The things we carry

1

The bell above the bookstore door chimed softly every few minutes, but the late-evening crowd had thinned to almost nothing.
Stacks of half-sorted paperbacks sat like small towers around the register. A desk lamp cast a golden circle of light over scattered flashcards, a laptop glowing with design layouts, and a girl with ink smudged along the side of her hand.
Nikki leaned forward, elbows on the counter, lips moving silently as she read.
"...contrast hierarchy... visual flow... oh my gosh if I fail this stupid typography exam—"
She stopped.
There was a feeling.
A weight in the air.
She slowly lifted her eyes.
Peter stood halfway between the philosophy aisle and the clearance rack, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, watching her with a soft, crooked smile like he'd been there a while.
She narrowed her eyes.
"You creep."
He blinked. "Wow. Hello to you too."
"Were you just... lurking?" she asked, gesturing vaguely at the shelves. "Like some kind of lanky literary ghost?"
He grinned. "I prefer mysterious intellectual boyfriend."
"You prefer being weird."
"Also true."
She tried to look annoyed, but the corners of her mouth betrayed her. She closed the laptop with a sigh and rubbed at her temples.
"I'm going to fail this test," she muttered.
"You're literally the smartest person I know."
"That's because you hang out with vigilantes who have concussions every day," she shot back.
He laughed quietly, stepping closer, the warmth of him cutting through the dusty paper smell and fluorescent hum of the shop.
"I don't have much time," he said more gently. "Walk you home?"
Her expression softened immediately. She nodded.
"Yeah. Okay."

Outside, Gotham evening had settled into that bluish quiet before true night. Streetlights flickered awake. Somewhere far off, a siren wailed and then faded.
They walked shoulder to shoulder, hands brushing until Peter finally just took hers like he couldn't help it.
"I have to leave," he said after a moment.
She didn't look surprised.
"A mission," she said.
He nodded. "Yeah. Young Justice thing. Off-world, probably. They think a week... maybe two."
She let out a slow breath, watching it ghost in the cooling air.
"I know what you do," she said softly. "I respect it. I love that about you."
He looked at her like she'd just handed him the sun.
"You're... the perfect boyfriend, you know," she added, nudging his arm. "It's honestly kind of suspicious."
He flushed instantly. "Okay wow, don't say that where people can hear."
"There are literally no people."
"Still."
She laughed, then leaned up and kissed him, quick, warm, familiar.
His hand tightened around hers like he needed the reassurance more than he'd admit.
"I'm not just going to disappear on you," he said.
"I know."
They reached the cracked steps of her apartment building. The porch light buzzed overhead.
He hesitated.
"If you need anything... you can call Alfred."
She huffed softly. "I know."
"You should."
"I won't."
"Nikki."
"Peter."
They stared at each other in that stubborn way they both had.
Then she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pressing her face into his shoulder.
"Just stay safe," she murmured. "I won't be there to protect you."
He smiled into her hair.
"You stay safe," he said. "I won't be there to protect you."
Another kiss. Longer this time.
Then he pulled away, walking backward down the steps like he didn't quite want to turn his back yet.
"Week or two," he promised.
She nodded.
But she stayed standing there long after he disappeared around the corner,
hands tucked into her sleeves,
like she was already bracing for the quiet.