shots, 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘯𝘰𝘪𝘳.

[009] tired.

It was a long day for you and your boyfriend in your workplace. For you, the diner was slow in business and customers were unusually rude to you. It didn't help that there were groups of drunkards flocking in looking for more booze. Even worse, the men hit on you. It was tiring working at that damned diner, but it was the only job that you could get with what you had. The Great Depression was hard on everyone, and you were lucky to even land a job let alone have business. Still, things could always be better. It was tiring just showing up there everyday, working as a waiter and a canary. Hopefully things would get better in this godforsaken country.

For your boyfriend, things were turning into disaster. Peter hadn't gotten good sleep in months. The trash filled streets were infested with gangs and goons. He never seemed to be able to catch a break every night. You were always left alone each night. Peter would return in the early hours of the morning when the night was settling into day, but it didn't help you knowing he was out there putting his life in danger. You never truly understood why he was so keen on staying as Spider-Noir, especially because Osborne and the Crime Master were put to a stop by him long ago. He was always stressed, and he would project it onto the only person close to him, which was you. Some days, you would greet him and he would raise his voice, things would get ugly, but it was always resolved with the two of you in bed.

Things for Peter weren't good when he wasn't Spider-Noir either. His work as a private eye didn't exactly yield amazing results. It was hard being a private business owner for something that was so low in demand. Even when there were clients, they wouldn't have a cent to give him. Peter would always help them anyways.
Your relationship with him was great in the beginning. Lots of love from both sides, and Peter was a passionate, nerdy, cute, young guy who was fiery about change. Over the years, his passion faded. The situation in the country cleary wasn't changing. He became worse when his Uncle Ben died at the hands of The Vulture, and his Aunt May passing away shortly after. Peter had so many things going on in his life, it had been several months since the two of you had properly sat down together and had a meal.

You make your way up the staircase towards your tiny apartment and sit on your bedroom desk chair. Almost immediately after sitting, you hear a harsh knock on the door. It sounds almost angry and you hurry to the door. Peeping through the hole, you see Peter standing there, an impatient look on his face. You open the door and Peter steps in, brushing past you almost too fast.

"Peter? What's wrong?" Your voice was dripping with hurt. He didn't take any notice.

"Nothing." You turn to him and he's sitting on the desk chair. His head is in his hands and he's ruffling his hair in stress. He looks angry at something.

"Peter..."

"Doll, I told you, there ain't a thing wrong." He turns to you and notices your sad face. His eyes drop for a second before he gives you a forced smile and looks back down at the desk. "How was work for you, doll?"

You flinch at the question. "It was fine. Same as always, I guess."

"Sorry to hear that."

His voice is laced with annoyance.

"Peter, please."

"Don't push it, doll."

"Peter, you can tell me anything. Please. What happened? Was work rough? Did I do something? I-"

"Doll." You get a glimpse of his face while approaching him. He seems angrier and his grip on his hair is tighter. "I told you. You ain't got a thing to worry about." His voice is harsh. You want to know what's setting him off, but his tone instills a kind of fear in you. You decide to back off. Your silence alerts him and he walks to you as you're leaving.