TASM Peter Parker Imagines

Backstage

Peter Parker is tired. Damned tired. It's the kind of tired when you're just on the barest edge of functionality, where you're stumbling around like a drunkard without even knowing why. Peter almost walks straight into traffic five times on his way back home after work just because his fading brain can't manage to put together why a green light means go for the cars, not him.

That's what he gets for trying to be two people at once, he supposes. There cannot be both Peter Parker and Spider-Man, no matter how he stretches himself thin to manage it. Spider-Man is stealing time away from Peter, burning the candle at both ends as he tries to both save the city and just live in it.

The exhaustion of trying to keep up with everything, patrols and photography and rent, clings to Peter's bones like a second skin, weighing him down with iron flesh that doesn't feel like his. Peter promises himself that he'll skip off patrolling for tonight, go to bed early and get some rest for once. It's a lie that he's told many times before, and it does the job enough for now.

He already knows where he'll be when night falls, anyway, up on those rooftops, watching the lights of the city pass him by. Maybe if he gets lucky it will be a quiet night and he can just lean against the wall of a building, close his eyes while he listens to the city getting worse with every hour.

So Peter's tired. What about it? He forces his eyes to stay open for now, his feet to keep him out of the path of oncoming cars. The streets seem to lengthen before his despairing gaze, turning a few feet into miles and miles of distance to cross. Peter scans the horizon for any sign of home, and just when he's absolutely desperate, he sees her.

Peter may be exhausted, but he's not so drained that he can't recognize a pretty face when he sees it. This face is one he's recognized before, one he's come to call his own as much as any living person can hold claim to any living thing that isn't himself. That's what it means to love someone, Peter supposes, you lay out hopes that they might become as much a part of you as your own blood and bone.

The pretty girl is his girl, Y/N L/N, and just like that, Peter is doing better. He navigates the throngs of people until he comes to a stop beside her, absentmindedly trying to fix his hair in the reflection of a bus window like they've only been dating for a few days instead of a few months.

Y/N smiles up at him. "Don't you look terrible?" She says brightly.

Peter grimaces. "Wonderful to see you too."

Y/N laughs. "My apologies. Let me start again, how about that? Dearest, most beloved boyfriend, you look as charming as ever but somehow far more tired than ever. Did you sleep at all last night?"

"I was definitely in bed," Peter hazards, "maybe got a couple hours of shut-eye?"

"Not enough," Y/N decides, "You'll get more sleep tonight. Even if I have to bolt the windows to make sure you aren't sneaking out."

Peter rolls his eyes good-naturedly, but inside, his spirits heave a sigh of relief. Telling Y/N about his alternate life as Spider-Man was one of the hardest choices Peter ever made, but man, if it hasn't paid off in the biggest ways. She keeps dinner or leftovers out in the fridge if he comes back late, and is always there to patch him up after patrols, both physically and emotionally.

Truth be told, he doesn't know what he would do without her. Y/N is all he's ever needed. The fact that she's totally cooler than him doesn't hurt things, either. Y/N is a genuine rockstar, and her band plays the local clubs all the time. In fact, Peter can see a poster advertising their next performance on the wall of a shop over Y/N's shoulder.

"I think I might be alright with that," Peter says, "but only if you're getting some sleep, too. Your shows end later and later, I swear."

Y/N nods with great feeling. "Oh, I know. I keep trying to get out of there once the show ends, but we keep finding ways to stay after."