#stalker!spiderman

Peter Parker, who was benevolently at your rescue a few times here and there. Like the day you couldn't pay the fare, and he pushed through a sea of people, finding your secluded worries on a bench. Which, of course, ended with him paying your bus ride home.

The few times he'd clean up the frayed webbing above your doorframe, where you grew increasingly worried of an infestation after the second time.

Or that one morning you were tasked with your team's coffee run—an iced something, a frozen something, all too many somethings for one person on a twelve minute trek to their internship. And if weren't for the man clouding your peripheral, one that was calling your name and freeing your worn knuckles of a heavy tray, you would've wobbled face first into hot pavement. Peter Parker was kind enough to walk you all the way back.

Peter Parker, who'd let you vent your pretty little heart out. He'd sit there and listen to your ramblings over the phone, grinning ear-to-ear as your relationship woes took the spotlight. He'd offer sound advice- how to confront your partner, how to defend yourself, and even if it ended with you crying into his speaker, you could only ever be so grateful for having such a caring, doting friend.

Peter Parker, who again, was always situated at your every wrong step.

This time, when your friends invited you out to some kitschy music festival in the outer-city, you turned a few wrong corners. The wrong streets, wrong apartment complexes, it left you eyeing every person that walked opposite of you. You pulled yourself against the closest wall after another wrong turn, fishing for your phone and scrolling to the contact you've grown all too accustomed to.

Brrring, click.

"Heyo," The speaker picked up a voice.

Relief, at last.

"Hey, Ben... I... I know you're probably busy or whatever but I'm," A sharp inhale on your end to keep your voice from giving out, your nostrils burning as the air rushed in.

"I went out with some friends- or I was supposed to, but then I got lost on the way there and I don't know where I am, or how far I am from anywhere, and nobody's answering their phone. I'm lost, and I'm really scared," You deliver the last part with a breathy laugh, 'scared' was an understatement.

"Alright, alright," He chuckled through static. "Stay where you are, scaredy cat. I'll only be a second." You could hear his smile, too. Which was only comforting because if there was anything about Ben Reilly, it was his assurance. But the line was dead before you could ask if he'd stay on call, and the dread was only slightly more bearable by then.

You pressed your back against uneven brick and exhaled, curious eyes trailing the figure by your sidewalk. He sported a loose fitting jacket, dark all over, obscuring his familiarity in most ways, but you could easily tell apart that mop of hair from anyone else.

Your brows furrowed as he neared, "Ben?"

His steps faltered, his spine straightening as he stilled. Brief silence flicked between you, and his eyes widened in, what seemed like, earnest surprise, "Hey, there you are!"

"What- Ben? How are- How did you get here so fast?" You're smiling as you speak. It's a wary smile more than anything, but friendly nonetheless.

"Uh... I was actually in the area," Spoken softly; disarming.

"Out here?" Your arms instinctively wrapped around themselves, the pads of your fingers gripping onto bare elbow, rubbing circles into bone.

It was the notion of pure coincidence that kept your naivety intact here. Why you both lingered on the same street, at the same time, opposite of the city you were stray to. It could otherwise be explained away by commute, but your Ben Reilly didn't have a real reason to be here and you knew him well enough to know that. And because of that, because you had a second to rake over the sheer absurdity of the situation, your comfort was soon abandoned. It withered into a judgment you hadn't once reconciled with.

Which, it would be unlike your Ben Reilly to overlook your abating warmth--discomfort taking the place of what was usually good humor.

"You called me, too," He muttered.

You couldn't tell if it was him, or the fresh crack in your rose-colored glasses, but he spoke so unconvincingly that you were sure he was saying something without really saying it.

"No, I-I know I did. I know that, but I," A stuttered inhale, your lips going dry.

"No- Hey," His voice was hushed, fragile to your worries. He took a step forward to which you responded by taking a step back, "C'mon, don't make this something it isn't."

"How did you know where I was?"

Peter's eyes fluttered at your words. Like he was bracing for impact, or like he knew you weren't really asking anything. Your stomach churned with every second he kept to himself, a selfish silence that drove you into quiet panic.

A montage of realizations swarmed your head. Your chest growing tight as it played. His face was at every corner of your best memories, and your unsuspecting willingness protected that familiarity. The familiarity of a friend, a kind friend, a giver, a protector. The get-together, the bus fare, the coffee run, all within the span of three weeks.

How could you have been so, so simpleminded?

"Ben, have you been..."

"Please."

A dry swallow, a blink. A question you didn't want an answer to.

"Have you been following me?"