SAFETY PIN

Chapter-8: It Doesn't Matter

"As he read, I slowly fell in love the way you fall asleep; slowly, and then all at once"- John Green

(AMARA'S POV):

A different side of Peter had come out. One which was bruised, emotional and scarred. I didn't know which I had made. 

"Which part of you is real?" Peter sniffled. We were now in my room, bruised and battered.

"What do you mean?" I asked, confused.

"When we're at school, you're nice, sweet, and kind. Behind the mask, you're-you're rude, and crude. Which part of you is real? Which part is you, as a person?" He looked up at me, his eyes red, purple bruises littering his collarbone, and one on his jaw. 
"You are like two different people, depending on who you are with! What is this game you're playing?! Who are you? And which one is real?"

'Did he get hurt?' The voice in my head asked.
'It was my fault. It's always my fault.'

"The part of me outside of the mask is who I am. The part of me inside the mask is who I want to be."

"Cruel and mean?" He asked.

"Commanding. The type of person people wouldn't question. Someone who isn't invisible. I've had enough of that. I've had enough of people asking me questions. I've had enough of feeling the need to quiet down to be easier to digest. I'm sick of it" I whispered, my breath shaky. "I'm so sick of it."

He lunged at me, and I gasped, my staff flying into my hand, but, one arm wrapped around my waist, and another pulled me into his chest. 
"I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry." I whispered, tears blurring my vision. I dropped my staff, and it clattered on the ground.

I pulled away and touched the bruise on his jaw.
"I did that," I said, sadly. "It's my fault you're hurt."

"No." He grabbed my hand, lowering it gently. "It's not your fault. You don't have to change yourself to fit in. We'll never fit in, anyways."

For some reason, he was the first person to say that who I believed. Who I wholeheartedly believed.
Peter Parker, Spider-boy. The first one to say that it wasn't my fault. 
He pulled my head back into his chest, and we fell onto the bed. I let myself go, overwhelmed by his scent, his eyes, his magnetic force tugging my heartstrings closer to him.

I didn't know how to love him. If he would accept me. I never knew no matter who I told. 

 Our soft sobs echoed across the room, as our tears lulled us to sleep. I felt them pitter-patter onto my head, and my head turned around, my face in his chest, as I pulled him tighter as we sat in the middle of my bed, two tarnished people who loved each other unapologetically loud. 

"You're not invisible." He whispered to me.
"There are so many people who see you. Hell, I see you."

He didn't know how much that meant to me.

We were twin souls; equivalent in every way; both of us lost our parents, both of us had a family member who relied on us, and both of us forced ourselves to become superheroes to give ourselves some purpose. The world was cruel to us, and we had the utter decency to not be the same back.

We stayed like that for a few hours. Peter's hands on top of my stomach, and mine around his neck and waist. I was too scared to move, in case he would push me away, so I slept in that position. 
When I woke up, I realised that he was fast asleep, so I slowly retracted myself, and went to work in the afternoon, doing Fury's assignments. 

I did his portion too, because it was a pretty peaceful day.

 When I reached my room, it was sunset, and Peter had just woken up. 

"Good morning," I said, opening the curtains.
"G'mornin, how long have I been asleep for?" Peter asked groggily.

"Well, it's currently 5 pm, so 2 hours." I softly smiled at the boy.
He stared at me and gasped.

"Hey! This is unfair! How can you have such a comfy suit and I get literal swimwear?!" He protested. 

"This is Atlantean fibres, so it's nicer. You'll learn soon because Tony's sending both of us on my Atlantean journey in a few weeks, so you'll get to meet my friends. Maybe I'll convince them to make you a new suit if you like." I said, smiling.

"Whoa! I'm going to Atlantis?! It's a real place?" he gushed. "Yeah, so now wake up, and relax. I've finished your part of the work too, so we're basically free for the next 3 hours." 

"Thank you so much!"

"Anytime," I said, smiling at the ground.

"Since we're free, wanna paint with me?" I asked nervously. I hadn't really asked anyone this before, and no one I knew was precisely the 'artsy' type.

"Yeah, sure! But I have to say, I'm not really the best at it."
By this time, Peter had woken up, and was reading the posters and charts on the wall, interested in my band ones and some of the types of flowers. 

He went to his room, changed into a black t-shirt and grey sweatpants, and came back to mine. 

I stood outside the mini door in the room, which was built into a wall. "C'mon spider-boy, get in," I said.
"Huh? Oh, yeah." he clambered inside and stared in awe.

The room was a bit smaller than the size of the bedroom, polished wood everywhere, littered with artwork all along the walls. Easels, paints and paintbrushes were neatly put everywhere, and splats of colour decorated the floor. The last rays of the sun seeped in through the small windows, and identical to the bedroom, tiny porcelain plant pots were found everywhere, hosting a variety of plants. 

It was my safe space. 

"Whoa," he whispered, taking in the view. "The artwork's amazing! Is it all yours?" he asked. "Yup, a mixture of mine and Steve's, 'cause he uses art therapy for his PTSD," I said.

"He helped me build the room, 'cause it used to be Tony's old storage room for suits. It took us 2 months to build it." I explained. 

"What's this?" he asked, standing in front of an unfinished painting, with blue and green swirls on it.

 "Oh, this is the one I wanna submit to MoMa for their 'Young Artists' competition in a few months," I said. "Well, it's amazing already." he shyly said, a small grin making its way on his features.

"Thanks, spider-boy. You're amazing, too.

Night:

By now, Peter and I both had finished our paintings, while jamming and listening to music. He painted Chewbacca, and I painted an orchid.

"I think this is amazing," he stated, looking at his piece. The Chewbacca's brown made it look green, and a baby Yoda was drawn in marker beneath it. 

"Yes, second to only Picasso," I joked.

We laughed about, playing music and watching movies for the rest of the night, and slept together on the couch, in each other's embraces, his head resting on my stomach.

And when I was falling asleep, only one thought took over my mind;

Peter.