"Green?" you asked pointing to a square on the cube in Peter's hand.
"No," he said, pointing to a different square "Green."
"Blue?"
"No."
"Yellow?"
"No."
"Ugh!" you groaned, "It doesn't make any sense." You couldn't begin to comprehend those things called 'colors' that Peter had brought back with him from another universe.
"Just be patient," he said, "it took me a while too." He took your hand and guided it toward each color. "Blue," he said, gesturing for you to say it with him.
"Green," you said together, pointing at another square, "white, yellow, orange, red." He rested your hands on his knee, "There, do you see it now?"
"No," you said, he chuckled at your honesty, "But I think I will." You looked down at your touching hands.
"I know you will," he said quietly. He brushed a piece of hair away from your face and leaned closer to you. You closed your eyes instinctively and leaned towards him; you were so close that you could feel his breath, his lips brushed against yours then-
There was a loud bang followed by sirens, you jerked backwards, nearly falling over, but Peter caught you.
"Duty calls, huh," you said. Peter nodded reluctantly and pulled on his mask, hat, and trench coat.
"I'll see you later, (y/n)," he said, placing the cube in his pocket, "Don't follow me like you did last time."
"I'm a reporter Peter," you said, "It's my job to follow you." You smiled, but Peter didn't seem reassured.
"Just," he sighed, "Be careful, alright?"
You nodded "I will Peter," you said earnestly. He studied your face for a moment before nodding and jumping out the window. You watched as he disappeared into the night. "Not," you added as you uncrossed your fingers. And just like that you took off after him, notepad in hand, chasing a news story into the night.
3 Weeks Later
Three weeks, it had been three weeks and no word from you. Peter had searched every dark corner of the city for you, but you hadn't turned up. He sat on a roof examining the rubix cube; he was going to find you, he thought, and you were going to figure out this cube, together.
He jumped onto the roof of some scumbag's hideout, swung to the ground, and kicked down the door. Whoever had been in this place had left it a long time ago, it was totally abandoned. He walked through the building just to be sure, and as he passed by one of the doorways, he heard the clatter of moving furniture and the shattering of broken glass.
He kicked the door down, prepared to fend off whoever was inside, but it was empty, except for, "(Y/n)," he cried rushing to your side.
"Peter," you whispered. The moment he touched you his hand was covered in blood.
"(Y/n), what- what happened," he asked panickedly.
"Don't ask," you made an effort to laugh, but it became a cough instead.
"(Y/n), who did this to you?" he tilted your chin up towards his face and pulled off his mask, "Whoever did this to you I swear to God I'm going to—"
"Hey," you coughed, cutting him off, "It's okay," you smiled up at his watery eyes, "I don't want to talk about that right now."
"Okay, what do you want to talk about, we can talk about anything you want."
"Peter," you whispered, "I know you'll be angry, after I'm gone, you'll be angry at this city, you'll be angry at the world."
"(Y/n), don't talk like that," he said, "I'm going to get you to a hospital and you're going to live, and you're going to keep being a reporter, and..."
"Peter," you cut him short, "It's alright," you stroked his cheek as tears began to roll down his face, "It's alright, just stay with me."
He nodded, "Ok," he whispered.
"Do you remember," you coughed, "The rubix cube." Peter nodded, "I never could understand that thing." The two of you laughed weakly and Peter pulled something out of his pocket.
"I always thought you could do it," he said softly. He took your hand in his and you said the colors together, "Blue, green, white," your fingers trembled and scraped grey blood across the vibrant colors, "yellow, orange, red." He smiled at you, "You see?" you nodded.
"I see now," you whispered weakly. You fell into a fit of coughing, "Peter," you whispered, "I'm gonna have to leave you now." Your voice trembled, "Ok, I'm gonna have to go."
"No no no no no," he looked around helplessly, "(Y/n)," he propped you up with his arm, "(Y/n), look at me,"
"Peter," you said shakily.
"No no no, (y/n) look at me,"
"Peter," you said louder, he looked helplessly into your eyes, "It's ok"
He shook his head, "No," he said, "No, (y/n)—"
Your hand stroked his cheek softly and you cut him off "Never—" you stammered, coughing up blood, Peter pulled you closer, trying to prop you up and stop the bleeding. You shook your head and took his hand "Never," you coughed, "stop, being Spiderman," You smiled softly at him and your eyes sparkled, "I love you," you breathed.
"No, (y/n)," Peter pleaded, "No (y/n), stay with me, please." Your grip on his hand loosened, and the steady heaving of your chest came to an abrupt stop. He tried CPR, and mouth to mouth, but nothing worked. You were gone, and Peter was alone again.
Sirens blared in the dingy streets below, and Spiderman watched them draw nearer. He stepped out into the damp New York wind and pulled on his mask. He looked out at the city halfheartedly, then reached into his pocket and retrieved something.
It was a rubix cube, stained grey with your blood. You needed him, and now this city did. He nodded and jumped off the building with conviction. It was almost as if he could hear your voice still. "Never stop being Spiderman."
