There's a moment, in some peoples' lives, when you realize you weren't destined for anything normal. Sometimes, if you're lucky enough, you get two.
Discovering my powers was the first.
And Peter Parker was the second.
And everything that followe...
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He is a red speck, shining in the yellow sunlight of the setting sun. He's working toward us in the midst of the chaos, of the massive fight playing out among the ruins of cement and iron.
I levitate a piece of the compound's iron skeleton and throw it at the impeding chitauri soldier.
There's a quick break in the fighting, a chance to catch my breath as my eyes fix on Spider-Man's mask in euphoric relief. I watch him swing, breathlessly and impatiently, as he streaks across the sky in what seems like a lifetime of waiting. He spots Mr. Stark first, a side effect of my black suit. A side effect of being a shadow.
His feet touch down to the dirt. He runs to Mr. Stark and his mask folds away. I can only stop and stare at his face in pure ecstasy. The hair that falls into his face. His brown eyes warming my skin. I admire him from afar.
His voice makes my chest lunge. He still doesn't realize I'm standing there. His gaze traces Stark from head to toe, "Hey! Holy cow. You will not believe what's been going on. Do you remember when we were in space? And I got all dusty? I must've passed out, 'cause I woke up, and you were gone. But Doctor Strange was there, right? He was like, 'It's been five years. Come on, they need us!' And then he started doing the yellow sparkly thing that he does all the time—"
He's cut off by Stark's arms, drawing him to his chest in a remedy for five years of pain. Peter muffles into his shoulder, "This is nice..."
I clear my throat and slide off my mask, "Um, Mr. Stark. Could I please hug my boyfriend now?"
Peter's eyes finally align with mine and the whole world melts around me.
Stark coughs awkwardly, brushing himself off before pulling away, "Right. You probably like her just a tad more than me. Barely."
I roll my eyes at Stark with a smirk. Peter immediately rushes to me and seizes me into his embrace, his hand cupping the back of my head and running through my hair.
"Hi," I whisper, savoring every second spent against his chest.
"Hey," he sighs into my neck, "You're not sick anymore."
I laugh, "No, Spider-dork. I'm not sick anymore. How was space?"
He pulls away to face me, "Oh man. It sucked. I mean, it was space so it was also pretty awesome. But I mean, it didn't have you so it sucked."
I brush his cheek with my thumb, "Is it bad that I'm still upset after five years that I didn't see that photography exhibit at MoMA? I mean they had featured work by Shirin Neshat! It was just miles away from me and I completely missed—"
He impatiently pulls me toward him. Our lips collide like a momentary explosion, then I stumble backwards with wide eyes. My little smile turns into a colossial one as my head reels with pleasure.
