Sitting up in your bed, you stared at the window, not sure of how to react to seeing Spider-Man’s masked face through the glass. Throwing back your covers, you quietly walked over to the window, grabbing a hoodie that Peter had lent you as you passed your desk. Sliding the glass panel up, you climbed out onto the metal fire escape, slipping on and zipping up Peter’s hoodie to protect you from the cold.
The superhero stood where he had first stood, the night he saved your life and blew up Vizzini’s all those months ago. And there, to his right, were the flower pots that he had tripped over the first time he came back for you. Those stairs were where you would sit and draw while he watched your fingers fly across the page, amazed at the pictures you created. Behind him was the railing that you would lean against as you looked at the Queens skyline together. This fire escape was your entire relationship condensed, the one location where you were allowed to be with each other. If you used your imagination, you could almost see every single night playing out in front of your eyes. Spider-Man, with a bendy straw underneath his mask. Spider-Man, attempting to draw you in the moonlight. Spider-Man, his hand on your waist and the other in your hair. Spider-Man.
A sound from the masked hero pulled you out of your reverie. For the first time that night, you looked at him, actually looked at him, instead of picturing what you had already seen. His shoulders were slumped, almost shaking. His hands fidgeted, fingers twisting and untwisting in front of him as he stared at you. You could hear his heavy breathing, hear the shakiness of each gasp; you could hear his pain.
“Spidey…” You take a small step forward. You were sure that there were boundaries between you two now, but you weren’t sure where they lay. “What’s…what’s wrong?”
“Everything…everything is wrong right now,” Spider-Man took a deep breath and shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I shouldn’t—I know that I shouldn’t have come here, but I—”
“But what?” Your brow furrowed, but you remained frozen in your spot. “What is it?”
“I—” Spider-Man deflated, breath rushing out of him as he hung his head and stared at the ground. “I can’t tell you, Y/N. I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry.” You deadpanned his words back to him, irritation rising in your words like bile. “You’re sorry?”
“I just—”
“No, you don’t get to ‘just’ anything,” You crossed your arms. “I have been there for you! I have been nothing but honest with you from day one and you couldn’t return that to me. And I understand your reasoning, and even if I don’t agree with it, I still understand it. But you need to understand this, Spider-Man—”
“Y/N—”
“Can you just shut the fuck up for one minute?” You ran your hands through your hair, pushing it out of your face. As your words became stormier, so did the sky around you, and the wind whipped your hair right back into your eyes. “You need to understand that you can’t pick and choose to be with me when it’s convenient for you. You can’t expect me to be here for you when you need someone to touch you, but then shut up when I try to actually know you.”
It was hard to tell underneath the mask, but it looked like Spider-Man’s jaw had locked. Words continued bubbling to the surface of your lips, and you knew that you weren’t being the kindest with those words, but at the same time, you couldn’t make yourself stop from speaking them.
Once realized, truth demands to be told.
“I was honest with you. I told you what I wanted, and when I couldn’t have it, I compromised. And when that compromise stopped working for me, I was honest again.” You pulled Peter’s hoodie tighter against you. “So you don’t get to show up here again and not extend me the same courtesy, okay? Either you’re completely honest with me in what you have to say or—or you leave. Right now.”
