Small World | Peter Parker

chapter nineteen

"Peter Parker, you tell me what happened right now," I ordered the male in front of me, who only bit the inside of his cheeks. "Or so help me god, I won't speak to you for a week,"

"Well, I guess we're halfway there then," Peter muttered under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. He looked like a child, pouting pitifully like he hadn't gotten his way. I couldn't believe him.

"Pete,"

"I recognized those guys who were messing with that same girl, and I followed them," he interrupted, still avoiding eye contact with me. "They went inside a building, and I found them in the middle of a drug deal. I guess I tripped over something, and they shot at me,"

"How did you get that?" I pointed at his stomach. He adjusted himself, whimpering painfully from his wound.

"Doesn't matter," Peter mumbled.

"You're hurt," I objected. "Of course, it matters,"

"I've done this before," he whispered. "More than once," He was using my words.

"We're not doing this. We're not fighting right now," I declared, standing up from his bed. He finally looked up at me, curious about what I would do next. "Peter, let me help you,"

He frowned and then nodded after a silent moment. "I'm sorry," he sighed. "That wasn't fair,"

"Can you explain to me what happened?" I sighed more heavily than I meant to, I was frustrated and annoyed, but I was worried about him. I sat on the bed, and I reached for his sweater carefully. He seemed to tense up, but he nodded to let me know it was okay. I slowly lifted his sweater, and I could see it better now - I hadn't realized he bandaged it already. The blood on the cotton made me think it was worse than it seemed. "Can I?" I pulled his sweater.

He nodded and pushed himself up slowly, and he braced himself, lifting his arms. I got on my knees to lift his sweater as carefully as I could without hurting him. "I'm okay," he grunted softly as he lowered his arms, resting back against his pillows. He lifted his shirt to expose his stomach. "I got distracted uhm-" he hesitated. "I was texting you, and I forgot for a second they were just around the corner, and they shot at me. I jumped out of the way, but the bullet just barely grazed me,"

"Oh, Pete," I stared at the bandage. "Does your aunt know?"

"She has enough to worry about, and I don't want her to freak out,"

"Then why didn't you call me or something?"

"Morgan," he scoffed. "I've been texting you for the last couple of days. Would you have answered my call?"

"I was busy," I lied. It was only half-true. Sloane had freaked me out, and I felt it was my fault for not finding the girls. However, I spent nearly my entire weekend with Sloane and couldn't tell Peter I couldn't face him.

"It's fine," he said quietly, looking down at his hands.

I grabbed them carefully, examining the small cuts on his knuckles. I didn't ask if they were from when he got shot or from the party. We just sat in silence for a long moment as I carefully brushed my fingers across his knuckles. He was looking at me, and then his eyes moved to lips, his tongue lapping across his bottom lip.

"You got distracted," I sighed, and I bit my lip hard to keep it from trembling. "I'm sorry about this weekend,"

"It's nothing anymore. Let's just pretend it didn't happen," Peter grinned softly and adjusted his grip to hold my hands. "Let's just pretend it's the morning of the party,"