@nightbins : you've really held onto some anger.
frayed threading told it's own story, wear and tear on the knuckles, precise contact points where he'd made it fairly clear where his intentions lie. blunt and heavy windups with no muscle recoil, simple and straightforward while the wrenching in his gut served as a power source. this was the spider any evildoer with some sense ought to be afraid of: the one who had nothing to say, only fists to throw. despite begrudging success and temporary release of aching adrenaline, the comedown felt the worst of it all. especially when someone else was watching.
he wanted to be annoyed at the straightforward observation, though peter knew better. he would've said the same thing. the back of his hand swept over bloodied lip, teeth sank into the inside to dull the sting.
" i don't- " i don't know what you're talking about. it sat just at the tip of his tongue with no way out. there was as much shame on his shoulders as there was regret. such a prominent release of power had lead him in the right direction, but at what cost? " no one likes to just say hi anymore? " inward mutter, he had yet to truly look at the shadowed figure, broken lenses to domino mask. quieted thwip, silk wrapped itself around probably done for wrist. rotating it, he was satisfied with temporary fix before finally turning his head over one shoulder to speak. " y'wouldn't happen to have any ibuprofen on ya, would you? "