Solangelo Oneshots

Wait- you're Spider-Man? pt. 2

Yes yes part two

—
Nico's pov

I thought, all things considered, my day had been pretty average. I (hopefully) aced my bio test, my wrist healed itself some time between second period and lunch, and Will bought me chocolate milk because I was whining about my English essay on Macbeth. Then, like most days after school, I bought a sandwich, and jogged to the alleyway that I constantly use as my designated strip-and-change-into-my-suit place, like a 0/5 rated change room on Yelp.

I hid my backpack under the crate, as always (I had fallen into a bit of a routine, you see) and then started my daily rounds around the city.

I really did not think that today of all days- the day that I intercepted three shitty bad guys trying to steal bank notes- I would be outed to my best friend.

Yes, sure, I always knew there was a risk that something like this would happen. Will's personal hobby was following me around New York City and taking photos of me for money. And I didn't try to stop him; I knew that his mum struggled with the bills sometimes, so he liked to provide for himself.
It was a little bit weird when he told me about his pictures the next day though, ranting about how great my ass looked in a photo of me swinging through the street. It took me a while to get used to the constant flow of compliments- to get a hold of myself when he started rambling about Spider-Man- especially because it was his go-to conversation starter. Eventually, I accepted that it wasn't me that Will was talking about, but Spider-Man, and that alias I had created. He wasn't complimenting my thighs, but the faceless hero he had created a personality for.
It hurt a little bit, but I've liked Will long enough to dampen the ache to a minor inconvenience.

That was another thing. The fact that I've liked Will since before I even came out to him. I'm not sure if the feelings, at this point, would ever go away. They stuck around like a nasty cough after a head cold. You would think, 'Nico, three years is a pretty long time to harbour a crush, you must be exaggerating'. God, how I wish it was an exaggeration. Yes, I know three years is a long time. No, I don't know how to make it go away.
So I deal in the only way I know how: running away from my problems and getting brutally beat up every week. At least I was doing good deeds while simultaneously acting selfishly. I've put a lot of bad people in jail in the past year an a half.

Anyways, I was off my game today. I didn't expect to fight anyone worthwhile on my patrol, and I couldn't stop thinking about that stupid bio test, and my English essay I needed to finish, and how Will's eyes lit up like a kid at a ball park when I accepted his stupid chocolate milk from the cafeteria. It was the large size too. Because he knows chocolate milk is my weakness.

Everything was fine at the fight. I was handling it. The guy with the gun was in one of my hands, and the truck was being held by the other, and I was fucking handling it, until my web snapped because god hates me, and then of fucking course, Will Solace was right in front of it, with his stupid little camera pressed to his face, probably too focused on the shot of me to notice the truck careening towards him.

I was so off my game, that I didn't even realize that he had been there until some bystanders screamed at him (I don't think New Yorkers feel fear. IF THERE ARE FREAKS WITH GUNS, RUN AWAY). Usually I can sense when someone is in danger. This time, I barely noticed my best friend until he was yelping in my ear and wrapping his (warm, freckled) arms around my neck.

The whole fight, overall, was poorly executed. I nearly lost to three D-list criminals, didn't notice my best friend in danger, and then, of course, I was fucking shot. I hated getting shot. No one ever talks about the post-bullet-wound chills and aches, or the way the bullet lodges itself inside you, or, in some cases, the fever you're left with for hours- sometimes even days. The pain from the wound itself was bearable, but the aftermath was exhausting, and the cleanup was torturous.
Thankfully, I have a rigorous healing process, so if the injury was really bad, it would probably stitch itself up within a couple days— if I'm healthy, within hours. This time around, I seemed to only be grazed by the bullet. The pain was teeth clenching, but after an hour or two it would lessen to a throb. I just thanked the universe that I wouldn't have to dig any metal out of my calf tonight; that was nauseating and toe curling and the absolute worst.