we all wear masks [ p.p ]

→vi. flash's party

Peter has done a lot of things he regrets in life.

Most of them are mistakes he's made in the field, chasing the wrong person, waiting at the wrong street corner, tracking the wrong villain. Sometimes he regrets using non-lethal grenades instead of taser webs. Peter doesn't usually regret choosing the peaceful way to save the neighborhood, but hindsight is a tough teacher.

Peter can count all these things he regrets, can name the date and time they happened. Peter's funny like that. Funny as in he rarely remembers the good things, rarely focuses on the days he succeeded in his self-imposed mission to save the day.

Peter could put all these things, all the bad and naive things he did on a scale. Watch them all sit on one pile and weigh him down. But if Peter would take all those things, all the stupid little mistakes he's ever made--impossible to count, like spider eggs--they'd still be no match to the regret he felt after sticking that note to your window.

He told himself it was the right thing to do, he decided he had to do it to protect himself and most importantly to protect you. Peter realised you hated him, a hatred that could never be erased or taken back, a hatred that would most likely be multiplied and amplified if you ever did discover the truth. He could never do that to you.

He could only imagine what would go through your head, the disgust that would crawl up your spine, the horrible nightmares that would follow once you knew that your Spiderman, your babe, was actually Peter Parker this whole time.

No, he could never do that to you. You deserved to be happy, and you didn't deserve all the times he lied right to your face. You deserved honesty, and respect, and Peter could never give that to you--although he wanted to, more than anything, to just tell you the truth. Rip the mask right off and stand bare before you, tell you that he loved you too and he'd do anything for you. But Peter knew, not because of his spidey-sense, but because of his common sense, that you would never accept him. You would never, ever, be okay with Peter Parker wearing the face of your hero.

So that's why he decided to swing by your place and stick the piece of paper on your window. He just couldn't keep on lying to you--it broke his heart every day he had to utter false words and made up excuses your way. So he did it. And he regretted it every second since.

Seeing you at school, sad and broken and quiet like never before. Hearing your hushed whispers to MJ, your choked sobs as you ran towards the toilets in between periods. It was like seeing the Mona Lisa cut into pieces, like watching the coliseum fall down into ruins. How could Peter ever do that to you? How could he dim the lights illuminating a masterpiece?

He didn't hear the end of it from Ned. The day he found out what he did, Peter got an earful, full of facts and statistics and best moments and Peter was surprised Ned didn't make a PowerPoint presentation on the matter, but even the thought scared him as he knew for certain Ned wouldn't hesitate to do so. MJ was unforgiving, too. She went on and on about how hurt you were, how stupid Peter acted, how unbelievably dumb the pair of you were.

Peter let them talk, let his friends yell at him and beat him over his actions. He deserved it. He knew he had to hurt you to make it better, he knew you'd have to go through this break up in order to be happy, and he knew in this time he deserved all the anger his friends had for him and he nodded as Ned went on and on about how perfect the pair of you were for each other, and he tried to zone out when MJ said how badly you took it but he couldn't and he heard every word of her well though-out speech--his mind unable to stop from wandering over to you, imaging your frame hunched over as you cried over him and his stupid mistakes.

He should never have kissed you in the first place.

Peter should've known better than to even talk to you as Spiderman, he should've known how complicated it would get given the nature of your dynamic when he was just Peter. But he couldn't help it. He couldn't stop himself, the concern on your face when you found the black and white puppy too endearing to let you fend for yourself. Besides, Peter had nothing else to do and helping a puppy find its way back home was more than noble, so he had to help you, and when you offered to buy him a drink because it was hot and he was covered in spandex from head to toe, well, Peter should've declined your offer but he didn't, because he didn't want to, because your presence was captivating and he was selfish and when you talked all afternoon long he couldn't help but wonder why the two of you never got along.