SIX; 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒂 𝒃𝒐𝒚𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅!
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TEXT MESSAGES
(BETWEEN CLARA ROSE AND PETER PARKER)
clara rose 🌹
Sorry, Percy. I can't make it today.
percy
that's okay. tomorrow after school?
read at 3.30 pm
hey, is everything good?
read at 6.11 pm
( 1 missed call)
hellooo anybody home
I don't know why I sent that
sorry
read at 7.00 pm
sure why not?
leave me on readkllqieyri428904orjnf
delivered at 7.19 pm
(4 missed calls)
Clara Rose
pls lemme know you're ok
delivered at 7.25 pm
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TEXT MESSAGE
(BETWEEN NED LEEDS AND PETER PARKER)
Ned
May's getting worried. where r u?
Peter
Hey Ned
what are you doing at my place?
Ned
I'm at FEAST
Helping May with flipping wheatcakes. Unaided.
Peter
soorey, med
*sorry *ned (was swinging)
I'm not gonna make it tonight
pretty sure something's up with Clara Rose
I'm going to drop by and check on her first
Ned
Srsly Pete
leave that girl alone. hasn't she been scammed enough?
Peter
she's not responding to my texts
does every girl make your heart feel like a battering ram?
one text is all I ask
omg I just realized
OH MY GOD
DUDE
DUDE OMG
DO YOU THINK SHE KNOWS ABOUT US
Ned
us?
STOP LOOPING ME INTO YOUR SHIT
*YOU* stole someone's identity
wait
has she read your texts?
Peter
yeah
precisely why I'm worried
why?
Ned
holey webs, she def knows
Peter, you gotta explain everything to her
if she doesn't let you, you walk away.
she's going to hate you, but you'll get over it
there are plenty of broke girls for you to hit on in NYC
Peter
WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU MAN
NED WTFFFF
NO HOW?
I TOLD DA COSTA TO SHUT UP
Ned
What the hell sort of lousy Tarantino blackmail
did you make?
Peter
I told him I'd tell Bobby that he kissed his girlfriend
did you know Percy kissed Bobby's girlfriend?
AND THEY'RE STILL TOGETHER!
MJ said she heard it from Betty who heard
it from Sally Avril who went to one of Bobby's parties
Ned
What a 360° chrome-plated asshole
hey, he's still hot to me
is that seriously worth your identity as Spider-Man tho?
Peter
Bobby loves this girl
he will smoke out Percy's ass, half-brother or not
Besides, Percy looked pretty spooked
it was worth it
Ned
Could you please just stop this and get over here?
I'm out here, burning fingers for you
And does May know that you're an outlaw now?
Peter
NO, do not tell her
also, I'm outside Clara Rose's apartment so too late
going up rn
read at 8.16 pm
she's not at home
read at 8.19 pm
should I go in through the window?
Ned
FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PETER
I already can't sleep at night knowing
my best friend's a delinquent.
Now he's an invasive pervert too?
Peter
dude omg
there's an eviction lock on her front door
Ned
wot
shit just got real
Peter
okay phew. I found her
she's at the front stoop
Ned
is she okay?
is her brother with her?
is she crying?
Peter
I don't think so
her brother isn't responding either
she's sort of crying. I dunno
why didn't she just call ME?
Ned
Maybe she doesn't want to bother you
or that you're a stranger she's met all of 4 times
THAT SHE KNEW OF
do you see the red flags here?
Peter
STFU Ned
Text you later
Ned
Yes, hate on the person who gives you the harsh truths
At least she doesn't know about you yet, dude
Peter, just let her go
delivered at 8.31 pm
aaaaaaand ignored
love that for me.
delivered at 8.35 pm
∞
PETER BELIEVED THAT if there was one thing in the world that he would never want to live through again, it would be this. Hanging upended from the eave of an apartment building, watching his should-be-girlfriend cry.
Also, fighting the naked Hulk. And winter-time chafing. Let's just throw in a few more corresponding situations so that he didn't sound like a total lovesick fool.
He didn't know how long he hung there seeing Clara Rose cry and enduring every bit of pressure that began to sting up and through his skull. It could've been three hours or three minutes that felt like hours. It took him a moment to realize that she was indeed crying—her shoulders didn't shake, she didn't make a sound, her lips didn't move—and nothing was more miserable than watching controlled chaos that kept edging and edging... Either blow up or die already, right?
"Finn, it's me again," she'd expressed quietly into her phone. Her voice was so... insensible. Like someone who'd been through this too many times to whine over it. "The fatass just put a... lock on our home. I don't know what to do. I told him I had school tomorrow. He didn't let me in. I'm still outside. Can you call me back? My phone's about to die."
Although, Clara Rose did keep calling—a good ten times—until her phone eventually did die. A small part of Peter was aggravated at how she never bothered to reply to his messages. One text was all it would've taken; he would've torn through the sound barrier to be by her side. So, why wasn't she contacting him?
Hey, he deserved it. He wasn't worthy of her trust. Peter didn't even trust her enough to tell her his real name. He was willing to steal someone's identity rather than come out with the truth. That meant Ned was right. Clara Rose could ask Peter to screw himself and never come before her again, but it wouldn't compare to being hated by her. That would frankly break his webbed-up soul in half.
Peter observed Clara Rose tuck her phone back into her bag and lean by the front door with her legs outstretched in front of her. The tears continued to drain and roll down her cheeks, but anyone else could've mistaken it for the remainders of the misty, overcast weather for tonight. It was strange how she didn't make a single noise, not a sniffle or a sob, and he thought it was the most vulnerable yet bravest thing he'd witnessed.
And bam—she fell asleep.
Smack-dab there, in the fading drizzle, outside her apartment building. Out in the freaking open, in the thick of Brooklyn's scariest neighbourhoods. It was adorable to watch, of course. First, her eyes slid shut and then he mouth parted open the tiniest bit. Then her arms slackened around her bag and plopped beside her thighs.
"Well, wobble my webs and call me shaky," Peter whispered an almost-hiss. "What the hell's this chick been puffing?"
He released a sling of webbing across to swing up to the roof of the scraggly porch she dozed under. He didn't have to attempt to be quiet anymore, he had gotten so good at sneaking around. He crawled down the posts and rails to lurch forward and land to a soundless crouch in front of her.
Peter leaned forward and gently poked her shoulder. Jesus, she was cute and simultaneously, his stomach did that fall-squeeze thing again. Now, what was the most romantic thing to say to wake your girlfriend up?
"Psst."
Nicely done, m'man.
He cleared his throat and tried again when she didn't move. This time, he poked her cheek. Once. Twice.
"Psst... hey, Clara Rose."
She woke up as if it was an emergency. Utterly in panic, not allowing herself to shed off her sleep for a moment, Clara Rose shrieked out a hysterical gasp and shuffled back on hand and foot to a faulty, waterlogged corner on the porch. The rain began to drench through her coarse hair, smoothing it down against her hollow cheeks and horrorstruck eyes. And finally, he saw a tiny crack in her surface—the slightly reddened eyes and an indistinguishable sniffle that escaped her nose.
Peter bent back with his hands raised in the air. "It's just me," he assured. "And we meet again, Sticky Fingers."
"Are you following me?" she rasped out, hugging her sling bag to her chest. There was her walking harmony again, the sound of her jingling bracelets and keychains.
The words came out fast and insulted. "You couldn't pay me to swing around and follow you in this kind of weather. Manhattan's sharing the same climate with Singapore this week." Although yes, I could've not been paid and watched you for the rest of the night.
Her cold lips fluttered with a, "What?"
Peter couldn't stop staring. It was so unfair that his stupid teen-boy-conscious was finding a way to ruin this perfect rainy moment between them. Take that, Nicholas Sparks.
"Are you in Girls Scout's or something?" he asked impassively. "Is that why you thought it's perfectly practical to camp out in a rainstorm? You're not doing a great job if you are."
Now the rain had begun to soak into her flimsy clothes and cling to her body. He could see parts of her he would much rather see when the time and place was more impassioned. He looked away, finding a little decency to keep his head down.
"I'm waiting for my brother," she quietly lied through her teeth, her expression scarily levelled. Any evidence of her tears had disappeared while she shifted back to the intact parts of the stoop, still hugging her bag to her chest.
"He's off working late and I... forgot my keys at home."
"When's he coming back?" Peter pressed.
"...in a bit."
"Awesome. I can hang around for a bit." He dropped to an exhausted plop beside her. When she stared up at him in blatant shock, he shrugged. "I have a bad habit of not minding my own business. It plays hell on my dichotomous superhero life sometimes."
"Well, count me out of it," she replied bluntly, looking right into the white arrowhead eyes on his suit.
"No can do. Think of it as compensation for the ten dollars you owe me. Except this one's just more of a high-priority meed."
"Are you always like this?"
"Lucky for you, I am."
She waved her deadened phone at him. "I don't care. Leave or I'll call my boyfriend to kick your pushy ass, Peter Parker. He could definitely take you."
This made Peter's mouth hinge wide open, his heart sinking so low he felt it in his stomach. For a wild moment, he was thankful for the mask on his head so she couldn't see the disbelief that crossed his face. His chest wrenched and his mind churned, but he assumed it was from the headrush of hanging upside down all this time.
"Your who?" he lashed out, his tone unflinchingly brusque. Jealousy struck a whip of rage in his mind. "Boyfriend? Your boyfriend?"
"Yeah... something like that!" Exactly—precisely—like the cutest, confused, furious puppy.
"No, absolutely not. You don't have one," he demanded, almost like he was convincing himself. A restless laugh left him. "You don't have a boyfriend, Clara Rose. You would've told me if you did."
"I don't even know who you are," she said sharply.
"I—" And he caught himself. That was accurate. Clara Rose didn't know Peter Parker. She knew his personality, his face, almost everything about him, but she didn't know that it was him. Woah, wait a dang minute!
What other boy was Clara Rose talking to, besides him? Besides Percy in the flesh?
"Okay. Boyfriend, that's lovely. Still not venial." Peter nodded, coming to terms with this unbelievable situation. "What's his name?"
"Why should I tell you?"
"Because I'm capable of enslaving you if you don't."
Confused, she tilted her head to one side. "Doesn't that counteract the unspoken superhero rules?"
"This could easily become my supervillain genesis. Give me the name."
"But why?"
So I can beat this punk to a pulp in the sewers. "Name. Now."
Clara Rose rolled her eyes. "You don't know him. But he knows you as Peter Parker. And I'm pretty sure he knows you're Spider-Man, too."
"Is that right?" Honestly, who was this common bitch?
"That is right."
"If you're so sure, what's his stupid name?"
"He's not stupid."
"Suuuuure."
"His name's Percy. Percy Da Costa. Is that what you want? Now can you go away and rescue someone who genuinely needs it?" she grumbled, her teeth chattering visibly. Pushing her wet hair behind her shoulders, she flapped her jacket to get rid of the drizzle and tucked it around her chest, nice and right.
Peter could only stare wordlessly.
"Don't hurt him," she murmured, her eyes sombre but intense when they met his mask. She almost looked worried. "He only knows because I told him. He promised to be quiet about it. I really like him, okay?"
"Like him?"
"I think so," she admitted, her timid smile getting the better of him whether she knew it or not.
Peter sank back into the wall with a sigh. He silently fought off an enormously silly grin. This freaking girl is edging me out. Look, it was one thing with Clara Rose lying about having a boyfriend, and another with Clara Rose telling the said boyfriend that he was the one (vis-a-vis she didn't know it was him). It was like buying a car without insurance. When it crashed and burned, you make no remittance but it's still yours.
Truly, Peter's heart didn't stand a chance anymore. It was already waltzing off with his dreamy head, making up lovestruck scenarios if he did manage to get away with all the fraudulence he'd done. No, not if. When. As if he was going to let this wildly sweet girl go without a real fight.
Currently, the charming head trips were getting harder to resist until Peter cast her a sidelong glance between the concrete silence that lengthened between them. Clara Rose was once again poorly fending off sleep between the piercing chill and the stranger/superhero company. If he were Percy right now, he wouldn't have batted an eye before offering his shoulder to lean on.
Once or twice she clicked her flat-battery phone and returned at an unavoidable loss. She thumped the back of her head against the boards with a soft groan.
"Ahem, um." She sounded mortified, but a bit more composed. "Can I borrow your phone for a call?"
"Does it look like this suit comes with pockets?" he replied ruefully.
She scrutinised him from head to toe and shook her head. "Nevermind. I'll just wait."
"Actually, I have an idea..." He couldn't finish the sentence, looking away, struggling to control the rush of shivers building in his throat. Every second with her was eating away at his conscience and consciousness.
"I mean," he continued. "I can help you get home."
Her eyes lit up. "Really?"
Every. Goddamn. Time. It was an inadequate word for her hope, but it liquefied his entire nervous system. It was that voice of hers; subtle, dulcet, strained with an undiscovered chord on a violin. Man, oh man, Peter had it bad for Clara Rose.
He pushed himself off the floor and put his hands on his hips to peek down at her. "Are you afraid of heights?"
She pursed her lips. "Nope." Her dark eyes enlarged when she realized. "Are you seriously considering slingshotting me onto the roof?"
He hid a smile, walking backwards and landing on the abandoned blacktop in a fluid leap. The downpour began to pitter-patter onto his gratefully waterproof suit, the automatic heating swishing alive. He felt terrible that he couldn't share some of it with her.
"Now that I think of it, it's not a bad idea." Peter watched Clara Rose shake herself out of her stupor and shuffle up to her feet. "What do you say we burglarize your apartment for the public good? Rephrase: personal public good?"
To his surprise, the corner of her mouth twitched, which he wouldn't have caught if he wasn't looking too close.
"I'll get you onto the fire escape," he elaborated. "You'll be safer waiting inside your home instead of out here. Also, I'm not going to be held responsible if my classmate's girlfriend got murked by the rabble."
She mulled over his idea for a moment before letting out a soft exhale. He hoped she'd gone with the more promising part of this plan when she turned her back to him. Then she bent down and picked up her sling bag.
Peter couldn't control the grin under his mask when she jogged down the stairs, her hand forming a cover over her eyesight. Still, her eyelashes were dampened, every blink of her eyes breaking off droplets on her gaunt cheeks. It wasn't until when Clara Rose snapped her fingers in front of his face that he realized he'd gone immobilized.
"Oh," he murmured, shaking his head. "Yeah, just hold on to—ow! What the fu—"
"What the hell are you doing?" she bit out.
He gaped at the arm Clara Rose had smacked—hard. She was the size of a souvenir keychain but had the strength of a viper.
"How do you expect me to hold you without touching you?" It was at times like this he had to remind himself that Clara Rose was a little bit—just a teeny bit—stupid. Even it was at the expense of her sweetness. She had a lot of it to spare anyways.
"Just lean down," she sighed. "I'll climb on your back."
"Wonderful. You get to grope me then. God, what has this bleak world come to?" He crossed his arms around his chest dramatically. When she continued to deadpan, he dropped them. "But seriously, it's not your fault I've got a fabulously grabbable ass."
She abruptly turned toward the stoop. "I'm done."
"Okay, okay!" He began to laugh. "Jeez, no need to get touchy." Clara Rose wasn't amused when she furnished him a dark low-lidded glare, partially due to the rain. "Ahem, someone doesn't appreciate good wit. Climb on, Debby Downer."
Peter dutifully squatted a little for her to settle on piggyback. Hesitant at first, Clara Rose tiptoed to entwine her arms around his neck and in one instant, she'd engulfed him in a gentle chill. Then the warmth began to seep through when she wrapped herself around him—he bravely considered this their first hug—and fiercely tightened her arms. Her noisy shoes crossed at his waist and he realized how filthy they really were. To be fair, she could've gotten dirt all over him but he was just too happy to care.
"Do I smell bad?" She sounded a little self-conscious.
"What, no. No, you don't." All he could smell was soapy detergent from her jacket. Like fresh, damp laundry. Like his clothes when Aunt May sometimes forgot to take off the stoop and left it out in the drizzle. He was starting to have a penchant for that scent.
"Alright, let's do this," she mumbled.
That being said, it was so, so hard not to feel exhilarated by his senses. The stupid smile on his face got harder to control when she tensed her grip further and buried her eyes between his shoulders. Bang, bang—his nerves went kaput around that spot.
"I'm not looking. Please make it quick," she croaked out, shaking her head. "And if you drop me, I guarantee I will haunt you so much that even an Annalise-Michels-style-exorcism won't save you."
"Cool beans. Consider me warned, Clara Rose," he accepted, laughing. He secured a safe strand of webbing, taking one more beat to memorize this exact moment in his mind. It was going to be hard to stay away from her after this. He was going goofy for her every second they spent together, even as strangers.
"Now, as a wise man once said—say it with me now—"
"No."
"Up, up and away!"
∞
"Hey, um..."
"Halfway home. How's it hangin' back there?" Heh, spider joke.
Clara Rose's small, shaky voice was muffled into his neck. And it felt fantastic. "I lied when I said I'm not afraid of heights. I'm bricking myself right now, so you've got to jimmy the window open yourself."
Peter couldn't help himself to a little laughter. "Aw, you were trying to impress little ol' me."
"Shut up and do it," she hissed.
He bit on his lip to control his giggle. "Okay, then. Slow and steady."
He wasn't complaining at all. To have Clara Rose that close to him, to eventually feel her warmth, and he would've swung about the city all night, just like this, to keep it that way.
Careful to be gentle—he'd been like that the minute she had clung to him—he eased forward at a pace that he usually despised (just so he could prolong the time with her), crawling all fours against the powerful grip on the wall. Nothing was shaking him, wall-crawling was his second nature nowadays. But this certainly would've been tougher if she were in front, serving as the perfect distraction from his task. Not that this wasn't tough; her soft lips were ever-so-slightly brushing against a nanometer mark where his mask met the suit.
"So, d'you like The Neighbourhood?"
She gently nodded into his neck. "Mhmm. You, too?"
"Oh, yeah. The 1975, Wallows, All-Time Low—"
"You're reciting my playlists." She weakly snickered. "Okay, grandson and Brent Faiyaz?"
"Stop it. Sonder Son album are just bops."
Great, the distraction was working. "That's what I said!"
Of course, there were moments he jolted on purpose, causing Clara Rose to embrace him tighter. Call him a dick all you want, he didn't give a single damn.
He arrived on the landing of the eighth floor, the fire escape perched and swaddled by her window like her very own abominable balcony. It was caked in rust and crud, but Clara Rose was efficient in utilizing the space. She'd spread out spare wood from market crates around the span, allowing her to watch the view on a non-rainy day.
Peter enfolded a snug hand around Clara Rose's crossed arms and released his grip from the wall. He cautiously anchored off in front of her windowsill and caught his breath.
He raised her window with a few judders, prying off the loosened latch. She had to get that fixed, along with the many, many repairs in her home, because what safety did she have if someone other than Peter snuck in? He moved things around her desk to make way for her to skate in safely.
"Home sweet home, Clara Rose," Peter announced. He tapped her left shoe. "Off you go."
He felt Clara Rose peek from his shoulder and he spun about on the fire escape. She unlocked her trembling arms, sopping wet from head to toe, and hopped off his back. She intuitively wriggled through the window and into her room. Relief flooded him when he heard her sigh.
He sat by the windowsill with full intent, watching Clara Rose flurry about. She took off her shoes and jacket—bad call on her behalf, he could see right through that damp t-shirt of hers—and plugged her phone into a socket by the floor. She went out into her drafty hallway and made another unsuccessful call to her brother from the landline.
When she walked back into the room, her hair was tucked into a towel, she stopped in her tracks. She had a disbelieving smile for him while she walked over to the window and leaned by it. As if she'd expected him to stay a bit longer.
"Want a change of clothes? I've got some of my brother's old sweaters still lying around." She curiously eyed the crisscrossing magnanimous spandex symbol etched on his chest.
"I think not, kind one." Then he realized that this was her way of saying thanks. Offering clothes was her show of gratitude. How cute.
"You sure? It's super cold."
"Yep."
"Why not?"
"You're pushy, you know that?"
Her grin was blinding. "I'm a natural-born buttinsky, webs. I can't help it."
"I'm not showing you my face," he said after realizing what she was trying to do. "And don't call me 'webs'. Call me Spider-God. I like that one better."
"You got it, webs. So clothes?"
He hung his head, unable to help himself to his smiles. "I said no!"
"C'mon," she sang out.
"Slingshotting," he threatened.
She laughed. "Okay, alright. How about a pair of pants?"
"I'm not wearing any underwear," he blurted in a flash of delirium. Her oh-so-sweet face was driving him crazy. Two times in one night. A whole new record, Pete. Under the mask, he shut his eyes in humiliation. Just why?
She arched a perfect brow. "Why wouldn't you be wearing any underwear?"
"I... chafe. A lot." That was true in every respect, so much that he was proud of himself for admitting it.
She stole a glance downward and her face contorted in disgust. She shook her head in chagrin. "Sorry, pal. You're on your own after that."
He awkwardly scratched the back of his head. She scrutinized the movement for way too long until Peter let his hand drop to his thigh.
"He's not my boyfriend," Clara Rose declared out of the blue. When Peter met her gaze, her lips crinkled together in frustration. "Percy's... not my boyfriend. I lied about that to throw you off."
At this point, Peter was too far lost in her company to consider what he was saying. He was so focused on interpreting the reactions on her delicate face. A small part of him wanted to push his fingers into her hair and kiss her already because hadn't he been left sweltering and breathless for too long? Hadn't she swollen his chest with enough affection to power a romance novel?
She set her palms on the sill to look up at him. "Don't hurt him," she said. "He's really nice to me. More than anyone's been in a long time. Even helped me a bunch of times. It feels good to have someone around who doesn't see the comedowns."
It was getting hard to even speak now. A small "yeah?" was all he could manage.
She nodded silently. Then a real full-blown smile twisted on her lips when she exhaled softly. "Thanks for helping me out. You're great, too, y'know. For a mouthy neighbourhood hero."
"Business as usual," he joked weakly.
She waved at him, bracelets chinking with the motion. "See you around, webs."
And for once in his Peter-Parker-life, he knew he'd blown any chance at redemption. It was inevitable now—the moment Clara Rose finds out the truth was the moment he'd lose her.
∞