Wade was weird. Very weird. The kind of weird that would raise a yellow in the forefront of your mind but would easily be settled if someone mentioned that 'The guy's sweet, just a bit talkative'. And honestly, that's how Peter would describe Wade. Strange but nice. Trustworthy enough that he didn't feel like he was going to be poisoned if he ate the guy's cooking.
He tapped the Tupperware container that he'd been sent home with. It actually wasn't Tupperware, it looked like one of those really nice containers you get from small restaurants that feels wrong to throw away when it comes with your takeout. The perfect 'send it home with someone' kind of thing. It would find a nice home in Peter's chaotic drawer of plastic containers, surely to make friends with his miso soup containers.
Peter closed his eyes and leaned back in his seat. Wade had called him a taxi which had been really nice of him. Peter tried to turn him down, figuring he'd just sling out of the area once he was safely out of sight, but alas the man insisted and Peter didn't have the energy to say no.
And on that note, Wade was exhausting.
Or Peter was more exhausted by people.
It was hard to care and talk to people for extended times these days. In the past, he found himself craving some social interaction but after losing his mom to cancer he just didn't have it in him to care about talking anymore.
He wished he'd asked to call Aunt May his mom. That's what she was. She was his mom and had been since he was a child. He hardly remembered his parents, they were his aunt and uncle's burden to remember by the time he was fifteen.
He really missed going home to her on weekends. He'd get a great meal, to hear all about the hospital gossip that she picked up at the nurse's station, praise for his school work, and general encouragement. He missed her hugs. The older he got the more crushing and grounding they became, even the last one she gave him had somehow made his lungs feel like they were about to burst . . .
He blinked at the tears that had welled up in his eyes, feeling a wave of discomfort wash over him. It wasn't a concerning buzz, but it was enough for him to look up and meet the reflection of his driver's eyes in the rearview mirror.
"Don't cry." the cabbie said, sending him a look.
Peter stared back, unmoved by the man's antics. he couldn't quite tell if the man was saying that because he looked down on emotion, or because he was uncomfortable. Peter didn't want to ask so he just looked away, turning his attention out the window. He was almost home. It would be fine.
When the car came to a stop he couldn't get out of the backseat fast enough. It occurred to him he wasn't positive if the man had been paid, but honestly, that was on Wade if he hadn't. Peter would at least know for sure if it had been an Uber, but whatever. Not his problem anymore.
The driver didn't honk after him, so he took that as a sign as he entered his building. It was early in the afternoon. Realistically he should take time to commit to a Spider-Man shoot so he had a portfolio for next week's run of headlines at the bugle, but he couldn't quite bring himself to that. He really wished that someone, anyone else would request his work. He'd been considering doing something like a Spider-Man Onlyfans or Patron. Tasteful obviously, nothing that hasn't already been seen by the public and nothing that didn't make him feel uncomfortable. He'd seen a few TikToks and credit posts debating whether or not one of the sites out there was the real hero. There were a lot of great cosplayers after all, some with enough charisma to convince some people they were the real deal. Peter could do it if he found a way to gather a following that would pay for these things . . .
It was tantalizing to see the success of others, knowing that it really isn't that hard in the grand scheme of things to accomplish these things, but also knowing that failure was the default reality was scary. It made it hard to try to find a new means of taking care of himself even though he needed it so badly.
He unlocked the door to his building and headed for the stairs, wandering up to the second floor and rounding the corner towards his unit. Peter paused his mental gnashing to pay attention, keeping his footsteps steady and unwavering as he walked down the musty hallway. He had to pass four doors, and he had begun to feel a ping on his radar whenever he passed the unit next to his neighbor. When he paid attention he was positive that there was someone standing directly behind the door as he walked, the stinging sensation of their eyes following him through the peephole inescapable as he talked past, doing his best to look unbothered.
Deep down he couldn't get to his door fast enough. He didn't know who lived there, the unit had been empty as far as he was aware up until a few weeks ago, only he never heard or saw anyone move in. Considering he could hear a fair amount throughout the neighboring units, he certainly should have noticed the noise of someone moving in or out. There was a chance that whoever lived there had been gone for the better parts of a few months, but that didn't really normalize the creepiness of the peephole stalking.
Peter shivered once he reached his door out of sight of the mystery person, imagining them coming down the hall at odd hours of the day to try and peer into his own home.
He sighed once inside and locked behind a fairly sturdy door. The paint was peeling, but the door itself was a unit, so he was happy with it. He grabbed his secondary lock and slipped the wedge so it would catch the door if it was opened. It wouldn't stop anyone from getting in if they were determined, but it would give him a few extra seconds and wake him with its obnoxious alarm. He had the luxury of only experiencing it once, and that was because a drunk girl wandered into his apartment. She'd peed herself during the fright, but he got her to the right door and a plate of cookies and a bucket of cleaning supplies the next morning so it wasn't all bad. Cleaning supplies were expensive when you started stacking expenses and he had been washing everything with watered down Ajax soap since moving in so he appreciated the disinfectants and carpet cleaner.
He set his container of chicken on the counter and tapped the counter.
What to do with himself now? He should be productive. He shouldn't be allowed to feel sorry for himself if he isn't trying to dig himself out of the hole he was in. Right?
Sure . . .
He had his next donation scheduled, so he should keep the chicken ready for supper and breakfast. That way he'd have it fresh in his system and if he hurt himself tonight, he shouldn't have to worry too much about it rushing through his system.
He was still a little hungry even though Wade had him eat before sending him out with leftovers, so after purring the chicken in the fridge he went and grabbed a pack of ramen, pulling out a bowl and dumping the contents within before throwing it and added water into the microwave.
His apartment was quiet and dark.
Extremely quiet. And cold.
He hated it here.
The loud hum of the microwave wasn't something worthy of filling the void of life that haunted his home. It was overshadowed by the lilies sitting by the window and the Thank You cards he didn't have the money to mail out to the people who helped him with May's funeral. He tried to send one a week but sometimes he forgot. That's what he should do with this week's money. He could suck it up and throw ten bucks at cards that ended to be sent.
He groaned to himself and turned back towards his food when the timer went off. He pulled out the hot bowl to let it sit on the stove for a few minutes and cook the noodles, walking over to get a glass of purple kool-aide from the half-gallon pitcher sitting in his fridge.
He ate his ramen, drank his purple potion, and made a new Instagram account. Maybe he'd start there? But artists were always getting shit on, TikTok would be a better option, but then he'd have to either make videos or edits of his pictures to get attention.
After a few hours of fucking around on his phone he found absolutely no answers but he had a few accounts opened and all named 'Actualy_Spiderman'. He wasn't certain about the name but it was a bit on the nose and he felt like that was the right choice to make, but by the end of it all he had to move on. With food eaten and dishes washed it was time to do something important. Patrol.
Special thanks to Patron Poiuytre23 for their pledge. Their support has brought to you this Story via the Katana commission tier. I was given complete freedom with this piece and intend to continue this work in the future.
Until next time
~ Shadow-Assassin