Aug 19, 2025
seen from Japan
seen from Malaysia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from China
seen from Japan
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Japan
seen from Australia
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from Japan
seen from Japan
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Hungary
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
Nonviolent Communication - Part 24
Pairing: Spider-Man!Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Woman!Reader Summary: You spend the day touring apartments, but it doesn't go well. Word Count: 14.8K Warnings: angst; mention of death; grief; minor mention of not wanting to exist; some Spanish Spotify playlist (updated) Masterlist
Part 24
“I can't believe they're doing this! My sister warned me they'd try to do this, but I didn't believe her,” you hear a woman say as you reach the lobby of your apartment building.
After spending the last two hours or so cleaning the apartment since you got time to do it today, you decided to come downstairs to pick up the mail as a little break. The last thing you expected was to find several other tenants gathered in small groups in the lobby, however, all with similar expressions of anger and disbelief as they converse about something.
“That can't be good,” you mutter to yourself, walking to collect your mail. Once collected, you quickly look through it, only to find a letter from the apartment landlord. Expecting the worst already, you open the letter and read it, learning exactly what everyone is talking about. You sigh as you finish reading and look around, understanding why everyone is angry and in disbelief.
“They pulled one on us, didn't they?” a younger woman asks as she walks past you, clearly upset and trying to vent to anyone who will listen. “We stayed with them even after the fire, and this is what they do? Sell the building off to some company. Unbelievable.”
Gazing around and continuing to listen to the tenants, you ponder about the situation. In hindsight, even if it hurts to admit, this makes sense. The main reason why Peter and you initially decided to live here was due to the rent. It was reasonable, not overly high nor low. The area is considered pretty safe and there’s plenty of small businesses and nice things to do around it. Plus, the building itself had its charm due to the older structure, something you appreciated.
Over the years, however, you noted the rent remained reasonable. It didn’t spike like it did in other places despite the economy, or simply increased because of greed. That also meant that tenants couldn’t demand for extra stuff, of course. It was as the saying goes, you get what you pay for.
It was the reason why you painted the apartment when you first moved in while Peter worked on other things like fixing the kitchen cabinets and such. Ironically, all but one of the cabinets needed work. Peter and you assumed the previous renter had barely fixed it before moving out and that that was the reason why it was in good shape. Years later, that very same cabinet’s hardware grew loose through daily use and Miguel was the one who fixed it on the first day he ever came to your apartment to check on you. With a small smile, you recall the screwdriver in his hand; how it had looked normal in Peter’s hand, but looked like a toy in Miguel’s.
Either way, the apartment has been, in a way, for those who cannot afford the other prices. It’s been a stepping stone for many, giving them a safe and decent roof over their heads before they can afford something better. That was also the plan Peter and you had, but alas, life takes many turns and you’re still here, even without Peter.
With that said, it makes sense that this is happening now. You imagine the landlord isn’t filthy rich due to the mere fact that they kept the rent reasonable all these years, and so, the fire probably made them pull money from their own pocket despite insurance. Perhaps, they tried to work through it, but the debt caught up, leading them to selling the building.
The unfortunate thing for tenants is that this is possible and legal due to the contract including a ‘lease termination due to sale’ clause, meaning the leases don’t have to be honored by the landlord since they're selling.
With a grunt, you turn back around to go back to your apartment only to run into a tenant you haven’t seen in years. You apologize and steady the old woman. With a smile you step back, recalling the times Peter and you helped her carry her groceries to her floor. If your memory suits you right, you recall that the last time you saw her was a few months after Peter’s death. After that, you never saw her again, so you assumed she had moved in with her relatives, or perhaps placed in a nursing home. To say you’re surprised to see her after so many years, is an understatement.
“My, my, I thought you didn’t live here anymore, sweetheart,” the lady says, smiling at you.
“I can say the same. I haven’t seen you in years,” you reply, amused. “But I’ve been here, you know, getting by. Are you still living in the same apartment?”
“Yes, the same. It’s a shame we haven’t seen each other in so long,” the lady replies still smiling. “We stopped running into each other and look, we assumed we had moved out, only to realize we’ve been here all along.”
“True. Life has its funny moments, but I’m happy to see you again. You seem well,” you respond, looking over her. She really does seem to be in good health, despite the years.
“I feel great! Thankfully, my health has improved since the last time you saw me,” she shares, looking around at the commotion.
“I’m glad to hear that,” you reply truthfully just as another tenant walks by, shooting you a look of bewilderment. You raise an eyebrow, wondering what their problem is.
“Maybe it is a good thing this place is shutting down. Too many freaks,” the tenant mumbles, shaking their head as they start up the stairs.
“The beauty of living in apartments,” the lady says, making you laugh softly. “But well, seems like this time we must go for sure.”
“Seems like it,” you answer, looking around the lobby you’ve entered and exited thousands of times now. “You have a place to go?”
“Yes, I do. I have a secured place, no worries,” the lady says with a small sigh before looking at you. “Maybe it’s a push from your friend to get you out of here.”
You smile at her, wondering if she doesn’t remember that Peter was your boyfriend, not just a friend. “Maybe it is, hm? Maybe it’ll be a good change.”
“Perhaps… I must go, dear. My favorite show is about to start,” the lady says. “Take care, alright? If I don’t see you again, I wish you the best. Don’t forget to follow your heart and keep your promises, no matter what people say.”
“Oh, um, yes. I will, thank you, but hey, I’m sure we’ll see each other again. Surely, we’ll run into each other in the month and a half we have left here, right?” you ask, caught a little by surprise by the woman’s goodbye.
“Perhaps, my dear,” she says with a little chuckle before going up the stairs.
You shake your head and go up to your own apartment after a minute or two, trying not to think too much about how you soon won’t be unlocking your door anymore and enter. Inside, you place the mail on the kitchen counter and look around, taking in the apartment. The fact that you must leave — for good — hits you like a punch to the stomach suddenly. It's not even the fact that this place is where Peter and you started a new chapter in your lives. Not anymore. While you cherish the place for that fact, you realized a while ago that you could move forward despite that.
The main thing is that this has been your home for so long. You lived some of the most wonderful moments of your life here, but also, some of the darkest after Peter's death. Despite the older design and structure, it has its charm, too. It has personality.
Still gazing around, you wonder if maybe, your chapter at this place ended with the fire from over a year ago now. Maybe that's why you've found it so easy to spend nearly every day away since then. Maybe it's why, a big part of you, isn't as heartbroken about this development like you would've been years before.
Perhaps, you've merely been holding on to this place because it was comfortable and safe. You were already here, why bother getting out of your comfort bubble?
“Maybe this is a push from you,” you say, gazing at one of Peter's photos. “Maybe, it's time… To truly move forward.”
With a sigh, you settle down on the couch. You have a month and a half to move out. That’s what the new owners are granting the tenants. It seems plenty of time, but you know the days go by in a blur, so it’s best to start planning. You must find another place, which means apartment hunting. That alone takes hours to do and the mere thought of it almost gives you a headache. Then, there’s the carefully packing of everything and moving it elsewhere with the fear that it might break along the way somehow.
Okay, stressing about that isn’t going to make it better, but at least… It’s keeping your mind away from the fact that you’re leaving this place. Sure, you’re already somewhat less attached to the apartment, but you’re still sad about it. You wish you could’ve made the decision to leave willingly, not ushered out the door by some company, who probably only bought the building to demolish it and set up yet another quirky office building, or worse, some kind of industrial plant that over time, will force everyone to move out of the area due to health reasons.
You stand up, thinking about buying boxes to pack, but first, you need to find another place to live at. With a groan, you decide to return to Nueva York. Maybe talking about it with Miguel will provide you some clarity, or at least, it will make you feel better.
You stop in your tracks as the lady comes back to mind. Maybe you should ask her if she needs help packing. With that thought, you leave your apartment and head to her floor, looking at the numbers on the doors until you find hers.
After knocking, you wait patiently for a few seconds before the door opens revealing an entirely different person. An older woman than you greets you, looking a little curious about the stranger at her door.
“Hii, good morning, ma'am. I'm sorry to bother, but I'm looking for…” you trail off. You don't even know her name now that you think about it. Peter and you never learned it. You offer an apologetic smile and decide to explain to the lady in front of you who you're looking for.
“Oh, yes. That was Mrs. Fernandez. She lived here before I moved in a year ago or so. I switched apartments,” the lady says. “I used to live across from her.”
“But she said she was still living in the same apartment as always,” you answer, confused.
“She did. She lived in this apartment until she passed away.”
“Wait, what?” you ask, shocked.
“She passed away before the fire happened. I'm sorry,” the lady says apologetically.
“I… Thank you for your kindness, ma'am. Have a good day,” you manage to respond before walking away. You struggle to wrap your head around this. You just saw and spoke to her.
Almost in a daze, you walk back to your own apartment, remembering that you indeed, didn't see her when the fire took place despite her saying she had been here all along. It didn't click in your mind at all earlier. A shiver runs over your body as you process this, but you don't let yourself get spooked. At least, not too much. After all, she was always kind.
As you head back to your apartment, you understand why it felt like she was giving you a final goodbye; it was. You also realize why the tenant gave you a weird look and said the place was filled with ‘freaks’: in their eyes, you were talking with no one the entire time.
You decide to keep this to yourself for the time being. Maybe you'll share it in the future, but for now, you store the moment away in your head and travel to Nueva York.
In seconds, you find yourself in Miguel’s lab, finding him fidgeting with some equipment. He looks up, seeing the colorful spots of the portal flood part of the lab. “Hey, done cleaning?”
“Yes. Mostly,” you answer, approaching him. “I cleaned for two hours before deciding to take a little break to pick up the mail, and… That’s when I learned of some unexpected news.”
“What happened?” Miguel asks, sensing your mood is different from before you left earlier today.
“The landlord sold the building off. I have a month and a half to get out,” you reply, frowning a little as you lean on the platform for support.
“What?” Miguel asks in slight shock. “They can’t do that. There’s laws to protect renters.”
“There’s a lease termination due to sale clause, so it was always a possibility. Peter and I didn’t expect to stay there for so long, so it didn’t worry us much when we first started renting. After Peter, I didn’t think much of it either. The apartments didn’t seem to be going anywhere,” you explain. “I’m certain the fire had to do with it. Perhaps, insurance didn’t cover enough and the landlord had to use money from their own pocket, or they took out loans and the debt is too much. The rent has been consistent over the years, so, they were likely making a decent amount of money to live off comfortably, at least, but with that happening, they were likely forced to sell.”
“Damn,” Miguel responds, his shoulders dropping. He’s always liked your place, even from the first time he stepped into it. There was a certain allure to it on top of how welcoming it is. If it wasn’t because it’s a one bedroom, Miguel would’ve probably asked if he could stay there with this arrangement you have now of being roommates instead of the penthouse. “I’m sorry about that. I know how much you love the place. It’s… It’s truly so welcoming and cozy.”
“Right? I really like the older style. All the new apartments are too modern. There’s really no personality to the buildings these days. Everything is a carbon copy of the rest.”
“You say that, but the penthouse is like that,” Miguel comments, smiling a little.
“Yeah, but it makes sense considering we’re in a futuristic universe. Plus, there’s still personality because of the unique shapes some of the buildings have. And, I have seen some of the new buildings are starting to include baroque features.”
Miguel chuckles. “I hadn’t even noticed that. You like your buildings with personality, hm?” He sighs, thinking about your place again. “So… A month and a half to move out?”
“Yeah,” you reply, mindlessly staring off while running your fingers over his platform, thinking. “I need to find somewhere to rent.”
Miguel nods, still thinking. He’s tempted to propose something, but he’s not sure you’d be up for the idea, so he doesn’t voice it. Instead, he offers his support. “Well, you know you can count on me to help you pack and move things. And I can tag along during your apartment hunting, if you’d like.”
“Really?” you ask, looking up at him with gratitude.
“Did you expect anything less from me?” Miguel asks, raising an eyebrow. “I’m going to get offended,” he playfully says, trying to lift your spirits.
“No, I didn’t expect anything less, but I also know you’re busy here.”
“Never busy for you,” Miguel replies. “I’ll be more than happy to help.”
“I’m grateful for your help and support,” you answer with a smile. “Truly.”
“Always,” Miguel answers with a smile. “Hey, how about some lunch? It’s on me.”
“I could go for some lunch,” you answer, suddenly feeling hungry now that food has been mentioned. “I think I burnt breakfast off with all the cleaning.”
Together — and after changing into regular clothes — Miguel and you head out to get lunch, opting for one of your favorite spots.
“I’m not gonna lie, this is making me feel a little better,” you say halfway through the meal. “Thank you for the pick-me-up.”
“I hoped it would boost your spirits, even just a little,” Miguel says, wiping his mouth clean. “I’m glad it worked. I hate to see you down.”
“Well, it worked,” you reply with a smile before you receive a notification.
“Something wrong?” Miguel asks, wondering if it’s someone from the spider gang.
“Uh, no,” you answer, looking at the notification to read it. “It’s from Harry. He says he just found out about the apartment building being sold.”
Miguel raises an eyebrow, lowering his utensil. “I wonder how he learned about it.”
“Maybe he went to look for me. There were a lot of people in the lobby talking about the news. I have no doubts people will be talking for the next two days about it, so it’s possible he overheard someone discussing it. Or, I don't know. Maybe it made it to the local news, or something like that.”
“Hm.”
“Oh…” You sigh and look up at him. “He’s offering to go with me tomorrow to see some places. He’s worried about the short amount of time I have to move out.”
“Well… That’s helpful of him,” Miguel begrudgingly states.
“And… He just sent me a list of places he knows are safe and affordable,” you continue, going over the list Harry just sent you. Shaking your head, you turn your focus back to the food.
“So, tomorrow?” Miguel asks.
“Yeah… I don’t know if I should accept, though. I was going to look online first and make a list from there. Then again, if I say no, I might make him feel bad by rejecting his help. Hm, I guess it doesn’t hurt to go look. Maybe it’ll give me a better idea about what’s out there. It’s been a hot minute since I went apartment hunting, I’m sure things are slightly different now,” you reply.
Miguel nods with a sigh. “It would be nice and he’s offering, so…”
You nod. “Yes… Ok, I’ll tell him after our lunch that I'd appreciate it,” you say, picking up your utensil to start eating again. You silently think about Harry’s offer, which you weren’t expecting at all. For some reason, you were only picturing Miguel coming along with you. You can even picture someone from the spider gang, but not Harry, so the thought of him being the one to accompanied you on your first day of apartment hunting seems odd to you.
Across from you, Miguel eats his food, thinking about the very same thing. It didn’t even cross his mind that Osborn would be helping you during this process, but he supposes that’s just because he doesn’t like to think about Osborn. Regardless of the time you’ve been in communication with him, Miguel can’t find it in himself to like him. He barely respects the man and that’s only because you’ve found it within yourself to give him a second chance. Miguel respects you and your decisions, including giving Osborn a chance, but that doesn’t mean he respects him after what he did. He just can’t and maybe he never will.
Taking a drink, Miguel convinces himself that tomorrow will be a fun day for you. Maybe you’ll have luck and find somewhere you truly like thanks to Osborn.
-♡-
The next day after breakfast, you say bye to Miguel and return to your own dimension to meet up with Harry. Full of enthusiasm, Harry drops by to pick you up in his car, driven by Mr. Kerr. Together, Harry and you visit various places from morning to noon. You keep an open mind, but inside, none of the places you visit fully win your heart. You hope to find a place that makes you feel like you did when you first found your current apartment, but despite looking at several locations, you simply don’t connect with any place.
It’s nearly three in the afternoon when Harry and you leave the last place on his list, feeling mentally tired.
“Oh, there’s another place I forgot to share with you. It’s close to your current place,” Harry says as you both get inside the car. “You wanna go?”
“Yeah, why not?” you answer as Mr. Kerr begins to drive, figuring that one more place won't hurt.
“Perfect, let me tell Felix the address. I think you may like this place a lot,” Harry states before he tells Kerr where to next.
Exhausted from touring multiple apartments, you don’t even process the address of the last apartment until Kerr pulls up. You blink as the apartment building comes into view, your heart filling with bitter sweetness.
“Come on,” Harry says, tapping your arm before slipping out of the car.
“Good luck, madam,” Kerr states.
“Thanks,” you reply, unbuckling your seat belt and climbing out.
“I hear these apartments are very nice. Plenty of room. You could even have an office here, or build a home library. Actually, that would be very cool,” Harry continues. “Imagine how much fun it would be to have your own library.”
“Ah, yes,” you say as you both walk to the apartment’s main offices. “That would be very cool,” you add, hearing Peter’s voice in your head. You shake your head, trying to clear your mind. A part of you almost wishes that no tours are available today, just to avoid having to see this place in the flesh, but to your luck, the manager is more than happy to show you around.
The tour starts with the exterior parts, like the gym and pool, before you're led to an empty apartment. You enter the space with Harry and the manager behind, barely listening to the latter as they tell you about the place.
You do a full turn, taking in the large open concept space that makes up the kitchen, dining, and living areas.
“Can you imagine a little you or a little me running around? Not here in this apartment. Somewhere bigger where we’ll have more space. Like that place a few blocks from here.”
You walk towards the windows and gaze out.
“The place with three bedrooms and the lovely view,” you remember saying, head pressed against Peter's chest while laying in bed.
“That one. One bedroom for us. One bedroom for each child.”
“And on this side we have the bedrooms. Three bedrooms to be precise,” the manager continues.
You nod and follow them, stepping inside the main bedroom that would be yours. You can almost see it, your furniture in this room and the clothes, both Peter’s and yours, hanging in the closet.
You exit and look at the other two empty bedrooms.
“So you want two kids?”
“I — Let’s skip that question,” Peter said one time with a small grin. “Just imagine for now, two kids. Two kids and walks to the park so they can play. Trips to the bookstore because if their mom likes to read, surely one of them will pick up the habit. And, a bigger apartment means we can have more bookcases. You’ve always wanted a little library, so we’ll have that there. You can go on patrols at night, and we’ll wait for you for bedtime. I’ll tell them stories about Spider-Woman and how I’m the biggest fan…”
“There’s a park nearby, too,” the manager shares. “I’m not sure how familiar you are with the area, but it’s a wonderful spot for families. Parents take their kids there in the afternoons to walk and play. It’s a truly safe area. And, there are many stores around here, so anything you could possibly need is within minutes of walking.”
“That’s… Really something,” you answer, turning to the kitchen area to inspect it. Your fingers trace the pretty counter before your eyes land on the stove and oven. You think about the cakes and other sweet treats you would’ve baked here once; the birthday parties you would’ve hosted for Peter and maybe, those two kids. You even see Peter by the stove, making pancakes in weird shapes for his family and making the little ones laugh.
“Any questions?” the manager asks, snapping you out of your thoughts.
“Thank you, but no. You seem to have covered all the bases,” you answer after clearing your throat.
“We look forward to receiving your application. Please don’t hesitate to let us know if you have any concerns,” the manager continues on as the three of you head out. Before the door is closed, you glance back one more time and for a second, you see a snippet of what could’ve, would’ve, should’ve been your life.
The ride back to your apartment consists of Harry talking, sounding more excited about the apartments than you are. You try to make conversation, forcing small smiles while your brain is stuck on the last apartment. Years have passed since those nights when you used to talk with Peter about such things. You’ve healed, yet seeing the place in person was different than merely imagining it like you used to with him.
Back at your apartment, you push the door open and turn on the lights with Harry behind you. As always, Kerr stays outside by choice.
“So, I think I’ve talked enough. What about you? Did any of the apartments we looked at caught your eye?” Harry asks, sighing.
“They were all pretty and the amenities are pretty great. Rent seems decent for the locations they’re in…”
“I sense a but…” Harry says, raising an eyebrow.
Sighing, you shrug. “None of them stood out to me,” you answer, avoiding telling him about the last apartment while fidgeting with the bracelet Miguel gifted you for Christmas.
With a scoff, Harry glances at the bracelets on your wrist. He noticed them the day you met with him after the holidays to celebrate, noting that he hadn’t seen them before. Harry’s mind was quick to pinpoint the responsible person for the new gift: Miguel. “You must find somewhere to live. Time is ticking, you know? I mean, what if you don’t find anything that stands out to you and when you do decide on a place, there are no apartments available there? Where are you going to stay? Is your plan to go live with that Miguel guy again?”
“That Miguel guy is my best friend,” you state firmly, raising an eyebrow at Harry’s tone.
“I haven’t even met him.”
“Harry… There will be a time for everything. Besides, Miguel is very busy.”
“What does he do?” Harry inquires, crossing his arms across his chest.
“That is not for me to say. When you meet him in the future, he can tell you himself,” you answer, turning around to walk to your kitchen, trying to avoid giving Harry any more information than necessary. “About the apartments, I’m sure I will find a place. I still have time.”
Harry follows you, standing across the main kitchen counter. “Why are you so secretive about him when he’s your ‘best friend’? Why can’t you tell me what he does for a living? Are you hiding something?”
“What?” you reply, confused by the shift in the conversation.
“Are you and him something else?” Harry asks seriously, staring you down from across the counter.
“What exactly do you mean by that, Harry?”
“Are you dating him?” Harry questions, going straight to the point.
Gazing back at Harry, you’re left speechless, even though his question shouldn’t affect you. After all, how many times have people mistaken Miguel and you for something? Too many to count, if you’re honest with yourself, that you’re no longer shocked. Even the first time, you don’t recall yourself being speechless, but rather worried about Miguel’s reaction. After seeing that he didn’t mind, you moved on from it pretty quickly.
So, then, why does the assumption coming from Harry make you feel different, and not in a good way? Swallowing, you realize it’s because it feels like you’re being accused of something immoral, which isn’t even true, and that is the great difference from all the other times.
“I’m sorry… What?” you question after a moment of silence, recovering. Internally, you hope you’re misreading his words after a long day of touring apartments.
“Please, Y/N. You go and live with this guy for God knows how many months after the fire and right now, you don’t even seem bothered by the fact that in a month and a half, you’ll have nowhere to go if you don’t find a new apartment. It’s like, you don’t even care. I can’t help but think that it’s because you already have a plan — you and this Miguel. You’re planning on staying at his place again, are you not?”
“I don’t appreciate your tone,” you respond calmly to reestablish your boundaries, to give him a chance to drop this.
“Well, guess what? I don’t appreciate that guy. I don’t appreciate you bringing him here,” Harry snaps suddenly, staring at you like he’s never done before. His eyes, usually relaxed and expressing care, are glaring at you with pure disbelief and anger. “You bring him here — to Peter’s home. He helps you assemble furniture, like Peter used to. You bake him treats and cakes, like you used to for Peter. You smile at him like you used to smile at Peter! It’s all in the photos. Then, you went and lived with this guy; had your little moments, like going out to buy groceries for the two of you while babysitting his friend’s kid — as if you’re his little wife. What would Peter think, huh?”
Harry continues on, his voice growing harsher. Behind him, the apartment’s door opens, revealing Kerr. A look of concern and shock is evident on the older man’s face, as if he can’t wrap his mind around this version of Harry, much like you.
“Sir — I think that is enough. You’ve had stressful days due to work, don’t say things you don’t mean and can’t take back out of frustration and exhaustion,” Kerr states firmly, placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder to placate him, only for the latter to shrug it away with a scowl.
“Don’t interfere in this, Felix. I’ve had enough and she needs to hear this. This is unacceptable,” Harry spats, turning back to you. “What would poor Peter say about this? About you bringing some other man to his home, the same one you don’t seem to give a damn about nor spend time at anymore! Oh yes, I have noticed that.” Harry scoffs, noticing your confusion when he brings that up, still glaring at you. “Do you know how many times I have come over to hang out with you, only to not find you here? One of your neighbors, by pure luck, happened to tell me the other day that you don’t seem to be here much anymore after the fire. That you don’t seem to sleep here anymore. I mean, seriously? Do you not give a damn about Peter anymore, or what? Have you forgotten about him because of this guy you now call your ‘best friend’? I find that insulting, quite frankly. How you can replace Peter — Peter, for God’s sake — for that random man you’ve known all but three seconds? And for what? Is it because you’re fucking him, or are you still longing for some happily ever after with another man that isn’t Peter?” Harry shakes his head in disbelief, acting like he has never done before. He runs a hand through his hair, filled with an unexplainable frustration and anger. “What would Peter think?”
Your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. Everything about this moment is wrong, so wrong. In all the years you knew Harry before Peter’s death, you never once heard him raise his voice nor grow this angry. A rush of cold runs over your limbs, leaving you with an array of emotions; anger, betrayal, disappointment, hurt, and disgust. You question how the day turned into this, how Harry went from being all too happy to go with you to all the apartments to this version you don't recognize.
“What would Peter think?” you repeat quietly, holding Harry’s gaze. “What would Peter think?” A scoff escapes from your lips, your eyebrows furrowing. “You dare ask me that, Harry?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You dare ask me that? You of all people,” you reply, stalking closer. “If you have to question yourself what Peter would think, then, you either didn’t know him at all, or you’ve forgotten what kind of man he was. He would be happy — comforted even — to know that I moved forward and found someone to be with. He wasn’t a selfish man, the way you seem to be painting him right now with your silly and repetitive question. He was one of the kindest and sweetest men I’ve known in my whole life. He wasn’t selfish. Never was.” You state firmly. “About Miguel, know this. I have no obligation to tell you anything that I don’t want to. You forget that you and I are — were — still growing reacquainted after years of losing touch, and even if we were attached to the hip, that wouldn’t make you entitled to know what I’m doing, much less who I bed, but let me entertain you today, Harry.”
“Madam — That’s not necessary, please, Mr. Osborn is merely under a lot of stress —” Kerr tries once again, hoping to dissipate the argument.
“No, let me clear this up for him, Mr. Kerr. For your information, I’m not ‘fucking’ Miguel, but if I was, that wouldn’t be your business. The same way it’s not my business what you do in your bedroom, Harry.” You shake your head at him in disbelief. “It’s sad that you’ve harbored this dislike for him when you don’t even know him, but especially when he has been there for me. Miguel and my other friends have supported me, taken me in when I was all alone, Harry. They’re family, whether you like it or not. And guess what? I know in my heart that wherever Peter is at, he’s more than content to see me happy, surrounded by people who love and cherish me, so please don’t make these accusations when you don’t know anything, alright? Especially not when I could turn the question back on you.”
“Turn the question on me?” Harry asks in disbelief at your words, his demeanor faltering.
“Yes.” You reply agitated. “What would Peter think of you? About your actions, or rather, lack of?”
“I don’t —” Harry starts, his angry expression fading away and replaced by an anxious look.
“What would Peter think about the fact that you ghosted me after his funeral?” you interrupt.
“I — Y/N —” Harry tries, his face growing pale at your words.
“You ghosted me, Harry. You disappeared when I needed someone the most,” you state. “You… Do you know how much it hurt me that that day was the last time I saw you? Right after Peter’s funeral, when I was... At the lowest I had ever been in my life.” Inhaling sharply, you look away as you recall that day, all your memories flooding your mind like water through a broken dam. “I don’t know when it became day. I was physically here and yet… I wasn’t. I got dressed in autopilot, put on my black clothes and noted that it was raining. I couldn’t help but feel that it was Peter’s doing to help me through the day. He knew I love rainy days.”
“Y/N… Please,” Harry whispers, shaking his head.
“Did you know… I don’t even know who came to pick me up?” you ask, turning to face him with a faint yet bitter smile. “I don’t recall who ushered me out the door, who I walked down the stairs with, whose car I got in to get to the cemetery. To this day. Years later. All I know is that one moment, I was here, at our apartment. Our home, Harry. This was our home, holding all his belongings; his clothes in the closet, the record player with the last vinyl he listened to, his books, and so much more. Suddenly… I was at the cemetery with people’s hands on my shoulders trying to give me comfort and reassurance as I gazed at his casket. All that comforting and warm touch, yet none of it could mend my broken heart nor melt this icy coldness that clung to me from the moment he died.”
Tears spill down your face without your knowledge “I never expected I would be doing that so soon… Burying the man I thought I’d marry one day and have children with, but there I was; burying him and silently wishing — begging — the Earth would swallow me whole with him.”
“Please don’t — I can’t —” Harry mumbles in front of you, his eyes growing teary. Behind him, Kerr watches you, listening to your every word in silence.
“My heart was… Utterly shattered already, but when I saw the casket being lowered… It felt like my world was ending right before my eyes. He was gone. Just like that. I recall thinking, it was like a star in the sky that shone so bright, but no… Peter was more. He was the whole sky. And he was gone, somehow.” Your eyes close, tears streaming down your face. “Before I knew it, more people were offering me their condolences before departing. I remember you coming to me. I remember it well because it was the last time I saw you in years. Do you remember it?” you ask him, opening your eyes.
“Y-Yes…” Harry murmurs, his person entirely different from minutes ago.
“You held me in your arms, tightly. It was the first moment in that entire day that I felt a small sliver of comfort. You even kissed the top of my head as we both cried in silence and I thought in that moment, that you were probably the only other person who could understand my pain because you were like brothers. All too soon, however, you released me and stepped back with a single look I misinterpreted. Somewhere inside of me, I assumed we’d be there for each other, but in reality, that was your goodbye. You squeezed my shoulders after that and walked away from my life.”
“Y/N, I can’t — You don’t know—” Harry whispers, his eyes damp with tears.
“I didn’t know that was going to be the last time I’d see you in years, so I… I stood there in front of Peter’s burial site, under that rain I believed was a little gift from Peter himself. I don’t know how much time went by nor did I care. I could’ve stood there for a millennia and I wouldn’t have noticed. Vines could’ve grown and wrapped themselves around my feet, legs, waist, chest, and head… And I wouldn’t have felt a single thing because I couldn’t feel anything beyond hurt and heartbreak. I wondered how I could ever live life with that feeling; how could such pain ever cease from my heart? I questioned how I would survive when it felt like I was drowning in a sea of misery and sorrow, but most of all, I questioned why God stood me up,” you state hoarsely. “Why did it have to be Peter?”
“I know, Y/N, I wondered that, too,” Harry mutters, his voice shaking. “You don’t need to go on, please, I didn’t mean to bring this up.”
You wipe your tears with the back of your hand, pressing forward. “I didn’t get an answer then and I doubt I would’ve received one that day, anyway, but I’ve healed since then, which I’m certain Peter would be glad about, and have concluded that unexplainable things will happen in life. Good and bad moments. All we can do is continue to live and learn, if not for ourselves, then, for our loved ones who have departed all too soon. In their memory. That’s what Peter wanted, Harry. He once told me that,” you say, recalling your sweet Peter’s words before he died in your arms that fateful day. “He made me promise to move forward and that if I happened to find someone to love again, to love.”
Harry’s eyes widen, tears streaming down his face, when he hears your words. “I — I didn’t know he said that.”
“That’s why you shouldn’t speak about things you’re ignorant about,” you answer, struggling not to glare at him. “Despite my reluctance and heartbreak, I have healed and it allowed me to meet new people — people who have become a family to me, no matter what you think. They’ve been there for me; become my family. Where were you when I needed you the most? I’m not trying to throw back your words at you, but what would Peter think about that?”
“You don't understand — You were likely going to push me away, anyway,” Harry replies, attempting to defend himself and his actions. “Just like you pushed everyone else away.”
With a scoff, you raise your chin. “Maybe I would've tried to do the same, that is a possibility. Or, maybe I wouldn't have, Harry, had it not been so easy for you to walk out of my life when you knew you were significant to me as well. I knew you from childhood. I trusted and cared about you, yet you didn't seem to care.” You inhale sharply, deciding you've had enough. “I have nothing else to say nor do I feel like listening to you anymore. Please leave my home.”
“Y/N, please listen to me. Look, I know what I said was —” Harry starts, but stops when you raise a hand, gesturing for him to stop.
“You’ve insulted me with your accusations in my own home, Harry, despite the fact that I gave you a second chance to be in my life again. Please leave.”
“I… I understand,” Harry states with a solemn look on his face, resigned when he hears your tone. After a few seconds, he turns to leave with Kerr behind him. He opens the door, but before leaving, Harry turns one last time. “I always cared about you, too, by the way. I still do despite my hurtful words.”
Your eyes close when you hear the door close at last. You don't know if Harry was expecting a reply, or perhaps hoping for you to change your mind about him leaving. Either way, it didn't work. His words have hurt you by bringing back memories you hadn't thought about in a long time. Even when you first ran into him after years of not seeing him, you somehow managed to block out those parts from that day.
Finding yourself alone at your apartment, you let yourself cry freely as his words echo in your head.
“What would poor Peter say about this? About you bringing some other man to his home, the same one you don’t seem to give a damn about nor spend time at anymore!”
Is that what it looks like for others around you? You wonder if people around the apartment building are judging you if they have seen Miguel. Do they think you’re with him and find it distasteful despite the years that have passed since Peter’s death?
“… How you can replace Peter — Peter, for God’s sake — for that random man you’ve known all but three seconds? And for what? Is it because you’re fucking him, or are you still longing for some happily ever after with another man that isn’t Peter?”
Miguel is your best friend and nothing more, so Harry was wrong about that, but especially to refer to the possibility of something between you so cruelly and vulgar in your presence. The happily ever after comment… Is it so wrong to consider that one day with someone? To still long for marriage and maybe children, even if Peter will never have the opportunity to experience it?
Crying, a thought comes to your mind. Before you know it, you’re already stepping out into Miguel’s lab. Through your tears, you gaze at his platform where his computer is at, surrounded by several screens. Relieved that Miguel isn’t here, you approach the platform and begin to type, pulling up the database containing every single universe discovered so far. Your heart races as you begin to type your first name, pondering if this is even a good idea. It’s too late to turn back when only two results come up.
The first result is you, confirmed by a picture that was taken of you when you were first recruited to the Spider Society. The second result is a variant of yourself, the photo a courtesy of Lyla’s work. Your chest heaves as you look at the second result. You never felt the need to know if there was another you, but right now, you do.
The drumming of your heart rings in your ears as you open the variant’s file, only growing louder when you see it, or rather a photo of him attached to your variant’s file.
Peter.
Not just any Peter, but one that looks exactly like your Peter used to.
“No…” you whisper, dismissing the thought that comes to mind while erasing your search history. You know you shouldn’t, yet how did that old saying go?
Right.
Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
Without a second thought, you open a portal and walk into it.
-♡-
Over an hour later, Miguel returns to his lab after a mission that came up out of nowhere thanks to an annoying and persistent variant of the Green Goblin, who refused to be taken back to his own universe. His steps are heavy as he reaches his platform, feeling exhausted after running around the city pursing the anomaly.
With a deep sigh, Miguel sits down and wonders how you’re doing. He knows touring a single apartment alone takes some time, so he didn’t expect you to be back so soon. Still, he checks his gizmo for any messages, but there are none. Well, at least not from you.
With a grumpy frown, Miguel turns to his screens, remembering that Lyla is going through maintenance. He decided to do it today because well, he hasn’t done it in a while, even though it’s necessary. If only he hadn’t done it today, though… He could’ve asked Lyla to check on you, that way his worries would be placated. A quick message from him would probably do the trick, too, but Miguel doesn’t want to distract you with his messages nor does he want to intrude on your time with Osborn.
With another sigh, Miguel rubs his chest lightly as he opens up screens to review, feeling something he can’t quite explain. Earlier, he had the same feeling during the chase of the anomaly, so sudden and deep Miguel almost felt like he was drowning. He pushed through it, certain it was probably only the adrenaline doing a number on him. That had to be it.
“Get to work,” Miguel tells himself begrudgingly, knowing he has a lot of work and reminding himself that you’re alright. There’s no reason to be worried. With that, Miguel starts working, reading and analyzing reports on his marigold-colored screens.
Despite his poor concentration at first, Miguel manages to eventually get into the reports, making time pass. It’s barely an hour later when Lyla’s maintenance is completed at last, reminding him to take a break from the reports to confirm that everything ran smoothly.
“I'm backkkk!” Lyla says in a singsong voice. “Better than before.”
Miguel rolls his eyes, a small smirk tugging at his lips. “No bugs. Welcome back, Lyla.”
“Thank you, thank you,” Lyla replies, bowing dramatically. “You guys can calm down. I'm sure you all missed me, but no worries. The smartest AI assistant in Nueva York is back.”
“Yes, I'm sure everyone was doing a countdown for your return,” Miguel answers jokingly.
“Ha ha, very funny, boss. I bet you're the one that was actually waiting for me because you need me to be your eyes.”
“I don't know what that means.”
“It means,” Lyla starts, pushing her glasses further up her nose. “You're probably stressing out about Dulz hanging out with that Osborn dude all day.”
“I — I'm not — I've been working just fine,” Miguel responds, looking away.
“Right, so you're definitely not going to ask me to ensure that Dulz is safe and sound, then.”
Miguel huffs, annoyed that Lyla knows how he gets when you're away with Osborn. It’s not some weird friend jealously. It’s mere dislike and distrust for the man, even if you keep giving him the privilege of being part of your life. “Lyla.”
“You gotta ask nicely,” she replies with a smirk.
“Why are you like this?” Miguel questions.
“You're the one that created me.”
“Please, check on Dulzura,” Miguel answers instead, wasting no more time.
“I'm on it!” Lyla eagerly responds, humming as she starts working, but stopping abruptly. “Uh-oh.”
“What is it?” Miguel asks, immediately standing up, tense.
“There seems to be a problem…” Lyla replies, looking at Miguel with an expression that only means trouble.
“What’s going on?” Miguel asks, impatient.
“It seems… Dulz has gone MIA,” Lyla reveals.
Miguel feels like the air has been knocked out of his chest as soon as Lyla is done speaking.
MIA?
“Pull it up on the screens,” he orders, trying to stay composed.
There has to be a reason for that, surely. A bug in your gizmo, perhaps. Miguel’s maroon eyes snap to the screen, his heart sinking as he sees your icon for himself in grey, symbolizing your location is unknown.
“We need to locate Osborn,” Miguel states. “He's supposed to be with her.”
“Should we call for backup?” Lyla asks as Miguel opens a portal to travel to your dimension.
“No, no backup. We don't need to worry the others. Maybe her gizmo is simply malfunctioning,” Miguel answers, trying to be reasonable despite the alarms in his head.
Too impatient, Miguel rips the portal open with his suit’s spines, his heart beating heavily against his chest as he steps out on a rooftop across your apartment first to see if you're there, but the apartment is dark.
“Do you need the address?” Lyla asks, seeing the same thing before noting that his talons have extended at the sight.
“I already know where he lives,” Miguel states before swinging away, moving as fast as he can to Osborn's place. Perhaps it's wrong, but ever since you decided to give Osborn a chance, Miguel made sure to figure out where he lives. Something inside told him to do it, so he followed his instincts, hoping he'll never need to pay Osborn a visit.
“Is this the place?” Lyla asks as Miguel lands on a rooftop, immediately activating a holographic spider drone from his gizmo to spy through Osborn’s windows.
“Yes.”
Without a word, Lyla nods, understanding the implication; Harry has never been trusted by Miguel. To be fair, not even the rest of your friends do.
Fully locked in, Miguel maneuvers the spider gadget, getting a view through his gizmo. The spider crawls down the wall to the window and begins to record. Thankfully, there are no curtains to obstruct the view, granting Miguel clear visibility of Osborn's apartment, specifically his living room. He observes in silence, finding no movement, even though the lights are on.
“Where are you?” Miguel murmurs, his heart heavy as he thinks of you.
The spider moves to another window, this one displaying a bathroom. It's empty and dark. Miguel moves on to the next one, immediately spotting Harry sitting on the ground with his back against a wall. His knees are pressed to his chest, face covered by his arms. It doesn’t take longer than a second for Miguel to notice the way Osborn’s body shakes, seemingly crying by himself.
Seeing this, Miguel's eyes narrow into slits. He finds it harder to breathe as his mind goes to dark places. He immediately switches the spider back to a hologram in order to allow it to slip past the glass to gather any audio.
“I'm sorry, Peter, I'm sorry,” Harry cries, his entire body shaking. “I failed you before and I've failed you again. I hurt her… What you loved most in this world. I hurt her again — worse this time. There's no turning back now.”
“No…” Miguel barely whispers, eyes wide at Harry's words. “No, no, no… Dulzura.”
“Miguel —” Lyla starts before Miguel growls in anger and hurt.
“Ése hijo de su — [That son of]” Miguel grits out, finding it even harder to breathe now with the misinterpretation of Harry’s statement. His movement stutters when your face floods his mind. He sees you; your sweet smile and those eyes that could make him fall to his knees.
“Miguel. We need to approach this carefully,” Lyla states. “We can't act irrationally.”
“Irrationally?” Miguel snaps. “Did you not hear him? He did something to her.”
“Lyla is right,” another voice says, tearing Miguel's attention away from Lyla. He turns around, only to find every single one of your friends on the rooftop with him; from Jess, who spoke up, to Peter to Noir to Margo.
“Lyla informed us.” Peter clarifies. “We came as soon as we got the message.”
“I see.” Miguel doesn't even care Lyla sent for backup despite his preference from earlier. The situation has changed now and everyone is needed. “I'm going in,” Miguel states.
“No. You're too… Affected. We can't let things escalate,” Jess answers, using her second in command voice despite her own concerns about you.
“That man needs to be interrogated,” Miguel snaps, fueled by pain and anger.
“Not by you, though. We need someone calmer,” Hobie intercepts with a deep frown on his face. “I think some of us are more likely to act on our thoughts right now.”
With a grunt, Miguel knows exactly what Hobie means. He's a heartbeat away from simply gliding down the building’s wall with his talons and breaking into Osborn's place through the window to speak to him.
“I'll do it,” Miles volunteers, standing up straighter. “I'll say another friend and I were waiting for her and she never showed up. I'll tell him we knew she was going to spend time with him, so that's why we came to him.”
“Yes, good. I'm going in, too,” Miguel states again, but Peter shakes his head no.
“Your eyes would give you away. You're also wearing the suit. Miles and I are dressed in civilians’ clothes, so I'll go in with him. We can't let Harry see anyone dressed in their hero suits. It could expose Dulz's identity as Spider-Woman and we don't want to cause her any problems, Miguel,” Peter carefully says, attempting to drive home the idea that you're alive and well for everyone, especially Miguel.
“Please…” Miguel starts, his eyes narrowed but betraying his hurt and worry. “Go and talk to him. Find out everything you can. We need to find her.”
“I know,” Peter answers with a nod, determined. “We’ll be back.”
“Lyla, please check if Dulzura’s location has been turned on again,” Miguel commands as everyone else huddles around him to watch the live recording from the spider gadget, watching Osborn still crying.
“Her location is still unknown,” Lyla reports back.
Miguel sighs, gazing at the buildings around him and wondering where you’re at while trying to stay positive despite the circumstances. His attention turns to Harry again when he hears the door bell ring through the device, announcing Miles and Peter’s arrival.
“Get up and answer,” Jess quietly urges Osborn, betraying her own worry.
To everyone’s relief, Osborn wipes his face and stands up to check the door. Without trouble, Miguel orders Lyla to project the view from Miles and Peter’s gizmos just as Osborn opens the front door, looking confused by the two strangers.
“May I help you?” he asks with caution, his voice hoarse.
“Hey, there, buddy,” Peter starts, trying to sound like his usual friendly self, though everyone listening can tell that that’s not his real voice. “We’re sorry to bother you, but we’re Y/N’s friends. She was supposed to meet with us after she finished touring apartments with you, but she didn’t show up nor has she responded to our messages. Our other mutual friends haven’t been able to reach her either. Do you happen to know if she went somewhere else?”
“What?” Harry asks, taking a step back. “You can’t reach her?”
“No. She hasn’t reply to any of our messages,” Miles answers.
Harry sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “God, what I have done?”
“We’re just trying to figure out where she is… We want to make sure she’s alright,” Peter continues, fighting the urge to glare at Harry’s response. “Think you can tell us anything?”
Harry opens his mouth, but a voice behind Peter and Miles prevents him from saying anything just yet. “Good evening, gentlemen. Mr. Osborn has been under a lot of stress lately.”
“Who the shock is that?” Miguel mutters from the rooftop before he, along with everyone else, see the person behind the voice when Peter turns around, giving them a look through his gizmo.
“My name is Felix Kerr,” Kerr introduces himself, offering a small nod. “Forgive me for my interruption, but I went out to retrieve some food and medicine for Mr. Osborn. He’s been feeling unwell recently, you see, and today was… Not great either.”
“I see,” Peter replies simply. “We’re sorry to hear Mr. Osborn is doing unwell. We don’t mean to disturb, but we know you were the last known person to see Y/N. It’s been hours since any of us has heard anything from her.” Peter states, turning to look at Osborn again. “As stated, we want to know she’s alright.”
“Right…” Harry answers, giving Kerr a look before turning to face Miles and Peter. “Please, come in. I seem to have forgotten my manners. I’m sorry,” he apologizes, his reaction raising eyebrows at the rooftop. He seems so polite, maybe too much. “If you wish to take a seat.”
“That’s kind of you, sir, but we don’t want to overstay,” Miles answers.
“Very well,” Harry states, inhaling sharply. “I… I don’t know where Y/N is, but I know she was upset when I left her apartment because we had an argument. An argument I started.”
“About what?” Miguel hears Peter question, prompting Harry to summarize what happened back at your apartment; from his accusations to your response.
“She was angry and hurt,” Harry says, lowering his face. “I don’t know what led me to say such horrible things. I promise I care about her. I really do,” he desperately says to Peter and Miles, his eyes showing remorse and guilt. “I’m not making excuses, but I haven’t been myself lately. I don’t know how I could say such things. I failed her once more.”
“At least, he admits it,” Miguel grumbles, his hands curled in fists. He has half a mind to go downstairs and give Osborn a piece of his mind for everything he said to you, especially when he thinks about how Harry’s version is only a summary and his own perspective. He’s probably leaving out details to save face.
“If she’s not with him nor at her apartment, then where is Y/N?” Pav asks, worried.
“With her location off, she could be anywhere,” Margo answers with a defeated sigh. “Anywhere in the multiverse.”
Hearing that, Miguel lifts his face to the sky. The weight of that reality is soul crushing. You truly could be anywhere right now, all alone and hurting because of this man.
“What if… She ran away and never comes back?” Spider-Ham states from somewhere, voicing an inner fear within Miguel, before receiving a hush from Noir.
That would end him, Miguel knows that. Even when it’s just a few hours away from you, Miguel misses you.
He misses you like the moon misses its stars in a starless night.
“We will find her,” Miguel says suddenly, turning to look at everyone. “We all heard the things he told Dulzura. She’s hurting and needs us. She needs comfort, just like she has comforted us over the years when we’ve been feeling down. We must find her.”
Your friends nod, their faces expressing their worry.
With that said, everyone on the rooftop returns to Miguel’s lab to decide who will search what universe in order to avoid overlooking one. Peter and Miles join the search a bit later after successfully convincing Harry to not make a police report just yet by reassuring him that you’re likely taking some time alone due to the argument. As to Miguel, he assigns to himself all the universes that the two of you have visited together, hoping to find you himself.
Universe after universe, Miguel searches the cities. He knows it’s useless, but mentally, he calls for you; asking you to, please, return home.
Desperation courses through Miguel. It seems to grow with every passing second and even more when the others report back with no leads. He stops on a rooftop, not sure if it’s the tenth or eleventh universe, and scans the city he’s currently at. There’s so many universes…
Feeling a knot in his throat, Miguel clears his throat loudly. He won’t cry. You’ll be back. You must, right? How many times have you told him that he’s stuck with you? You wouldn't just disappear and leave your life. You wouldn't just leave him behind. You will be back.
With determination, Miguel fixes his posture and continues looking through universes. He doesn’t know how much time has passed before he suddenly receives a notification. His eyebrows furrow as he realizes it’s your location; you’ve started to share it again.
The simple sight of that fills Miguel with such a great relief, so much his hands are shaking. He quickly opens a portal to you, the universe identification number looking oddly familiar. It comes to him then, making him stop in his tracks. The universe you’re in was only discovered two days ago and it’s not just any universe. His heart sinks, understanding why you’re there: It’s the only universe, in the entire database of the Spider Society, in which a version of your Peter exists in.
A strange fear forms in Miguel’s chest with this knowledge. What if, after all these years of healing, Harry’s hurtful words impacted you so deeply that you’re thinking of doing something you shouldn’t? Miguel swallows hard as the idea sinks in.
His thoughts are interrupted a second later by another notification. It’s a message sent directly from you.
“I’m home.”
Home.
That’s all Miguel needs to know before he travels back to his universe, directly to his home. He steps out into the living room, finding it empty. When he doesn’t hear any noise from the kitchen either, he heads for the stairs, climbing four steps at a time.
In a hurry, Miguel reaches your room, finding your bedroom door slightly open, allowing a sliver of light out into the hallway. Gently, he presses his fingers against the door and pushes it open. Miguel’s face softens as soon as his maroon eyes find you at last, sitting on your bedroom floor.
You look up at him, eyes puffy from crying with an open box in front of you, the one that contains Peter’s belongings.
“I’ll let everyone know she’s safe,” Lyla says quietly, appearing from his gizmo. “And that she needs time alone, at least for tonight.”
Miguel nods, his gaze glued to you. “Dulzura,” he whispers softly.
“I’m so sorry,” you whisper back with a shaky voice. “I should’ve messaged you earlier, but I…”
“I know, Dulzura,” he answers, approaching you before dropping to his knees in front of you. The sight of your puffy eyes and visible heartache… Miguel wants nothing but to hold you in his arms and dry your tears.
“Harry…” you start.
“I know,” Miguel repeats. “We were looking for you and went to see him. Miles and Peter spoke to him. He told us what happened. A summary.”
You nod, lowering your gaze to the box. “I… I was so hurt, but also so angry. How he dared say those things to me,” you share before inhaling deeply, feeling a knot form in your throat once more.
“Rightfully so. He should’ve never said those things,” Miguel states gently, offering reassurance. “He had no right to and on top of that, he’s wrong. Everyone who knows you well, knows you love and care about Peter, just like Peter does for you from wherever he is.” Miguel scoots closer, his heart aching with and for you. “He looks after you, Dulzura. I know that. And, from everything you’ve shared with me, I know he’s more than happy to see you today like this; smiling and living your life because that’s what he wanted. Remember?”
Sniffling, you nod. “Yes. The promise.”
“The promise,” Miguel repeats, nodding. “You’ve honored part of his promise. You’re living life and making memories. You’re doing what you’ve told me before; you’re living for him, too. In his memory.”
You lift your gaze and smile softly, your eyes teary again. “Thank you for reminding me. I know he’s happy for me. He wasn’t selfish, never was, so I don’t know why Harry would say that. It made me angry… He said other things, too, and that got to me.”
“What things?” Miguel inquires.
“He asked if I was still hoping for a happy ever after with another man that wasn’t Peter,” you answer. “He asked if you and I were something else. If we were dating and if I was, if I had forgotten about and replaced Peter.”
Beside you, Miguel fights the urge to scowl. He silently wonders if Osborn expected you to remain alone forever as some sort of loyalty test to Peter when the man himself asked you a very different thing, or if it came from jealously. Could it be that Harry likes you more than a friend and sees Miguel as a threat?
Miguel swallows. That would be an unfounded jealously, at least to Miguel. You and him are only best friends. There’s no reason for Osborn to think anything else of your friendship. Then, again… The number of times you’ve been mistaken for a couple are high. Maybe that’s why Harry thinks that.
“Don’t let him get to your head,” Miguel says, his hands itching to comfort you as he watches you dry your tears.
“He succeeded,” you admit. “I wondered if it was wrong that I’m open to the idea of one day finding a man to start a life with once again, to experience parenthood when Peter didn’t get to.”
At your teary confession, Miguel’s eyes soften further. “Oh, Dulzura,” he murmurs tenderly, his own throat beginning to feel like barb wire. “It’s not wrong at all if one day you find someone. You…” Miguel continues, struggling to speak. “You of all people deserve to be happy, you hear me? You deserve happiness. Love. I know so, and I know Peter wanted that for you as well.”
“That — that means a lot to me,” you murmur, your eyes glistening. “I still… He put that thought in my head, which then led me to wonder if another version of me existed.”
Swallowing, Miguel nods. The other Peter.
“I checked in the database, I’m sorry,” you apologize. “I had to know. I needed to know. I found that there’s only one variant of me.”
“Yes,” he replies, treading carefully. “The universe was only discovered two days ago. I was trying to find a way to tell you. I… I didn’t know if it would cause you…” Miguel trails off, unsure how you feel about it, or what you’re thinking right now. He wants to ask if you saw the other Peter, if something in you has changed at the knowledge of his existence. The uncertainty is making him feel strange, in a very bad way.
“I…” you start, your tears beginning to flow more. “I’m sorry.” You apologize again, covering your face as you begin to cry harder.
The sight of you crying, your body curled inwards, and your chest heaving from such sentiment utterly shatters Miguel. He never wishes to see you like this again, ever.
Driven by his feelings, any last bit of restraint within Miguel evaporates.
One second, Miguel is kneeling by your side and the next one, he's sitting down and gently, but urgently, holding you by the arms. With care, he pulls you into him, his mind and heart determined. He makes space for you between his legs, his strong arms wrapping tightly around you.
Gently swaying back and forth, Miguel hears your crying stutter followed by a sharp inhale out of shock. Still, Miguel doesn't let go. He doesn't loosen his grip, not even just a little bit.
“Miguel —” you start in between tears.
“Shh, I'm here. I'm here. I'm here,” he whispers, feeling your head just below his chin. “I got you. Forever and always.” He whispers, his eyes threatening to spill tears. “Shhh, niña amada mía. Todo estará bien, te lo prometo [… my beloved girl. Everything will be okay, I promise].” He continues, gently trying to comfort you.
“Pe-Peter,” you manage to whisper through tears.
“I know, preciosa [precious],” Miguel whispers back, hugging you closer somehow. “I know.”
Sniffling, you pull back enough to gaze up at Miguel, meeting his maroon eyes full of understanding and tenderness. “He's… Happy,” you whisper with droplets of tears hanging off your lashes. “That variant of Peter is living a wonderful life. I'm so — I'm so happy at least one version of him got what he always dreamed about.”
At your words, Miguel's eyes soften. That's why you're crying, out of happiness that this other Peter had the privilege to live the life your own Peter always wanted with you. Tenderly, Miguel cups your face in his large and warm hands, staring at you as if you’re the very multiverse. He feels relief deep inside him, too, to know you are not sad nor bitter by this fact, which means you don't wish to interfere in this universe in any way.
“Mi Dulzura [my sweetness],” he starts, his voice steady and low. “You're the least selfish person I know, you know that?” he asks, gliding the pads of his thumbs over your skin to dry your tears. He smiles softly at you before hugging you again, comforting you.
Snuggling closer to him, you rest your head on Miguel's chest, calming down in his arms. The steady rhythm of his heart under your ear soothes you, bringing a tranquility you haven't felt all day, one unlike any other. You sigh in content, inhaling Miguel's scent. He smells wonderful as always, so warm and welcoming, and you can’t get enough of it right now.
Miguel smells like home.
Somewhere in your mind, a small thought pops inside your head. It goes as quickly as it comes to you, but you acknowledge it; you haven't come across a scent that makes you feel like this since Peter’s.
“My variant and Peter's variant are married,” you start softly, wanting to tell Miguel everything. “They have children. A boy and a girl. Have I ever told you that Peter hoped for two kids? One night we spoke about it.”
“Yeah?” Miguel answers, still embracing you while you talk. After all, some time ago you told him talking helps and as your best friend, he’ll happily listen to you talk all night long.
“Mhm… He talked about us moving to another apartment, which I toured today. It’s bigger and has two more rooms. One night, Peter mentioned two kids and how they could each have one of the rooms. How I could have a home library there.”
Miguel smiles. “Sounds like Peter had a wonderful vision,” he answers, imagining what you're saying. It was a pretty dream, a noble one to aspire. He mindlessly rubs your back, imagining you as a mother while you tell him everything about the last apartment you toured today and how you felt when you were there.
“With that already in my head and then Harry’s words… The idea weighted heavily on me; how Peter will never be my husband, have kids, or grow old. When I went to that universe, though, and saw that Peter,” you say, smiling softly. “I felt incredibly happy to see that at least one version of my Peter has the privilege of living that life. My variant, too. In another universe, we get to do the things we dreamed about. And for me, that’s more than enough,” you whisper, feeling like an invisible chain that you’ve been carrying around all these years has finally been lifted.
“You, too, will get to live it, Dulzura,” Miguel whispers. “One of these days, I promise.”
You hum in his arms, comforted by Miguel’s words and touch. Minutes pass and your tears cease. It’s uncertain how long you remain like that, but neither of you care, even when a comfortable silence falls upon you.
It’s not until much later, when your head is clearer, that your brain finally registers the reality.
You’re in Miguel’s arms.
He’s touching — embracing — you.
After years of healing and being reluctant to physical touch, Miguel is hugging you.
“Miguel,” you start softly, your grip on his bicep faltering as you suddenly remember his boundaries. What if he's internally struggling and you've been inconsiderate all this time with your crying?
The mere idea of you testing Miguel’s boundaries, even if he’s doing it out of kindness, leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Not wanting to put any more pressure on him, you begin to pull away only for Miguel’s arms to tighten around you.
He shakes his head, his arms wrapping entirely around your body, pressing you against him. “Please,” Miguel whispers, pleading. “Don't let me go just yet.”
With a smile, you hug Miguel back with the same intensity, reminding him what it’s like to be held once again.
Feeling your arms around him, Miguel sighs and rests his chin on your shoulder, his eyes shut tight. “I forgot…” he murmurs. “How wonderful it is to be held by someone — someone you cherish, care, and love.”
Your eyes open at Miguel’s words, your stomach feeling a bit fuzzy before you close them again.
Meanwhile, Miguel inhales your sweet scent and relishes your warmth. He can't think of anything better than this right now. This is perfect, this right here with you.
Every step he's taken in his healing journey has led him here. From letting his walls down to baring his very soul for your eyes only. Every tear and smile. Every moment spent in your lovely, soothing, and endearing presence. Every little moment of touching, and so much more. It's led him to this moment.
With a smile, Miguel hugs you tighter. He reminds himself to not squeeze too much, or he'll crush you, so he hugs you tight enough to make his feelings known and perhaps, to make up for all the time he's gone without receiving and reciprocating such a simple human gesture.
“Thank you,” you whisper, eyes closed, knowing you'll treasure this moment forever.
“No, thank you,” Miguel replies in a whisper. “I would've never… Been here if it wasn't with you.”
You hum, slightly shifting your head on Miguel's shoulder. Gently, you run a hand down his back, feeling his warmth and back muscles flex under your touch, making Miguel's lashes flutter in silent comfort.
Your hand tracing his bare skin…
Miguel clears his throat, mentally shoving that totally random and odd thought away. Instead, he continues to hold you in his arms like his life depends on it.
Outside, the city life goes on. The moon is high above in the sky, accompanied by its lovely stars. Moonlight filters into the room from a window, partially bathing the two of you as time passes by.
“Are you tired?” Miguel asks a while later, softly.
“No,” you answer, still in his arms. “You?”
“Not even a little bit,” he replies in a murmur, but his stomach protests, making it known he’s hungry.
Hearing the growling from Miguel's stomach, you chuckle before your own copies his.
“It seems I'm not the only one that’s hungry,” Miguel states, unwillingly loosening his arms around you. He feels you pull away enough to look up at him, smiling softly. “You haven't eaten anything, have you?”
“No,” you confirm.
“I'll make you something to eat. Come on,” Miguel says.
Since hunger calls, you pull apart from each other and stand up, needing a moment to stretch after being in one position alone for too long.
Downstairs, Miguel has you sit down because it's his ‘treat’ to cook after the day you've had. You oblige, but not before putting on one of your favorite records since you’re in a great mood now. How could you not when the day is ending on a great note? And on top of that, Miguel makes one of your comfort dishes.
After a delicious dinner, you shower and dress into pajamas before heading back downstairs. You settle down on the living room’s floor to check the messages from your friends since you reached out to them while Miguel cooked. You apologized for worrying them, but most importantly, you thank them profusely for their love and care. With a smile, you put away your gizmo with thoughts of baking sweets for everyone soon as a way to thank them.
“You came downstairs just in time,” Miguel says behind you with damp hair from his own shower, entering the living room from the kitchen.
“I did?” you ask, looking up and finding Miguel already halfway to you, carrying two mugs with café de olla. Your smile grows wider at the sight as he reaches you. Carefully, you accept the mug. “Thank you, omg,” you state, inhaling the comforting scent. “God, I love you,” you add sweetly before taking a small sip, too preoccupied with the drink to notice Miguel’s flustered face.
He gazes at you, his mug in midair while his brain experiences a ‘504 Service Unavailable” error due to your last statement. It’s your little chuckle of happiness and satisfaction after a third sip that fixes said error. He clears his throat and finally places the mug on the coffee table, his face red.
“God, I love you…”
Miguel swallows, his stomach feeling fuzzy. “You like it?” he manages to ask.
“You already know I love it,” you reply, turning to give him a look that tells him he shouldn’t even ask anymore because you’ll love it each and every time.
Miguel smiles. If only you knew that he plans on continuing to make that question, even if ten years have gone by with the two of you doing this. With a soft sigh leaving his perfect lips, he silently prays for something; he prays he has the privilege of having you in his life for longer than that time. For the remainder of his life, to be precise.
“I can hear you thinking,” you murmur, holding the mug with both your hands.
“Just thinking,” Miguel answers, picking up his own mug and trying the coffee. “Despite everything that happened today,” he starts, keeping his thoughts to himself from just now. “Did you happen to like any apartments?”
“Oh… No,” you answer with a frown, turning to face him fully. “There were some pros everywhere, but also a lot of cons.”
With a laugh, Miguel turns to face you directly as well, crossing his legs to scoot closer to you. “I think it’s going to take some time, perhaps. You have lived in one place for so long. You’re used to the area and the style of the building.”
“I know. Or, do you think I’m being too picky?” you question, tilting your head slightly.
“You? Picky? Never,” Miguel answers with a teasing tone.
“Ah, I see,” you reply, slowly smiling at him as he chuckles.
“In all seriousness, you have the privilege to think about it. You don’t need to rush yourself into a lease, if your heart is not on it.” Miguel hums, gazing at you. “You already know, my home is your home. Besides… You’re already, basically, well…” He clears his throat. “We’re basically full on roommates at this point. And, you insist on contributing financially while still paying rent over there. I was actually thinking, if you want…”
You raise an eyebrow at Miguel’s words, getting an idea of where he’s going.
“Well, I was thinking… If maybe, you would consider — to save your money — moving in one hundred percent,” Miguel finally says, coming out with it. “Only if you wish to, of course. I’m only making the suggestion, so it’s something you can think about.”
“Oh…” you simply say, thinking about it. Silently, you wonder if it’d be okay; to not have a place at your own universe, or if it’d bring you problems in the future.
“Take your time. Just think about it, okay? You don’t have to do it. I understand if you still wish to have a place at your universe. I’m only worried about you spending twice when I have the means to handle everything financially. I don’t wish for you to be spending your money in both places,” Miguel says. “And, if you ever need money, you can count on me. Please know that. Although, I have a feeling you’d be stubborn about accepting my support.” Miguel takes a sip and smirks softly when he sees you raise an eyebrow, trying to deny your stubbornness. “Yes, you would. I know you.”
You sigh, playfully rolling your eyes before thinking about his offer again. “Fair enough. I will think about it, okay? Thank you for… Making that offer.”
“It’s an invitation,” Miguel clarifies, making it known that there wouldn’t be any expectations legally wise, or of any other kind. “Think about it, yes? You let me know what you decide. Either way, I’ll be here with you.”
With a smile, you nod, remembering his words from earlier when he first held you. You recall his emotion when he told you he’s here for you; that he got you, forever and always. Still smiling, you take a drink from your mug. “Hey, how about we work on a puzzle?”
“I think that’s a good idea,” Miguel replies with a grin, placing his mug on the coffee table before pulling the piece of furniture closer to the two of you. “Which one should we do?”
An hour later of working on a puzzle, you both groan softly and fix your postures, exhausted from slumping over the coffee table.
“I think we need a little break,” you say with a laugh, leaning back against the couch.
“I second that,” Miguel answers, leaning back as well. He turns to look at you and smiles at the sight of you simply sitting there in your pajamas, looking incredibly endearing.
With a soft hum, you briefly think about Harry. You’ve tried not to think about him or the argument after Miguel hugged you, so you haven’t truly processed the situation. You’re uncertain if he will try to contact you again and if you will even deem it worth it to listen to him.
You push the thought away. Right now, you don’t want to think about that. You put all of that aside and cherish the now, or more specifically, you cherish the company from your best friend. Yes, your best friend, who you’ve known for years now, not three mere seconds like Harry said.
With a soft sigh, Miguel rests his head on the cushions. He smiles softly and gazes at you again, noting that look you always get when you begin to get sleepy. “Sleepy?” he asks, already knowing the answer. No.
“Hm? Oh, no,” you answer with a small grin, resting your head as well.
“I figured,” Miguel replies turning to look at the ceiling, knowing it’s actually a matter of time before you doze off. He wouldn’t be surprised, especially after the day you’ve had.
“May we stay here a little while?” you ask softly, not wanting to leave his presence despite the day catching up to you little by little.
“We can stay all night, if you want. Just like this,” Miguel murmurs a minute or two before he feels your head rest on his bicep. He glances down, finding you already asleep. Carefully, Miguel lifts his arm to let you slip into his side before respectfully wrapping it around you. He remains awake for a while, long enough that he hears the gentle pitter-patter of rain against the windows. “Duerme, niña amada mía [sleep, my beloved girl],” he whispers softly.
Previous ⋅ ♡ ─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ── ♡ ⋅ Next
A/N: Hiii, my lovely pookies!! THEY HUGGED!! 🗣 I repeat, THEY HUGGED! 🗣🗣
I've been waiting for this day for forever, like everyone else! I didn't plan on taking so long to update, but it's kind of cool how the opportunity to post it today was given, considering today is two years since this story started.🥹
I don't want to ramble too much, but given it's two years of this fic and me joining the fandom here on Tumblr, I just want to say thank you for still reading! 🥹💖
It boggles my mind how I'm actually still writing this fic that two years ago, I was unsure about sharing. On top of that, the original plan was for there to only be four-ish chapters. Now, there are twenty more chapters than originally planned, and we're officially past the 400k word mark (I told you guys to take my keyboard away so many times 🤣).
I almost forgot, too, that the first chapter was untitled because I suck at coming up with titles for my works (you'd think over ten years of writing would help, but no). It was until I heard the song "Nonviolent Communication" from the ATSV album for the first time that I fell in love with the idea of that as a title for this work. It felt right and captured Miguel so beautifully, so the fic finally got its title before the second chapter was posted. I wonder if anyone currently reading was here for that lol.
Either way, this fic truly grew into something more than I planned, and I'm deeply proud of it. It's not perfect by any means, but if it has brought even a little bit of happiness and comfort to you like it has for me, that's more than enough for me!
I know my updates have been nonexistent this year and I'm truly sorry about that. To put it simply, I lost inspiration to write due to everything going on around the world. I suddenly felt a spark earlier this month and finally started to write again little by little each day until I found my groove once more. With that said, I seriously look forward to updating again and completing Nonviolent Communication.
I can't say for sure how many updates there are left because once I'm writing, I get into it and things change (the way an author's story changes over years of writing and editing a book before it's finally published, hehe; not to say this story will take another whole year to be completed, but simply that the number of chapters may increase), but please know that I intend on completing this story, which has been so kind and healing to me in ways you can't imagine. 🥹
Alright, that's enough of my yapping. Thank you so much for reading, pookies! I truly hope you enjoyed this chapter and that I didn't dissapoint. And finally, happy two years of Nonviolent Communication! 💕
Alondra❤️
p.s. THEY HUGGED! Miguel didn't want to let go? 😭 The sweet nicknames? Their stomachs feeling fuzzy? Someone hold me, please! Also, Harry... 😐Should we forgive him?
Taglist: (post about this will be made soon, keep an eye out for it!)
@loverlorn @saturnknows @d1lf-loverrr @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick
@arithestrawberry @scaleniusrm @haradasaya @spidermanismyfav
@bitchykittenconnoisseur @thecraziestcrayon @obi-mom-kenobi
@natsury-kazuki @coraline750 @edgycatx @safixiovi @sunnyx07
@nxrdamp @rorel1a @oceanstar19 @happishark @carmilla01
@somebodyelsethanyouthink @adora-but-ginger @angie2274
@vampi-amora @tired-writer04 @plzfeedmebread @shadow-pancake9
@tynakub @faretheeoscar @giulscomix @luvstuffies
@coffeeauthorvibing @lauraolar14 @bl0osclues @pinkiemme
@lil-cinn @mashiromochi @loveletterfrommwah
@muzansucker @theleftkittycollection
@kikookii @www-interludeshadow-com @holographicang3l
@aisyakirmann @bucky-to-my-barnes @geraskier-thots
@l3laze @yujyujj @taylorsmakingfuckingmacandcheese
@damhanallagorm @heyohalie @kaliuea @moonsua1
@darksidescorner @geminis93 @1800-get-alife
@hrrtkreuz @oharasfilipinawife
@dropyoursocksandgrabyourcrocss @may4ri @t4naiis
@f1-hoff @llumetrii
@nina-from-317 @kavimoo @heubstr
I missed NC Miguel so bad!🥹🥹
Bedtime Story
NEW NONVIOLENT COMMUNICATION FAN ART ALERT @greensagephase SHAKING YOU VIOLENTLY
this is the first full rendered piece i’ve drawn in five months i hope it’s properly devastating for everyone. i’m trying to get another drawing for NC started rn that’s equally if not more devastating so stay tuned for that 😘 anyways chapter 17 is so fucking devastating this is my payback in combination with the other drawing that i am contemplating evil plotting the BEASTS and DEMONS are getting me gawd damn it. i need to squeeze miguel and chew on him like a squeaky toy esp in NC he’s so sad i just wanna hold him and comfort him but also like maaybe blow him up??? sick and twisted but that’s just how i am… heh
i’m so sorry i need to stfu this is like the longest rant i have ever posted i think okay bye im gonna disappear into the art void for a few days again probably okay bye
i can imagine him in the middle of a groove and then he gets caught PROBABLY NOT SUPER IN LINE WITH HIS CHARACTER BUT I LOVED TO THINK OF IT. SUPER GOOFY,,,
that record player giving him the spirit of dance !!!! @greensagephase
Therapy Speak Weaponized, Part 1: "Feelings aren't facts."
Intro to this series
Okay. I'm starting with one you might not immediately think is relevant to you if you haven't personally misused this phrase, but the impacts of its misuse are pretty huge and absolutely everyone can benefit from its appropriate use as an actual communication skill, so I hope you'll at least read some of it, and maybe reblog it for others to learn from.
The way you've heard it used: "Feelings aren't facts, so your feelings are wrong, they have no place in this discussion, and I don't care about them."
What this does: Shuts down discussion and implies the idea that feelings have no place in communication. Condescending, dismissing. A retort used to end a conversation.
You might also think it's meant to be used as a sort of silent affirmation to tell yourself to simply "stop" feeling an inconvenient emotion.
This is not what it means! In fact, this is pretty much the complete opposite of how it's meant to be understood and used. And it hurts the people who were supposed to use it to improve how they relate to others.
Let's get a few things cleared up, and then I'll tell you why knowing this should matter to you, and why the social media era that has misused it actually makes it more relevant than ever to the average person.
"Feelings are not facts" was never intended to be used as a retort to another human expressing their feelings. It is not meant to be the end of a discussion.
It was never meant to be used as a slogan without being followed by the action taught alongside it in counseling. Affirmations without action are meaningless. They do not teach us anything about ourselves or others, and they do not work.
It was never intended to promote downplaying, concealing, or suppressing one's feelings about a person or situation. Concealing and suppressing your feelings or berating another person into doing the same is not a part of any psychological or behavioral therapy.
"Feelings aren't facts" isn't a standalone statement! It's shorthand for this:
"Even though I feel angry/scared/hurt/suspicious/anxious/ignored/etc, I know that my feelings do not necessarily reflect the facts."
Reminding yourself is not the entire work, either! The next step is to apply it so it actually means something.
The application is: "So, I'm going to try to learn what the facts are, instead of acting upon those feelings first."
What this does: It STOPS catastrophizing. That's it. That's what it's for.
It derails the cycle of rumination. It tells you that even though you feel, you do not know, and that both are key to what your reaction should be.
It means that instead of acting out on the worst conclusion, you seek clarification. It means you communicate. It means you ask instead of accuse or assume. It is an emotional maturity skill and a social skill!
It's often taught to people with varying types of anxiety disorders, for improving their social relationships. That's who it is for, and who is being hurt by its misappropriation.
Now, stay with me here even if you are not one of those people, please, because this isn't just a tool for people in therapy.
The message behind it is also foundational to one of the most common pieces of advice in conflict mediation and resolution, which is to always try to use "I feel..." statements instead of "You are..." statements.
What does that mean? It means acknowledging and naming your feelings in a productive way instead of a hostile one. It honors the impact of your feelings and also opens a dialogue instead of making an assumption of wrongdoing.
"I feel ignored" vs the accusation "You are ignoring me"
"Are you mad?" vs the accusation "Why are you mad?"
It's a crucial communication skill for every single person in this world, but unfortunately it's usually only taught to people who are in counseling because they're already having a fight or they already know they have a problem with acting too quickly on feelings and beliefs.
I'll tell you what, though. You almost certainly have that problem, too, and in a world where a lot of communication happens through text, which inherently leaves a LOT of room for misinterpretation, this can mean the difference between friendships lasting or breaking.
Stop assuming you have all the information you need to judge, rebuke, or dismiss someone.
You can acknowledge emotional impact while admitting that you're uncertain of the other person's intent.
I'm begging you: get comfortable with asking questions about other people's feelings and intentions and genuinely wanting an answer so that a resolution can happen.
Now, based on personal experience, there's something else I gotta tell you, because they do NOT tell you this part when they teach you the first: It doesn't matter how well you've absorbed this skill or how consistently you use it if the people you're talking to haven't also learned it. I've found time and time again that people who don't use questions or "I feel" statements also don't respond well to receiving them, and to me they're some of the most terrifying people to try to communicate with, even when they're a person I really like and want to have a better relationship with. It's possible to tell someone your entire thought process, from "this made me worry but I realize I might be wrong so this is why I'm asking instead of assuming" to "and if something is wrong I want to know so I can fix it because this matters to me" and some people will still come back with outright anger and accusing you of hostility. It is terrifying when the tool you've learned to overcome your fears just makes people angrier.
So I'm also begging you to get comfortable with being asked questions that are seeking to clarify your feelings or intentions.
The fact that they're asking instead of assuming shows both a desire to understand and a willingness to trust. Be appreciative of that and reciprocate it.
"My feelings about you are real, but they may not be based in fact" is about reconciliation, emotional regulation, and communication. Please stop using it to mean something else.
lately whenever someone comes at me sideways online, or more often, when i see a public post or exchange that denigrates me or my interests, and that shit starts to make me seethe, i take a deep angry breath and painstakingly remind myself that "every criticism, judgment, diagnosis, and expression of anger is a tragic expression or an unmet need" (ty marshall rosenberg).
then i look at my little list of universal human needs and imagine how the interlocutor in question might be speaking from a place of one of those unmet needs until i calm down
works pretty well so far
For the love of Destiel
On AO3 by nightraven777
Chapter 16
Nonviolent Communication
A day later, Dean was confined to the safety of his room to give ample time for his wounds to heal- under Cas’s orders. Begrudgingly, he sat in bed with his legs crossed, head propped up with one hand next to where his laptop rested, screen lit up with Sam’s overly-zoomed-in face. They’d been talking for fifteen minutes or so already, and Dean was getting irritated with the fluctuating temperature in his room because he was too lazy to get up and fix the damn thermostat. And all he’d done in the said time was complain about Cas coddling him.
read on here:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/64390411/chapters/211372461
Update on this post
The more I think about the decision I'm making, the more solidified I feel about it. It feels right, and I trust myself to make this final call.
I'm sending the text tomorrow.
