Webbed Writer

Rooftop Research

I had packed a turkey sandwich and some strawberries for lunch. Its kind of funny how you revert back to your old ways when you move back home with your parents. When I was working at The Manhattan Magazine I would constantly be going out for lunch. On my new salary this wasn't really an option. It was comforting that my mom started buying all my old favorite foods again, but it scared me that'd I'd be too comfortable in my situation. That I'd lose my drive to succeed. 

I pushed my constant stress aside and continued up the stairs to the roof. I had considered eating with my coworkers, but quickly realized that consisted of a group of old, sleazy men and thought better. I also contemplated eating with Elizabeth, but decided to avoid any chance of diving into those rumors she had so kindly reminded me of. So, here I was, walking out onto the roof to eat my lunch by myself like a sad teenager outcast in all those movies. 

The view was quite nice actually, even though this shitty building was in the worst part of town. I could see most of the skyline, and on an actually nice day like today I could soak up some serious vitamin D. I walked out of the doorway and propped it open to ensure the ability to reenter the building. As I was getting a cinderblock in position, I realized I was not alone. My head swung in the direction of the crinkling noise and to my surprise a young man stood to my left. His brown, curly hair hung in front of his face and he looked down into a backpack stuffing what looked to be a red sweatshirt into it. I quickly recognized the young man to be Peter Parker.

As I watched him struggle with his backpack I got a feeling that I was interrupting his privacy. When he finally finished, he looked at me and straightened into a standing position and fixed his clothes so they'd sit in the right place. I blushed and began apologizing (for what I'm not sure), "Oh, I'm sorry I didn't think anyone would be up here, I can leave--" Peter interrupted as he headed straight for the door behind me. "Don't worry about it. I was just headed inside."

His tone was curt and somehow cut me. I felt attacked by the polite words and wondered what was behind them. Peter was the only person in the office that was my age, and really my only chance at a friend. So, I decided to put myself out there. Before he made it through the door I spoke up. "You're Peter Parker, right?"

He turned to me and finally looked me in the eyes. His eyebrows scrunched up and he nodded his head. "I'm Y/n L/n," I held out my hand, "I just started at The Daily Bugle and I've always been a big admirer of your work." Hesitantly, he took my hand and shook. "Well its nice to meet you, but if you're a fan of the shit I take for this newspaper, you must not be a fan of photography. Good luck in this hellhole." My mouth fell agape at his words and he turned to leave me there. What a fucking asshole. Looks like this place really is a hellhole. 

With any last shred of hope of happiness gone, I moved to sit on the edge of one of the units on top of the building. Probably an A/C or power box if I had to guess and I started eating alone. Seemed like this was going to become a daily venture. 

And oh my god now I sound like those sad teenager outcasts who sit by themselves at lunch. I'd be damned if I'm going to just feel bad for myself because some stupid, handsome photographer was rude to me. Instead, I decided to do what I'm best at and investigate. The thought crossed my mind that maybe there was a reason this dude was such a dick and I pulled out my phone to start googling.

Thirty minutes later and I became more depressed than I was before. The name Peter Parker turned out to be included in four obituaries and a news article about a double homicide. As I read, I learned that both of Peter's parents had died in a plane crash when he was six. He was adopted by his Aunt and Uncle and grew up in Queens. When he was fifteen, his Uncle Ben was shot and killed in an armed robbery, and just four years later his Aunt died under "suspicious circumstances". He was then a witness in a murder trial when his friend, Ned Leeds, and his girlfriend, Michelle Jones, had been murdered by some man who went by the name Scorpion. He had apparently been on the scene and was badly injured until The Falcon had showed up and saved him. 

It was safe to say that I wasn't the only person in the office who needed a friend.