𝐒𝐄𝐋𝐅 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋

thirty four

New York at four in the morning feels like an alternate universe.

There's less cars, that's for sure. And yes, it is the city that never sleeps, but it feels as if tonight is the night where all is eerily calm, where criminals take a break from their illegal activities and stragglers from nearby bars haven't quite left their seats yet for their shameful walk back home. It feels as if everyone has hit the hay for the weekend, which is weird for a Saturday night (well, now Sunday morning) for the streets to be wiped clean of any people, really.

It just makes his case a lot better.

He ends up coming back to his room around four thirty, too tired to keep patrolling on a night where nothing is exactly happening. Knowing May is taking the night shift at the hospital, Peter doesn't really try and make his entrance subtle or quiet. Stumbling from his window, he lethargically takes his mask off with a wide yawn, shutting the door with his foot as he presses the Spider emblem on his chest, not even bothering putting on a shirt as he collapses into his bed with just his boxers on.

Although, despite how tired and sore he is, sleep doesn't come easily. His conversation with Gina replays in his head for what feels like the hundredth time that night, and thank God it was a slow night because Peter wouldn't have been able to fight with his full focus.

He tosses and turns and eventually lands on his back, eyes cast up at the ceiling. Peter can't help but let the end of his mouth curve into a smile when he sees the glow in the dark stick on stars stuck to the ceiling. Ryder put them up there when he told her about his insomnia and fear of pitch darkness. What was an endearing action at the time, now it just makes him sad. Who knows if they'll ever have an intimate moment like that again -- domestic and sweet.

Now it's just accidental eye contact from across the room, and then looking away as soon as possible. That's where they've been at this entire week.

It kills him. He doesn't realize how much he depends on her until she's really gone. Peter doesn't think he appreciated her back rubs or gentle voice singing him to sleep when he's had a hard day on patrol enough. He doesn't realize how much he needs her in his arms, because with her, he's gotten the best sleep of his life. He wishes he could've been better for her. He wishes he could just rewind the last week and hold her one last time.

If he knew what was gonna happen, he would've held her a little tighter, a little longer. Maybe he would've kissed her slower, perhaps more diligently. Maybe he would've begged her not to go, to stay with him for one last night before everything changed.

Peter lays still, one hand tucked behind his head while one leg is bent underneath the other, the thin sheet tangled between his legs from his constant rolling. But now he lays still, staring up at those damn glow in the dark stars because he can't look at anything else except darkness, and he hates the void. He wishes she could lay with him here, staring at their stars together, naming the constellations dumb names and laughing over which one is which.

Peter shakes the thought. Dreams are for people who can't see reality.

He doesn't realize tears are brimming his eyes until one falls down to his left temple, the boy not bothering to wipe it away as the smile he once sported slowly fades to a thin line. He then laughs at himself, and it's anything but humorous. He then chuckles again because he feels so pathetic - crying in his room at nearly 5 am just because he's looking at glow and the dark stars stuck to his ceiling. How worse can this get?

Sure, Gina said it'll get better, it will get better, but when is better? Is it now? Is it next week? Is it never? The uncertainty of better is really dialing his senses to 11 and because he can't focus on anything in school, he's officially the dumbest person in the room.