Peter Parker & Tom Holland Imagines

a siren's sorrow pt. 1 {p.p.}

The music pulses, echoing down to the marrow of my bones and wrapping me in complete and utter freedom. I lift my hands and sway in the rhythm. This is magic, I think to myself as I feel the energy building and moving with me.

I spare a glance at the people around me. Some watch me, others gaze at the ones they desire, but all stand taller, confident. It makes me smile to know I still have the charm after so much time.

My brother watches me carefully from behind the bar, one eyebrow raised in warning. My 'siblings' are always warning me about the dangers. "We're sirens, Y/N. Just because we're cursed and weak doesn't mean we're safe." They always lecture, but I don't care. Not anymore.

The song ends, replaced by a different beat that feels foreign in my head and muddles my thoughts. I drop my hands and head over to my brother, offering him a simple shrug. "Happy now?" I sign, hands emphasizing my frustration.

His fingers drum against the bar for a long second, and he shakes his head as he replies. "You're crazy. You know what Lila will do if she finds out."

"What? She ran out of punishment ideas years ago." I retort with sharp hand motions, "Plus, it's my right to look for the solution to my Sorrow."

That quiets him. We've all been searching for our solution. All these years looking in every possible way for our answers to our individual curses.

All of us, my 'siblings' and I, are sirens. We're not truly even related, but I suppose we've been together so long and through so much together, siblings was the only way to explain the bond we have.

Each of us has their own story, their own Sorrow, and a Hope to search for. I've been lucky to find them, or rather to have been found by them.

Especially with as lost and clueless as I was. A seventeen year old with her life flipped inside out and voice almost entirely stolen. All because of my mother's fear of history repeating itself.

They're the ones that taught me how to speak again. Not with my voice, which is a horribly painful task but my hands. They showed me my Talent–that my Siren Song can still be sung, just with my body instead of vocal chords.

Someone taps on my shoulder, dragging me back to the small pub and the clamor of people. Henry gives me a knowing look as I spin around on the barstool and find a pair of empty blue eyes.

I watch as he runs a hand through his hair with a smile as he gathers his courage. "Hi, I'm Rylan. Can I buy you a drink?"

His eyes watch me as I shift in my seat. There are times when I wish I could just say yes, live like anyone else would, but I can't. It's the blank glaze over his eyes that holds me back.

All there is in those ocean blue irises is longing without real purpose, the residual draw of my call mixed with a passing attraction. It's not right. It's not my Hope, only my Sorrow. "I'm Y/N. It's nice to meet you, Rylan, but I don't need a drink. Thank you for offering." I sign back in reply, and Ben translates as I go.

Rylan smiles and nods, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. He takes a seat next to me, and I watch him curiously. Most people walk away by now. Is it possible that I'm wrong this time?

Ben gives me a warning look through his eyelashes. It's his silent reminder to not get caught up or get attached. He's probably got a point, but I can't help it. It gets lonely most days with no one but the siblings to speak to, and even then Ben's the only one who ever listens.

Still, in spite of the lonely ache in my chest, I nod and let him eventually direct the conversation to a dead end like usual. All I have to do is make signs with my hands, because of course, Rylan has no idea what I'm possibly saying, so Ben is able to nudge him away bit by bit.

That's Ben's Sorrow; he has a hard time with keeping people around. Because while he attracts them like flies to honey, when he tries to get closer or make an impression, they run as if he were as bitter as vinegar.

I watch the exchange with a growing sense of hopelessness. Maybe we're more cursed than we ever believed. Perhaps it's our cruel fate to live our lives desperately searching for the person, place, or thing destined to be our Hope but to always fail hopelessly.

My straw makes the ice clink against the glass as I stir my drink; no longer having any desire to drink it. I just watch as the sweat trails down the side, and my fingers interrupt the path to draw patterns with no meaning behind them.

Another upbeat song comes on that pulses in time with my heart. It calls, begging me to dance the pain away, to forget my Sorrow, and to lose myself in the Call–in my Siren Song.

But I can't.

I can't bring myself to so much as tap my foot. My dance is how I gain solace, how I relieve the pressure in my head, and how I distract myself from wondering where I'll find my Hope.

So, I remain seated, watching people as they mingle, drink, and dance. It hurts, to see people so happy and loving their lives without my kind of burden. They don't have to worry about living forever because of a stupid decision you never made.

No. They get to fall in and out of love. They get to grow old and withered as they smile on the memories they've made and people they knew. They get to have so many things I only daydream and fantasize about.

I watch a couple as they dance together, every movement mirrored in the other. The girl watches him with a wide, loving gaze. The boy's arms are wrapped around her waist, acting as if he's holding his whole world.

My heart stutters when I see the mess of brown curls. It makes my thoughts instantly trail to my brown eyed boy. Well, not my brown eyed boy, he's more the boy I wish was mine. Ben, Lila, and the others would kill me if they knew about my crush.

The truth is, I barely know him. All I know is the small bits of information I've gathered when he stops by the coffee shop I work at to study. My coworkers all seem to think that because I can't speak, I can't hear them whispering either. So I've listened quietly and watch him as he pours over his notebooks, sipping on the same coffee he always gets, wondering what he's studying so intently.

He fascinates me, and the thought of getting to see and maybe know more about him makes me look forward to work. Every shift, I watch the door anxiously, impatient to see the mysterious browned-eyed boy, Peter Parker.