Peter Parker Fan Fiction

What it Means to Love

Lockers all around you slammed shut as the school day came to a close, yours being one of them. It had been a long, awful week and now the blissful feeling of Friday was here. Two whole days free from classes, homework and, the main reason you were happy for the weekend, free of him.

It had been nearly three months since things had ended, since you had ended them. But that didn't make seeing him any easier. You just couldn't handle who he was, what he did every night, never knowing if he would come home safe or if you would never see him again. You couldn't possibly be expected to do that, to love him, to wait for him, if it meant it was hurting you. Surely he understood; he had to.

Yet, here you were three months later, wearing his sweatshirt that still smelled like cinnamon and pine, staring at the back of his head in class, watching him walk down the halls, waiting for him to answer a question just so you could hear his musical voice and wishing - wishing desperately - every day that he would look at you too. But to you, to love him meant to be in pain. Because you loved him, you had to set both of you free.

He did keep an eye on you, of course. He kept a watchful eye over you from the tops of the buildings of Queens. He made sure you got home safe, and he even threw Flash against a locker once when he had made a remark about your ass. Because to him, watching after you, protecting you, taking care of you even when you weren't his, that was what it meant to love you.

A locker slammed shut to your left and you looked over to see the familiar tuft of curly brown hair walking away. A shiver ran down your spine and you fought against every fiber of your being to call out after him. You felt the words on the tip of your tongue, forming, a desperate cry- 'Peter!' you longed to call out. But you bit your tongue, tasting something coppery. It had to be this way.

It was safer for him to be without anything or anyone tying him down.

It was safer for him to have no one to worry about.

It freed him up from having a fatal weakness, therefore saving his life, meaning he would almost certainly come home safely.

It was safer for you to not be with the man with a thousand enemies.

It didn't matter that your heart still called out to him, or that you often woke in the middle of the night, heart racing, fresh from a dream involving the two of you, varying from very good dreams, to horrible nightmares.

You had to forget him, because you loved him.

That's just the way that it was.

So, you turned on your heel, walking the opposite direction from the boy who haunted your every waking thought and out of the doors, relishing in the fact that for a weekend, maybe, just maybe you could be free from your torture.

It had been a rough night. He was hurt, his side aching and a warm liquid flowing freely from a deep wound on his arm. He was woozy, and he didn't know what else to do, or where else to go. So, natural habits taking over, he went to you.

He couldn't see the logic to it. You clearly wanted nothing to do with him anymore, a ghost of a memory flashing through his mind as he knocked on your window in the early hours of the morning.

The last memory he had with you.

Her eyes were full of tears as she looked at him. "I can't do this anymore, Peter."

"What?"

"It's over, I'm sorry."

He shook the memory from his head. He just couldn't keep himself from coming to you in his time of need. He needed help, his wound pulsing and making him dizzy with each passing minute. Please be home... Be awake....