You don’t know why you said it, really - okay, that was a downright lie; you wanted him to know that you were not just some object that he could take for granted - but it sure as hell didn’t work.
Oh, his voice. How could someone’s voice be so sweet and gentle and innocent and yet be a stab to your foolish, foolish heart at the same time?
“It’s simple Peter.”
No it isn’t.
“Me, or your girlfriend. Choose.”
He didn’t understand. His girlfriend Liz had asked him to stop spending so much time with (Name), because of all the rumours in school. (Name) was his best friend other than Ned, and he thought she would understand. All he did was ask her to stop coming with him for his crime-fighting antics. (Name) could manipulate gravity, and accompanied him after the event of Civil War every afternoon. She looked very hurt, before she was silent for five minutes.
“(Name), why are you-”
“CHOOSE, DAMN YOU!” You screeched, shoving him with all your might. You were trembling, and glaring at Peter so hard that the phrase ‘if looks could kill’ fluttered through his mind. This whole damn argument was stupid. Liz had brought it up because she thought you liked Peter, as in like-liked him, which, okay, was true. But it didn’t give him the licence to be a douche.
He opened his mouth to retaliate and then paused, dropping his gaze.
“Hey, is everything alright?” May opened Peter’s door, pausing once she saw saw the state you were in.
“(Name), you don’t have to do this. Liz is my girlfriend, and you are my friend.”
You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat with great difficulty.
“That’s exactly why I’m doing this, Peter. Goodbye, May, thank you for having me here. Goodbye, Peter.” You forced out. You picked up your school bag and left, not looking over your shoulder once.
May sighed as she leaned against Peter’s doorframe.
“I don’t think I have to tell you that you screwed up.”
“She…she will get over it. She has to.” Peter mumbled, turning away.
“The thing is Peter, she doesn’t.”
Peter missed you.
You were ignoring him. No, sorry, you were acting as if he didn’t exist and that he never did. He didn’t actually think that you meant what you said, because you were always there for him. Maybe he did push you a little too far. Even Ned was annoyed at him.
It had been almost a week now, and he had tried to speak to you, but with no avail. You no longer sat with him at lunch, leaving him and Ned all alone. At least Ned could wander over to your group of giggling girls and gay guys and actually speak to you. Peter, however, could not. He would come over and your best friend would glare, the rest of your gang giving him the cold shoulder.He would watch your door in the mornings (you lived in the opposite block from him) so that he could dash out and try to cash you. After the second time though, you asked your parents to drop you to school instead.
In school he would see you in the hallways between classes, giggling at something another boy said as you walked past him, not noticing him there. Your eyes would meet sometimes, and he would grin, but then you would just look away as if you never knew him at all.
In class, you and (y/b/f/n) sat together in front of Peter and Ned. It was absolutely awful, seeing you right in front of him, smiling and laughing, occasionally turning to say something to Ned (because Ned hadn’t done anything wrong). He felt hurt, and abandoned, and betrayed.
He missed your daily crime-fighting adventures you would go on together. You would always pick up a wrap or a sandwich, and sometimes the occasional muffin or cookie, and go around town helping old ladies cross a street, and pulling on Peter’s gloved hand as you sprinted to a dog to pet it.
He missed your conversations. He missed how you used to talk every second of every minute of every day and how he was able to tell you everything on his mind.
He missed your eyes. He missed the way they would sparkle whenever you did something you loved. Your eyes, in particular, were captivatingly beautiful. Not because of the colour but because of the worlds they held within them.
He missed your smile. Because in your smile there was something more beautiful than all the stars in the Universe.
He realised that… one of your hugs would be nice right about now.
So he picked up his phone and called Liz to say that he was sorry, but it just wasn’t working.
Then he saw you, walking with your best friend and laughing at something she said.
Your smile. Your eyes. The way you laugh. The way you talk. The way you walk.
Peter realised that he could stare at you forever.
And then he decided, fuck it.
Peter jumped off the balcony he was on, still in his Spider-man suited landed right in front of you. You let out a small scream when he appeared so suddenly.
“I’m sorry.” He told you as he lifted his mask to his nose.
Peter leans forward and winds his fingers through the hair at the nape of your neck and he kisses you, he wraps an arm around your waist and he kisses you, and your palms curl in the fabric of his suit and you don’t push him away and it’s perfect, perfectly impossible and perfectly unreal and he barely manages to stop himself from pinching his arm because he has to be fucking dreaming-
He kisses you.
He kisses you, and you kiss him back and he kisses you again, again, again, and he doesn’t want to stop, not even when he runs out of oxygen and air and time, fuck, because things aren’t supposed to be this good, kissing isn’t supposed to be this good, but you are, of course you are, and you always will be-
He kisses you.
He kisses you, and you kiss him back, and it is so fucking amazing-
“I choose you.”
Peter Parker stole your first kiss that day.