Truly Blind | p. parker

xxi • pillow talk

[note.] trigger warning: attempted suicide.

"What do you mean?" You turned your head to look up at Peter.

His arms around you were tense, expectant, as if he were bracing for an onslaught of hail.

"I mean... that I..." Peter licked his lips. You could feel his chest moving quicker with his breathing. His heart seemed to be beating a million miles a second.

You opened your mouth to tell him it was alright when he suddenly released you.

You sat there momentarily, waiting for him to readjust, but then he stood up, nearly knocking you from your perch and onto the fire escape below. "Hey—"

But then his hands were on both of your wrists, and he was pulling you up into a standing position. "Sorry—" he gasped. "I don't... I didn't mean—" His breath was labored and you peered closer into his eyes. They were wide with anxiety.

"Peter, are you okay?"

He was shaking— you could feel it.

"Hey, maybe we should go inside, are you getting too cold?"

"No—" Peter violently shook his head. "No, I... I want to tell you... to tell you..."

You moved closer and gently cupped his cheek with your palm. He seemed to relax instantly and you could hear his breathing slow.

After a minute of listening to the traffic in the streets below, Peter opened his eyes and sat back down on the ledge. He waited a moment and then opened an arm for you to sit next to him.

You did, folding your legs beneath you.

"I... just want to say," Peter said quietly, "that the reason I never told you this wasn't because I wanted to keep secrets from you. In fact, I think this is the only thing I've ever purposely withheld from you."

You waited for him to go on.

"Anyway, I just..." He swallowed. "Okay. Remember that private jet accident I told you about?"

"You mean the one that ruined your eyesight?" You asked. "Yeah, vaguely."

Peter tried for a smile. "Well, that may have been a misleading account of what really happened."

"No jet?" You said quickly, turning to look at him in askance.

"Oh, no," Peter shook his head with a sardonic smile. "The jet was there alright, but what happened on the jet is where it gets grey."

You found Peter's hand in his lap. It was clenched and cold. You took it and held it, trying to warm it up.

"It wasn't an accident." He said. "The man I was fighting tried to kill me."

You paused, processing this. "Trying to... kill you? Wait— you were fighting someone?"

"Gah," Peter pulled his arm from around your shoulders and buried his face. "This is coming out all wrong; I don't know how to tell you."

"Then just tell me." You said, slightly impatient. "No preemptive context, no rationalizing it, just... say it."

Peter seemed to steel himself for a bomb explosion. And it was warranted that he did, for what he had to say would have caused anyone to blow up.

"___..." He said quietly. "I... used to be Spider-Man."

It was quiet on that rooftop for a very long time.

From Peter's perspective, it seemed as though you had completely powered down. You were charging, waiting to strike. In fact, he rather thought you were getting ready to shout at him. If he didn't have heightened senses, he would have assumed you had left; so still was your figure beside him.