teen spirit|| peter parker [1]

six

"Come on, you'll be fine. I promise." 

It's that first panic attack. If you're lucky, it's a 'one-off.' Unlucky; plagued by them for the rest of your life. It's the shaking. The pressure of harsh fingers coiling around your neck and and squeezing so tight that the dizziness progresses to nausea and then unconsciousness. It's not being able to leave your house for weeks on end. It's visiting the doctor and hoping that the therapy works. It's the medication that turns you into the lifeless shell of a once vibrant person. It's everything being stolen from you; yourself included.

One of the worst parts of anxiety is the lack of feeling grounded. Which is why I despise flying. The sheer idea of it is enough to make my palms slick with sweat and turn me into a jittering and shaking bundle of nerves. I want to stay as firm to the ground as possible. If I could use Peter's webs to secure myself to the floor- I most definitely would.

"No. Absolutely not."

He looks up at me with a longing gaze, his eyes as sweet and as sickly as honeycomb. I cross my arms firmly against my chest as he hangs dejectedly out of the window; one leg in the room and one leg dangling in the light breeze. His mask is clutched in his hands, staying firmly stable as mine tremble in fear. Even reluctantly bringing myself to look through the window and down at the ground below us is more than I'm comfortable with.

"Why not?"

"Because we're on the sixth floor! Why can't we just take the elevator like normal people?" I sigh in frustration, fiddling with the hem of my dress.

"But I'm strong, and... sticky," he attempts to convince me, though I can't help but chuckle, "Come on, we might never get to come back to Berlin. "

"You're going to drop me."

"I'm not going to drop you. Can you please just trust me?"

"Trust you?" I scoff in disbelief, "Peter, I hardly know you."

His cheeks flush slightly as he stammers out a reply, "You know me enough to know that I wouldn't intentionally hurt you, right?"

He cocks his head out of the window, gesturing to the unfamiliar town below us which is begging to be explored. Sights aching to be found; pretzels desperate to be eaten.

His eyes glaze over in that soft and longing anticipation; I cave.

Rolling my eyes in dread, as well as reluctancy, I sigh defeatedly, "If you drop me, I will make pottery out of your bones."

His lips twitch up into an animated and excited grin, as I shove his camera into my bag and tightly coil my fingers around his, taking a shaky step towards the window ledge.

His arm firmly clasps around my waist. I brace myself.

And we drop.

My body feels as weightless as a single feather. It's almost as if we're dramatically descending in an elevator, though there is certainly no floor beneath our feet. Just what seems to be an endless void of freezing wind, buildings and monuments swirling into a messy yet breathtaking Monet as the sights begin to bleed together, the cold air causing my eyes to water profusely.

I hardly think twice at the tears collecting in my eyelashes as the oxygen is stolen from my lungs and we plunge to the ground again, barely skimming the cobbled pavement before Peter effortlessly launches us from building to building.

My curls ripple in the aggressive wind.

All sense of security fleeting.

Though... I feel...

Safe...

He chuckles as I bury my head further into his neck, slotting myself into the space between his shoulder and his jaw, gripping onto him so firmly that I wouldn't be surprised if my fingertips had embedded within his skin by the time we arrive onto solid ground.