a/n: I'M EXPERIMENTING WITH MY - that was really aggressive sorry - writing style, and I saw this in Dear Justyce, and it was really cool. I liked the effect -Nic Stone would use bold and the structure of her writing to her advantage. So if you see me doing that, that's why. Now, try to enjoy the unenjoyable.
Should I warn you about the slight vomiting that occurs--
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PETER HAD NUMBLY gone through his rounds, actually kind of wishing nobody came. Okay, not really -- he always wished there was some crime to stop. He was just an unhelpful friendly neighborhood spider-man and he could do nothing about it -- not while Happy kept reporting to Mr. Stark and him continuously telling him to look out for the little guy.
He wasn't completely stupid, but there was still hope in him he'd get to do another 'retreat.'
Even as those were the usual words coursing through his mind, today he felt confused and... gratified? No, that wasn't the word -- he wasn't relieved, but he felt like, he felt like he owed something. He was confused as to what his furrowed brow and crinkled forehead meant, but he knew exactly to who he owed a debt.
He didn't know her name. But he knew what she looked like -- that was enough. He'd go and thank her.
Curly black hair that was trapped in a rubberband atop her head, light brown skin that deepened into a scowl as she spoke to Flash, clenched fists that resembled her anger, dark brown eyes, splashed with another color that made them look almost... marble-like. She was probably even an inch taller than Peter -- not that he was surprised, but she was a freshman like him...
Peter shook his head, raking a hand through his hair. He wasn't good at talking to people, how would he even walk up to her? She's a girl at that too -- and kind of scary in his opinion --reminded him of someone. He just couldn't tell who. He scrunched his eyes, heart pounding in his chest at Flash's unaffecting words and the girl's retorts. Peter was just going to wait until Flash was done, didn't matter if he was a couple of seconds late to class, but the rarely visible girl just swooped in and took charge.
He didn't know how to feel about that.
(Other than the overwhelming urge to say thank you.)
He was way too awkward to just do it... but he had to. Right?
"Peter!" May called out, and Peter heard the sound of faint walking, so he shoved his suit under his bed from where it laid limply on the ground (they could pass for pajamas.) "I actually made something -- it tastes amazing--okay fine, I didn't actually--" The brown-haired woman paused as she pushed open her door, looking at Peter.
He looked up, eyes falling on the box in Aunt May's left hand, the smell of gas-station pizza wafting to his nose. A limp grin found its way onto his face, replacing the previously confused one. "Oh, is that--"
