𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐅𝐈𝐑𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐀𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐔 | Peter Parker

twenty three

Reminders of the moon make her body go cold.

She opens the text.

ෆ

iMESSAGE
AMALA, PETER
7:47 p.m.

PETER
hi

AMALA
hey

PETER
what's up?

AMALA
nothing just getting ready
you?

PETER
yeah me too

AMALA
cool

PETER
yep

anyways

can we talk before the
carnival?

like can you come down
5 min early?

AMALA
yeah i think so

PETER
okay great 👍🏼

see you
read

ෆ

REAL LIFE
HOTEL LOBBY
7:52 p.m.

It's unusual for Amala to feel nervous. In most high pressure or anxious situations, she's been a pro at navigating them calmly. Raised by an Arab mother, Amala knew better than to let feelings get the best of her rationality.

Ever since she's met Peter Parker and Spider-man... well, let's just say that sentiment went out the window.

The elevator makes it's slow descend to the lobby, dinging every time it passes a floor.

Amala looks at herself in the large mirror; a pretty outfit stares back at her. Clad in an emerald green two-piece outfit, her figure looks good. A pink bra shows up under her mesh crop-top just slightly while flared emerald-colored pants hug her hips. She sports a pink messenger bag — packed with all her essentials — and her is in its natural form.

She looks incredible for a carnival party. Yet, she doesn't feel good. Silly nerves make her vision blue and the churning of her stomach gets worse as the elevator nears the lobby.

She tries to take some calculated breaths, telling herself that despite all the fuckery she's witnessed, Peter is still Peter.

Nearing the lobby far too soon, the elevator gives its signature sound and Amala takes one more look at herself; anxiety is riddled in her expression.

She breaths in and steps out of the elevator.

"Amala?"

The girl in question turns around quickly, eyes wide as she recognizes the voice.

"Peter," she says, trying to put on a decent smile. "Hi."

Seeing him up close again is odd, if she's going to be honest. It's as though it's been months, when in reality it's only been a couple of days. There's an aching familiarity to him; from the way he looks at her to his voice. It all comes back to her in puddles of little memories.