teen spirit|| peter parker [1]

ten ten ten

Sweet and velvety, almost like chocolate, with intense darker rays swirling towards his bottomless irises, complimented with delicate caramel crescent moons, framed by an obsidian ring.

His eyes are unlike any I've seen before.

I return to the front desk, just like my first visit, and am greeted with the same unhappy-looking woman with her thick-lensed glasses and what seems to be a permanent frown. She almost flaunts the fact that her left ring-finger is ringless, as she hands me my class timetable. Clearly, she remembers me. Clearly, she doesn't remember that I didn't care back then that she was unmarried, and she has failed to realise that nor do I now.

I find myself in Biology class, anticipating for Peter Parker's messy curls to poke through the door, his chest sporting a bright blue sweater to show some disgustingly cliche yet slightly adorable and admirable school pride. I graze my black-polished fingernails against the outside of my cardboard coffee cup, hoping that no one has realised that I am here. The faces from my last visit to the school are somewhat familiar— that guy with greasy hair who almost ran me over, the pretty girl with curly hair and big eyes. But no Peter Parker.

He rushes in through the door just before the lesson begins, earning a pissed glare from the teacher, as he scurries to the empty seat in front of me with his eyes glued to the ground in order to ignore the watchful eyes of the class staring at him due to his late arrival. He doesn't even notice me.

The first class flies by, and I am thankful that no one at all had seemed to notice me; everything is going according to plan. Aside from the fact that person who I need to notice me still hasn't.

As we wait behind our desks for the bell to signal our departure from first period and to make our way to second— Chemistry— I tap him on the shoulder. Gluing the most sickly smile onto my lips that I can muster; he turns around.

His eyes widen as he struggles to piece together the image of me standing before him, as if he cannot grasp that I am actually here. "What— Wha... Bonnie?"

"How you doing, Parker?" I drop the smile from my lips.

"You— yo..." he struggles before letting out a small chuckle, "Hey! I didn't— Mr Stark... I— wait, your hair is different. It's straight. What happened to your curls?" He goes to run his fingers through my hair, before deciding against it and bringing his hand down to fiddle with the straps on his backpack.

"It's not permanent, dumbass. The curls will be back, don't you worry." I roll my eyes.

"Good!"

"Good?" I question.

The smile on his face drops and he stutters out a desperate explanation and apology. "No! Not good as in good good. I just mean... Good... Y'know? Like, it's nice and I like it, but I think I like your natural hair more. Y'know, the way it looked a little like cotton candy sometimes?"

"And you think your opinion should have control over what I decide to do with my body?" I tease him.

"No! I didn't mean that at all—" he turns into a flustering mess.

I cut him off, "I'm messing. I know you didn't mean it like that. Thank you, Peter."

I curl my lips into a smile as we walk together to our next class.

"So, what are you doing here?" he asks me through the relentless chatter and clamour of the hallway; lockers slamming shut, students arguing and announcements being yelled over the crackled P.A system.

"My dad wanted me to get out his hair while we're moving. Then he mentioned something about me needing new friends and you being a good influence, then I sort of spaced out," I reply, unsure whether or not I was supposed to tell him about moving, though lying all the same about the real reasoning behind my arrival.