𝐄𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 | peter parker

xxviii. exile

He was in my dreams again.

What have I done?

He was consuming my thoughts again.

What has happend?

Yesterday was platonic, indeed an accurate definition of an emotional roller-coaster.

We were arguing, and I wanted no more than to slap him, but I also wanted to kiss him.

Everything felt different.

The electrical sensation that rushed through the veins of my body when our lips connected.

The taste of his lips on my soaked ones, the passion lasting in the atmosphere around us.

I wanna feel it again.

And everyday.

But I cannot.

I don't know if I fully slept last night, and even if I did, I do not know how.

I was curled up in my blanket, my earphones plugged in my ears since the previous night.

Not to mention my eyeliner that was leaving dark traces around my eyebags from the light rain yesterday night.

I shift uncomfortably in my bed, slowly rubbing my bare legs together.

Maybe it's been affection all along.

Maybe affection has been what I needed.

Aunt May could've been correct.

I traveled my way to the top of the mountain, and that's a very dangerous distance to fall from now.

Everything remains unsolved, but at least I know for a fact that I actually do stumble across his thoughts.

I twirl myself sideways, only to be faced with my messy desk that had supplies all over.

A sigh escapes my lips, as the music quietly fills up my starved senses.

My eyes then stop upon a folded piece of paper on the desk, with a bunch of wild roses wrapped around it.

Huh?

I'm pretty sure this wasn't here yesterday, at least not before I fell asleep.

But then and again, my thoughts flashback to the night before.

I ended up cradled in Peter's arms in the middle of a rainy night, and the last thing I remember was him laying me across my bed.

The other visions of the previous time or what happened before were surprisingly blurry.

I secure my thoughts, maintaining them all together as I slowly take the cover off me, and feel the cold air hit the bare skin of my exposed shoulders, along with my stomach.

I can't even remember the dark top I was sleeping in, nor what I was wearing beforehand.

I slowly raise myself from the warm covers, and lazily stretch my arms into the air, whooshing it's way to my room though the open window.

Wait.

I don't remember leaving the window open.

The rays of the sun outside are starting to come in, casting out its bright colors to the middle of my smokey scented, yet heavily messy room.

Eh, talking about messy rooms.

I might have to clean it up in the old fashioned way, if I have no plans ready for this day.

Of course I want to see Peter, but it's different, because maybe he doesn't. And it's not because I don't wanna see him, it's just -

Why am I even explaining my thoughts to none other than myself? Dear lord.