#spideyant

**infinity war spoilers alert**

Peter: Yeah, that sounds like fun

Scott: Sure thing, Sweetie. I’m free tonight

It’s a stupid fight, really it is. But Scott is dealing with a moody teenager, something more difficult than he ever could’ve imagined. And Peter’s dealing with college and work and about a million other things he won’t really share with Scott.

So the fight is inevitable, he just never expected it to blow up this much. But Peter threatened to leave and Scott didn’t want to risk saying something he’d regret later. They both just needed to calm down, and he knew they needed space for that. Still, the slam of the door behind him made his stomach sink. He should turn around and apologize now.

Instead his feet dragged him to the nearest bar. Maybe a couple of drinks would help. At the very least they probably couldn’t hurt him worse than he was feeling now.

The full glass stared back at him. One pathetic little sip was all he managed to take, and he’d been staring at the glass the rest of the time.

Had he been gone an hour? Or maybe two? He hadn’t even brought his cellphone with. He could Only imagine the messages from Peter he missed. Angry, upset, hurt. Scott tried not to think that he finally lost his shot with Peter. And over something so stupid to begin with.

The apartment was quiet, sickeningly so. Of course Peter had left. He threatened to after all, and Scott still walked out that door.

Running his hands through his hair, Scott tried remembering where he left his phone. He had to call Peter. A soft sniffle made him freeze. Heading to the bedroom, Scott nudged open the door, heart clenching at the sight inside.

A half packed bag lay on the floor, clothes thrown haphazardly inside. The closet door was thrown open and nearly all of Peter’s clothes had been taken out. Clearly in the process of leaving, Scott was unsure what made Peter stay. Yet there he was, curled up in a ball on the bed, sleeping face still red and puffy from crying. Scott mad a promise to himself to never let Peter cry like that again.

As quietly as possible, Scott shuffled into the room, curious as to what Peter’s sleeping form was wrapped around. A box, small and familiar was pressed against Peter’s chest, still open from his peak inside. Scott didn’t need to look inside to know what it was. It was his after all.

His ‘Peter box’. The movie ticket Stubbs from their first date. A napkin from a restaurant that Peter had doodled a small picture on. A love letter Peter had written him as a joke, stating that’s what “old people” did. Two pictures of them together, one from a photo booth at the mall and the other from Peter’s old fashioned camera. A dried up flower Peter had picked for Scott at the park. A small piece of wrapping paper off the present Peter got him during their first Christmas together as a couple. Every birthday card Peter had ever gotten him.

Slowly, Scott pulled the box from Peter’s sleeping grasp, out the cover on, and placed it back at the back of the closet for safe keeping. Then he climbed in bed behind Peter, tears prickling at his eyes when the smaller boy spun around and clung to him like a monkey. It was Scott’s favorite cuddling position.

“Scott, I-“ Peter’s voice was hoarse from crying and sleep.

“Shhh.” Scott pressed a kiss to the top of Peter’s head, letting his face linger, taking in the scent of Peter that he came to know and love. “I love you, Pete.”