Velly ♡

A gentle tap against your window tears you away from the book in your hands. You'd been so absorbed in what you were reading you hadn't noticed the clock turning 3am, but the dark sky outside your window and the silent street below it all work together to tell you that you should've been asleep hours ago. You rise off your bed and tread towards your window, the cold floorboards sending a chill up your spine. You push open the window and your friend Peter climbs through, slumping onto the floor with a small grunt.

You're used to him arriving like this in the dead of night by now. Sometimes he needs a rest before he travels back home, others he just needs company and a reassuring smile. Tonight feels different though. He's barely spoken since you let him in and his breathing is ragged, making his chest heave. You switch on your bedside lamp and gently lower yourself to the floor to sit next to him.

The light illuminates his face, and the gravity of the situation hits you immediately.

Blood trickles from his hairline down the side of his face, leaving a trail that drips all the way into the neck of his suit. His lip is cut, and both cheeks are littered with bruises.

Your eyes take their way down his body, checking for further injuries. One of his web shooters is smashed, and there's a slash on his ribs that you almost don't spot, because the entire area is covered with blood, blending it in with the red of his suit.

"Peter, what happened?" You ask, voice trembling with worry.

He goes to reply, but attempts to move as he does, which replaces any words he was about to say with a whimper, his eyes screwing up in pain.

"Okay okay, just-just hold on one second I'll be right back" you say, scrambling to your feet.

You dart to your bathroom, grabbing your first aid kit. You try to keep the thing well stocked in case of Peters visits, but you're not sure anything in there is going to be appropriate for the level of injuries he's shown up with this time.

You race back, almost slipping on the wooden floor, and immediately start to try and tend to the wound on his side.

Peter watches you, wincing in pain as you wipe away layers of blood, but it just keeps pouring.

"I think you need to go to the hospital Peter" you bite your lip.

He shakes his head.

You look at him sternly, but he's closed his eyes, now oblivious to your disapproval. You try again to wipe away the blood, but you make no progress, so you sit next to him and place as much pressure as you can muster on it instead. The blood soaks through to the cloth and onto your hand almost immediately, coating your fingers. You try not to panic, taking deep breaths as Peter pants next to you, but your brain is spiralling.

These injuries are really bad. Spider healing or not, he's lost way too much blood. His face is practically grey, and amongst the dirt, blood and bruises you can see the sweat dotting his forehead. He seems pretty adamant about not going to the hospital, so all you can do is your best to try and tend to him and keep him alive.

You take his hand in yours and place it on top of the cloth on his side. "Press down here for me so I can have a look at your head"

He does as you ask, but with his brain not fully focused he puts too much force behind his press, making himself yelp in pain. You brush your hand through his hair reassuringly, trying to soothe him from the unimaginable amount of pain he must be in, before you try and find the source of the blood trickling down his face.

The cut on his head isn't as bad as you're expecting. You clean it with antiseptic, which stings and makes his eyes water, and then wipe away the remaining blood on his face.

When you pull away from him, you notice his eyes are staring to droop.

"Pete? You still with me?" You ask urgently.

"Y-yeah I'm good, just...so tired" he responds, voice no more than a whisper.

You take over from him putting pressure on his side. To your relief, the bleeding seems to have slowed significantly. You can finally breathe for the first time since he showed up, safe in the knowledge that he's not imminently about to bleed out on your bedroom floor.

The feeling of his head dropping onto your shoulder snaps you back to attention.

"Come on, you need to sleep" you say, taking his hand and helping him to stand up, guiding him toward your bed.

You cover him up with several blankets and do your best to get him comfortable, and then head towards your door to go and set yourself up on the sofa.

"I'll be right next door, if you need anything at all come and get me, or shout if you can't get up, okay?"

No answer.

"Peter? Did you he-"

"Would you stay with me?" His voice croaks out quietly from the bundle of blankets.

"...of course I can" you answer, walking back and shuffling onto the bed next to him.

His head moves to rest on your chest almost immediately. You stroke his hair, humming gently. Peter has always loved it when you hummed or sang around him, he found it relaxing, so you're hoping it will soothe him a little and help him sleep.

You sit like this for about 2 hours, just listening to Pete's slow breathing as you stroke his hair, letting his body heal him as he sleeps. You'd love to stay awake all night to keep watch over him and make sure his condition doesn't deteriorate further, but the warmth of his body is unwilling lulling you to sleep. Your eyes droop, and despite your best efforts to keep them open, you end up fast asleep, nestled on top of your sheets with Peters head still resting on your chest.

-

You don't wake up until midday. When you do, you find your arms surprisingly empty. Panic rises in your chest, fearing Peter has collapsed somewhere, but when your head turns the side to search for him, you see your window propped open and a small bunch of flowers sat on your bedside table.

On top of them is a note that reads "For Y/N, the best nurse a guy could ask for, love PP/SM".

You smile as you take the flowers into your hand, leaving the note on the table. They're pastel tulips with a few sprigs of baby's breath surrounding them. Your favourite. Peters ability to move around silently is both a blessing and a curse, you think, because it lets you wake up to sweet things like this, but part of you also wishes he'd of stayed till you woke up.

As you go to fill a vase with some water, your mind buzzes over the last line of the note. You tell Peter you love him all the time, purely platonically, but he rarely says it back, and something about this feels different. You swipe open your phone and send him a message.

Message to Peter 🕸️: They're beautiful Pete, thank you, love you too!

He messages back almost instantly, as if he'd been holding his phone waiting for you.

Message from Peter 🕸️: No, thank you! And I really mean it