse. That would have to suffice. You thought you looked pretty cute at least.

When he knocks at the door, you jump a little. The way your heart beat thuds against your ribcage just reminds you how sore you are, but you put on your best smile and go to open the door. The boy before you looks disheveled, out of breath, and is holding a small bouquet of flowers. Your cheeks light up as he hands them to you.

"You said this is your first date...I wanted to make a good impression." He grins. Your smile softens, becomes just a little more real. "Well...It's working, Pete. Thank you."

He peeks into your apartment when you turn to go set the flowers down on the kitchen counter. It's small, it's a little dirty, and it's dark. All the blinds are closed with curtains further blocking out any light that could be left.  You like to keep it as dark as possible to keep the pounding headaches at bay. It's definitely not a top-of-the-line apartment, and, upon further inspection, he sees your messy bed in the corner of the room. A studio, that's tough. It's all you can afford on the salary of a journalist, though.

You put the flowers into a large cup, then walked over towards the window to set them on the windowsill. Just because you can't have light doesn't mean they should suffer with you.

The date goes well, really well. Like, maybe your fleeting crush and wired nerves meant something.

"You've never felt your soulmark?" You ask, tilting your head as your coffee cup hovers near your lips.

His cheeks flush a little as his brown eyes meet yours, sparkling a little as his croissant hangs out of his mouth. "Uhm..." He sets it down on the table, covering his mouth with his fist as he clears his throat. "Y-yeah...I don't..." His cheeks are only getting redder as he mumbles his way through an answer. "I think I felt a pin prick or maybe a needle once or twice, but...it's been a while. I'm not sure if they're even like...still...around." He admitted, the air stilling as he all but admitted defeat in his words.

"Oh."

It was a selfish thought to have, but...how nice was that? To not constantly be in pain all the time? To not be tethered to someone you don't even know?

There was a quiet in the space between you two now. Peter hadn't brought up his proposition the entire date; had he given up on that idea? Or was he just trying not to pressure you? Either way, you'd made up your mind.

"I'll marry you."

He choked a little on his pastry. He should really not be so focused on eating it right now.

"R-really?" His voice cracked a little as he leaned forward on the table. "You're not just-"

"Really." You bit at your lip, your eyes flicking down to your fidgeting hands before looking back up to him again. "I...don't want to meet my soulmate." You shook your head as you spoke.

The two of you sat in a thick, heavy silence for what felt like an eternity. The way your heart pounded beneath your breast, you could hear it against your eardrum. Part of you couldn't believe you were agreeing to this...the other part of you knew you had nothing to lose.

"You're sure...?" He finally broke the silence, voice quiet and almost hoarse.

"I'm sure."

Another week passed, and it was day after day of feeling too ill to make it to the courthouse. This was just a marriage of convenience; you didn't need an actual wedding. You probably wouldn't even tell people you were married. There was no reason not to rush it; Peter needed the health care. Well, Aunt May did. And she seemed like a perfectly nice lady. Why wouldn't you help her out if you could?

You two texted. A lot.

Monday:

[ How are you feeling today? ]

[ :( ]

Tuesday:

[ Do you want me to bring you anything today while I'm out? ]

[ no, i'm ok ]

Wednesday:

[ Can I come see you today? ]

Your chest tightened a little. You rolled over a little, glancing towards the now long-dead flowers on the windowsill, and sighed. But...that did sound...nice.

[ only if you don't judge me. ]

His text came back impossibly fast.

[ I wouldn't dream of it. Be there in 5. :) ]

Five?! That wasn't long enough to do anything- not that you'd felt like it. You'd only dragged yourself out of bed long enough to pee a couple of times. You hadn't eaten much, didn't have the stomach for it. One of those days where you waited so long to eat that you weren't even hungry anymore. You hadn't showered or brushed your hair in days, but even still, even with his presence looming, you couldn't make yourself even sit up.

[ key's under the mat ]

It was more like six and a half minutes, but you heard the doorknob jiggle and looked over towards it as he walked in.

"Hey." You smiled, still curled up under your blankets, still in your jammies.

His expression showed concern, maybe worry. But he didn't say anything, just walked over to your bed. "This...doesn't look okay." His voice was soft as he took a seat beside your knees.

You scoffed. "You said you wouldn't judge, Pete."

His cheeks flushed at your remark. You were right, he supposed. "Sorry..." He mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck with his palm.

Your hand came out from under the covers, reaching for him instinctively. He wasted no time taking your hand in his. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks as his warm palm encapsulated your fingers.

"It was nice of you...to want to come see me." Your smile was persistent.

"Well..." The red of his cheeks grew, spreading to the tips of his ears. "If you're gonna...y'know...be my wife...in sickness and health, or whatever they say."

You bit at your bottom lip, trying to stop your smile from growing wider. He was really taking this whole thing seriously, wasn't he?

"Well, unluckily for you, it's always sickness. There's no health over here." You laugh. He doesn't.

"You should move in with me and May." He almost looked surprised at his own words, as if his mouth had moved before his thoughts did. Your eyes widened just a little bit. It's not like you guys were in a real relationship; he didn't need to do that.

"I don't-"

"I don't...like you being alone like this, while you're feeling like this." He spoke softly, his thumb rubbing against the back of your hand now.

"I'm always alone...and I'm always feeling like this." You laugh a little. "It's okay, Pete, really. I'm used to it."

He shook his head. "You don't need to be used to it. If you're helping me out, then let me help you out too." His eyes met yours, wide and shining and glossy with a real and palpable concern.

Your breath hitched in your throat, your chest getting impossibly tight. "I...I uhm.."

Peter brought your hand up to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. "Let me take care of you." His voice was broken, almost pleading with you.

How could you argue with that? You nodded, without even thinking about it.

"Y-yeah. Yeah, okay." Your voice was trembling, but a smile crept back onto his lips anyway.

"I'll do all the heavy lifting. I don't want you to move a finger." He threatened.