STICKY FINGERS » peter parker

ELEVEN

Cami Seguró

I love you so much more P
so much more, you don't even know
god, this is awful
I wish it ends rn
you're the only one I can trust

Percy

me too
wait for me tonight 🤍

∞

Percy da Costa knew it was love at first sight.

Time had ironically stood still when he saw her and he found himself at the mercy of inquiring, "Is this happening? Could this be happening?" and he wondered if it was real. It was like a firecracker of sensation—the world tilted, his knees gave out from it, his skin froze, his chest caved in. It was vaguely bewitching, however unpredictable it was, and he wanted more. That flutter, that instinct, that challenge.

What was it about this girl? This girl that was a pointless pursuit? Who was never going to be his? Why couldn't he take his eyes off her? Who was she to have such leverage over him?

Then Percy began to think about how funny it must've seemed, sitting across from her—fortuitously dismissed, awestruck, in love. Defeated and so, beautifully aware of it. They touched and he fell. Leapt off his unsteady feet and fell. There wasn't anything to explain in the context, was there?

He didn't know how or why it happened. One thing's for sure, it was not meant to happen. His socially acceptable whole life was mapped out, right from the basics to the finite details. It was the life that came with five-star steaks and charity banquets. You follow or you lose. Still and all, it didn't matter. He was ready to lose it all.

You'd think Percy would deprive himself of the impossible. This manque, crazy real thing that could direct to a whole lot of trouble. A something that was so baseless yet equally worthwhile. She was worthwhile.

He'd been free of all this for the past seventeen years; the unmistakable, the gut feeling, this twinkling verdict; and maybe it was all lined up to this.

To lead him straight, exactly, undeviatingly to the moment that he met Clara Rose. 

∞

Peter woke up that Saturday morning to the sound of quiet, light-hearted laughter in his home. He sleepily grinned up at the ceiling when he realized that this particular sound was now beginning to haunt him from the break of dawn. It felt like his whole body was a live-wire when he intently listened to it, a silver-toned harmony. 

"You're vile. No—ew, I'm not eating that," another unwelcome baritone voice echoed past his door. 

Peter's eyes snapped open. Where have I heard that mindless voice before?

"It's just plain cheese," Clara Rose insisted, still laughing. Then the delicious crunch of toasted bread. She spoke with her mouth full, "See? Scrumptious."

"With peanut butter? You're—don't. Jesus, Clara."

With a low growl rumbling in his chest, Peter threw on a sweatshirt and gauntlets and dashed out the door. He'd know that voice anywhere. And that voice was not about to fuck up the one amazing thing in his god-awful life. 

She laughed with him, that sweet sound that was meant for him. A soft song hummed from Percy's phone on the countertop. "I like this song—Rosalia? I like her. She's got a good flow."