Make My Voice Brand New [COMPLETED]

Won't You Give Me a Chance?

The next two hundred and twenty-three hours (and forty seven minutes) dragged by in a blurred haze of numbness, intermittently sprinkled with moments of conversation with Mr Rogers, underlined by a metaphorical black cloud that rumbled over his head all the time.

Peter hadn't made it a habit of leaving his room lately. The only regular thing he engaged with was training once a day, and that was only because his body itched if he stayed still too long. He had asked Mr Stark to take him off the mission, the one that would make him an Avenger, choosing instead to sulk, and mope, and flob in his room. Anytime he left his room, he regretted it.

They would be there. Sitting, standing, lying on the couch, it didn't matter really. The fact was that everytime Peter went somewhere that wasn't his room or the gym, Luka was there with Bucky's arm over her. It made him sick at first, the sight of someone else with the person he lo-the person he cared about. The sight of her with someone who he thought was a friend. Kind of. After a while though, Peter just got fed up. Fed up of wanting to hit something, fed up of wanting to hit Bucky, fed up of wanting to shout and yell. Over the days, that slowly morphed into the lifeless slump he was now in. Whenever he saw them, he just felt sad, and left. He trained as best as he could muster, but really? At the minute, a mortal man could beat him in a fight.

He was going through the motions, his days monotonous; wake up, food, train, food, tv, food, train, bed. His meals were tasteless, everything he looked at was devoid of the colour and sparkle that they used to hold when she was around.

He had no one to blame but himself. He knew that. He knew it was entirely his fault. He made his reasons, that Luka and Bucky were already better together, that if it went on any longer with her and Peter, it would have hurt more when she inevitably chose Bucky. He was sure that's what would have happened.

But it really fucking hurt right now. He didn't think his body or his brain could ever hurt this much again. He constantly thought about her, the memories of their (brief) time together, rolling around in bed, the endless texts, kissing her in the lab, in his room, his hands and his fingers in..

His eyes hurt when he blinked. His limbs hurt when he moved. His lungs hurt when he breathed.

He severely regretted his decision. He really did. He was also angry, but he wasn't sure what he was angry at. Bucky? Luka? Himself? All three?

Even if he regretted his choice, there wasn't much he could do now. Bucky had clearly staked his claim, obvious by the fact that they were always together. Correcting his mistake would involve confronting Bucky, which he was no physically equipped to do right now, and it would also involve confronting Luka, and, well...he wasn't sure what he would even say to her.

Sorry felt futile. Begging seemed desperate. Saying it didn't matter was a lie. He could never lie to her.

Peter trudged to the mini kitchen in his room, not particularly hungry but very aware that it'd been a while since he'd eaten, and weakly pulled the fridge door. He was greeted by a lonely carrot, and a miserable portion of cheese. Great.

"Friday," he whispered, rubbing his tired eyes.

"Yes, Peter?" They replied.

"When is the food delivery due?"

"It came this morning, and has been unpacked in the communal lounge."

He groaned and bumped his forehead against the fridge door. He'd have to go and get some supplies.

"Is there anyone there?" He asked, praying and hoping that-

"Everyone is out of the compound. They left a couple hours ago for an incident." FRIDAY replied.