teen spirit|| peter parker [1]

four

My phone vibrates in my pocket which signals a new text message in my inbox, from the one and only Peter Parker.

bug-boy
how long is the flight?

bonnie
im not sure. nine and a half hours i think

bug-boy
are you kidding me? what if I need to pee?

bonnie
there's a bathroom on the jet, parker.
we're almost at your apartment. make sure you bring enough to keep yourself occupied.
im not babysitting you

bug-boy
bitch please, I'm spider-man.
if anyone is the babysitter, it's me.

As we pull up to Peter's apartment building, he sits in anticipation on the steps, his suitcase beside him, his phone clutched in his hand as he grins down at the screen. Upon hearing the car pull up, he jumps up from the cold concrete and effortlessly drags his luggage over to the trunk of the car.

"Good morning!" Peter slides into the seat next to me and slips his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor by his feet.

"Shut up. You're too loud. It's not even five in the morning," I snap monotonously, fixing my eyes on my phone screen and scrolling through my camera roll to distract myself.

Peter quickly quietens down, rummaging through his bag as Happy takes off for the airport. He pulls out a pretty old looking video camera with a triumphant look on his face. He twists in his seat so the lens can perfectly capture the scenery flashing by in a meticulous Monet.

"New York... Queens," his voice escapes his lips in a husky mumble; causing my mouth to curl into a grin despite attempting to keep my neutral demeanour.

The divider between the back seat and and the front driver and passenger seat slides down, revealing Happy with a tense expression twisted into his complexion. "What did you say? Were you talking to me?" he groans in annoyance.

"No, I'm just making a little video of the trip," Peter explains as he points the lens towards Happy.

"You know, you can't show it to anyone?"

"Yeah, I know."

"Then why are you narrating in that voice?"

Peter deliberates on the justification, "'Cause it's fun.
So, why do they call you Happy?" Peter questions as the divider between them slowly reappears and he's left in a deafening silence. I allow a silent giggle to part my lips, though it catches in the space around us as Peter turns to me, lens pointed and all.

"You're crazy if you think I'm letting you record me." I block the camera with my hand and turn away from him, the lack of sleep and accentuated dark circles definitely aren't 'camera ready.'

The sharp wind hits me in the face and wakes me from my dazed state of longing to be wrapped up again inside of my duvet at home- believing that perhaps if I squeeze my eyes shut tight enough then I'll reappear in my bedroom- as we exit security and board the plane.

I heave my trunk and my hand luggage along the hard concrete, frequently tripping on the laces of my worn-out boots and wincing when I feel as if I'm steps away from being sent flying down the runway.

"Come on, I'm not carrying your bags. Go." Happy motions for Peter to board the plane as I follow close behind. Flying has always been a huge trigger for my vicious waves of anxiety, and so this time, just like all of my past experiences, my heart pounds rapidly in my chest, like an aggravated bird encapsulated inside of a cage, thrashing to escape.