peter parker/tom holland imagines

i love you, peter b. parker | p.p.

"y/n? y/n? angel? b-baby, wake up, wake up, it isn't funny anymore, stop it, j-just wake up now, please. please!" he was shaking you now, making the coffin rattle. "aunt may? s-she won't wake up! may! please, wake her up... she- she isn't..." he went off again, murmuring things to himself, all incoherent. "i love you! i lo-love you, y/n!"

they had to drag him away.

months later, he wasn't any better. he could hear aunt may at night sometimes, talking on the phone.

"it wasn't like this with ben," a pause, "no, dr. winston," another pause, "he talks to himself. stays up all night. talks to himself, dr., and not even in the way you might see a little kid doing... no... y-... he always looks scared," peter stopped paying attention at that point. "yes, thursday is fine. thank you."

no, he thought angrily, he didn't need a doctor. not some psychiatrists or psychologists. he needed you. but when he closed his eyes and saw may's pained face, he thought that he'd give it a try. for her. for you, right?

then, it had been a year. he was doing a little better, but barely. peter ate more. slept more. had less nightmares.

but he still didn't have you.

some nights he would stand on the top of his apartment building, right on the ledge, and debate ending it all. that way, he could be with you. and then he remembered may. and ned. and mj. how they'd already lost you, and how they didn't need more grief. those nights he'd go back into his flat and lock himself in his room, crying the rest of the night.

another year passed, and he stood in front of your house. your parents were finally cleaning out your old room, and they'd asked him to come over and see if there was anything he'd wanted. they let him in, giving hugs and greetings. peter trudged up the stairs and into your room. he closed his eyes and inhaled, remembering your loving scent.

but he didn't cry. he'd already done that. peter had no tears left. he was empty. numb.

as he analyzed the room, he saw many boxes, and noted that the bed was gone. some frames were still up, and many decorations were removed. on the dresser there was a photo of you and peter. your head was thrown up as you laughed, and peter was staring lovingly at you. it was a picture that neither of you knew was taken, but when you saw it, it became your favorite.

he'd told a lame joke, and you'd laughed. no one else laughed at his jokes, which was one of the reasons he fell in love with you. here, you were at the carnival with peter, ned, and mj. it was a blurry, side-angle picture, slightly grainy as the lighting was terrible. ned had taken it, and while it wasn't the greatest quality, you had adored it, repeatedly thanking him.

peter sat down and pulled the nearest box closer to him, taking out the first item he grabbed. a purple... journal? there was "to peter parker, the love of my life" written on the front cover in sharpie.

your handwriting.

your. handwriting.

he carefully flipped to the front page.

never mind. he did have tears left to cry.

entry 1:

okay, yes, i know, this is silly. and i doubt you'll ever have to read this, but if you are, it means i'm not here anymore, or that you're going through my stuff again without my permission. in which case, put this down.

he felt tears cascade down his cheek, and he sniffled softly.

peter b. parker, i love you. i have loved you since the day that you bought me that coke when i was a quarter short. luckily, you loved me, too, and now we're together. i wanted to do this because i know i won't be around forever. and before i die (if i do) i want to give you a piece of me, and this is how i'll do it.