Wrong number :/~~Spider-Man

What did the Glass ever do to you??

"So, uhm.. how do I put this.." Peter began, chuckling to himself awkwardly in disbelief on what he was about to say. "I uh.. well, my aunt- she.. uh.." Peter closed his eyes for a brief second, convincing himself it was too late to turn back now and to just Go with it.

"I'm sorry sir.. I don't know how to go about telling people this" Peter muttered, feeling much more stressed out than he'd expected after his whole "I don't care" two word speech.

"Take your time," Reginald nodded, taking a sip from his drink. He understood that whatever this was probably wasn't something Peter went around telling people often, and Reginald was curious as to whether or not this would answer his question finally.

"I.. uhm.." okay, so maybe it was a bad plan.

Peter wanted out now, the split second of confidence had diminished once Reginald had shown his attention. Like, yeah! Peter wanted to tell him! But, like, what would he tell him? Word for word, how would Peter inform someone about what hell is like? And why would he do that??

"Your aunt.." Reginald edged on, seeing the dilemma Peter was experiencing. He was too close to possibly knowing to back down.

"She wasn't nice.." Peter blurted.

Wasn't nice?? Now he just sounded pathetic. Guess what? So did Peter. His whole existence was pathetic. Why was he ever created?? This was going downhill faster than that time his life went into shambles for the first time. Nothing was ever good  and Peter was gonna die alone. The world is gonna end someday and he's too late to change anything, and for some reason he was smelling the color green.

"How so?" Reginald patiently edged him on, a dawn of realization he hoped wasn't accurate.

"Uhm.. I guess I should start from the top, yknow? Like- where it all started? Uh, so. My parents, I never really got to know them? I was too young when they passed away to form core memories with them, so I guess the worst part of that is the concept of not having parents, and never getting to know them". Peter was already zoned into what he was saying. This was that nearly rehearsed part he'd gone over so many times (three) with everyone explaining how/why he got his powers, maybe some counselors too and possibly one or two interested passerby's.

"And, once they were gone, my aunt and uncle just sorta.. took me in? I've lived with them most of my life. Anyways, I think about a year ago, m—my uncle was.. uhm.. well, he was- he and I.. We were just getting some things from a corner store, because it was my birthday week. Fun right? Uhm, he was killed on our way back in a mugging.. and I.. I don't know.. my aunt changed after that. She was always a bit, uh, odd? I guess? But when he died she just.. she snapped" he sorta zoned out of his own speaking, going on about May's dehumanization of the both of them.

As much as Peter was thinking about his next words, his filter had shut off. His brain, for once in his life, wasn't spewing nonsense about carpet or action figures, and actually staying on the rail. It all just flowed out. Yeah, Peter was practically bawling at this point, but it was painfully relieving.

His stories continued, only really hovering above his home life. Peter just went on about how he'd seen the world, and the many tragedies he'd witnessed.

Reginald was entirely silent, mourning over a living, breathing kid.

Once Peter had explained movie night, Reginald covered his mouth in shock, holding back a gasp as he huffed silently into his hand. Brows furrowed, he looked down. Never had he thought he'd have to actually struggle to abide to rule 21, no crying on the job.

Looking at the kid, you would never see it coming, but it's that kind of surprise that you feel you should have known. Like when you're playing with a deck of cards and try and guess the next one. You pick two options, and decide to go with second, only to find out it's the first one. You give yourself angered praise, except nothing about this deserves any reward.