[wersies]

✷ GIRLS JUST WANNA HAVE FUN ! klara ノ klari , eighteen , european , s!her , spiderman’s black cat ❤︎

[wersies]

WILLING AND ABLE peter parker x f!reader

“I wish you could know me and I wish I could known you much more sometimes.” or You don’t remember Peter Parker. He remembers everything. Now he has to decide whether to (try to) become part of your life again—or let you go for good.

warnings : romance, angst, pre-brand new day! peter; poorly written action & spoiler-free (I hope so). yearning, unresolved feelings from the past, undertones of depression, grief, kinda obsessive behavior/stalking?, alcohol use, profanity, head injury; hospitalization, mention of being in coma.

word count : 13.8k

soundtrack : willing and able by noah kahan , we hug now by sydney rose , what if i call by alex crichton , about you by the 1975 , orbiter by noah kahan , do i wanna know? by hozier.

It had been four years since the spell, and Peter had learned to accept a lot of things.

He had accepted that his life would never go back to the way it was. That the world would keep moving, even if he felt like a part of him had been left behind. He had accepted that his name meant nothing to the people who once knew him, that the memories he shared with them existed only in his own head, and that there was no way to get them back without destroying the peace he had given them.

He had even accepted that Spider-Man had become the biggest part of who he was.

Because, in a way, Spider-Man was New York City.

He was the guy who swung between skyscrapers, stopped criminals, helped strangers, and gave people hope when they needed it most. Everyone loved Spider-Man. They saw him as a symbol, as someone who would always show up when things got bad.

The funny thing was, the person who needed saving the most was Peter Parker himself.

But he had gotten used to that too.

He had gotten used to being alone. To coming home to a small shithole apartment after patrol. To eating dinner in silence. To having no one to text after a bad night or no one waiting for him when he came back bruised and exhausted.

Being a hero meant losing things.

Peter knew that. He had accepted almost everything.

Almost.

Because there was still one thing that haunted him more than anything else.

You.

Ned. MJ. His old life. The people he had lost.

But mostly you.

Because unlike everyone else, Peter knew exactly what he had lost. He remembered every conversation, every laugh, every stupid little moment that meant nothing to anyone else but everything to him. He remembered the way you looked at him before everything changed. The way you always believed in him, even when he struggled to believe in himself.

You were the person he loved.

And the worst part was that he never really told you.

High school Peter Parker was always convinced there would be more time. More time after the next bad guy. More time after the next crisis. More time when things finally calmed down.

He always thought he could tell you tomorrow.

But tomorrow never came.

Even after four years, Peter still found himself doing the same thing.

Lying on his bed late at night, staring at the ceiling for a little too long before eventually reaching for his phone. He never really meant to do it. It always started as something harmless, just checking the time or replying to a message he probably didn’t need to answer.

Then somehow, he would end up on Ned’s Instagram.

Ned had posted a lot over the years. Videos from his and MJ’s first year of university, random moments between classes, graduation pictures, and little memories Peter knew he would have loved to be part of. He watched them all, sometimes more than once.

He saw Ned and MJ laughing together, celebrating things Peter wasn’t there for. He saw moments that felt so normal, so ordinary, and somehow that made them hurt even more.

Because Peter could picture himself there.

He could imagine sitting next to them, making some stupid comment that would annoy MJ, laughing at one of Ned’s jokes, complaining about assignments, pretending he wasn’t secretly enjoying every second of it.

A normal life.

The one he was supposed to have.

And then there was you.

Honestly, Peter didn’t know much anymore.

You had always been private on social media, even before everything happened. You never posted every detail of your life unlike Ned, never shared too much, and Peter used to love that about you. You had this way of keeping parts of yourself just for the people who mattered.

Now, it meant there was almost nothing for him to find.

The only thing he knew came from Ned, from the few times your name came up in conversation.

You went to Oxford. Your dream school.

Peter remembered how often you talked about it. The way your face would light up whenever you mentioned it, the way you had already planned everything before you even got accepted.

And you made it.

You actually got everything you wanted. At least someone was living their dream life.

That night was the same as every other night. 3:22 a.m.

Peter was lying on his bed, phone in his hand, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram even though he knew he should have been sleeping, but sleep never came easily anymore.

Not when his mind was always louder than anything else.

His thumb moved automatically until a new notification appeared. Ned had posted a new reel. Peter clicked on it instantly. It was almost pathetic how fast he did it.

The video loaded, and there was Ned, smiling at the camera with a grin that was somehow even bigger than usual.

“Hey guys!” Ned said, sounding way too excited for it being so late. “I know I’m posting this super late, but something really special happened today.”

Peter stared at the screen, barely blinking.

Ned laughed a little before continuing. “Or, to be more exact, someone special came back home!”

Peter immediately sat up.

The tiredness that had been weighing on him seconds ago disappeared completely. His entire body went still as he watched the screen, suddenly feeling like he was back in high school again, waiting for something important to happen.

Then Ned turned the camera.

And there you were.

Peter forgot how to breathe.

You looked the same.

But somehow, you looked different too. Older. More confident. Like life had continued moving without him. But your eyes were the same. The same warm, familiar eyes that Peter had spent years trying not to think about too much.

The same eyes that had looked at him like he was someone worth believing in.

“Y/n!” Ned called out from behind the camera.

You turned around, laughing as you walked into the frame.

Then MJ appeared beside you, and suddenly it was the three of you together again.

Ned, MJ and you.

A version of his life that only existed in old memories now.

“Hey guys!” you laughed.

Peter felt something in his chest tighten.

It was such a normal moment. Just a simple video of friends being happy.

But to him, it felt like watching a life he was supposed to be living.

“Y/n finally came back from uni!” Ned announced proudly. “And listen, guys… this girl graduated from Oxford!”

You immediately looked embarrassed, laughing as you shook your head.

“I did!”

Peter smiled slightly without even realizing it.

Then you looked at the camera, suddenly confused. “Wait, who are we even recording this to?”

MJ laughed beside you. “That’s just what Ned likes to do. So probably to nobody.”

“Shut up, MJ!” Ned protested. “Someone definitely watches these!”

Peter froze.

Because someone did. He had watched every single one.

Every video. Every update. Every tiny piece of a life he was no longer part of.

But now you were back.

Back in New York. Back in the same city as him—his city.

And for the first time in four years, Peter allowed himself to wonder something he had stopped letting himself think about.

Maybe there was still a chance. Not for things to go back to the way they were. He knew they couldn’t. Too much had happened. Too much had changed. But maybe…Maybe he could meet you again. It probably wasn’t the safest thing to do, but Peter never feared danger. He was Spider-Man, after all.

Patrol usually helped.

Most nights, it was enough to drown out the thoughts. Swinging through the city demanded too much focus to think about everything he’d lost. There were always people to help, cars to stop, robberies to interrupt, cats to rescue from places they had absolutely no business climbing.

It was easier to be Spider-Man than Peter Parker.

Tonight had been quiet, though.

Almost suspiciously quiet.

Peter had just finished stopping a convenience store robbery in Hell’s Kitchen and was making his way back toward Queens. It was well past midnight, the streets below calmer than usual, lit only by the glow of traffic lights and the occasional taxi.

He landed on the cornice of a building overlooking the city, letting his legs dangle over the edge. For once, there was nothing demanding his attention. No police sirens. No cries for help. Just New York stretching endlessly beneath him.

His thoughts drifted to you. They always did eventually.

You had only been back in the city for a few days, yet somehow you were all he could think about. He wondered how you were settling in after four years away. Whether Oxford had lived up to everything you’d dreamed it would be. Whether coming back to New York felt like coming home, or if it felt different now.

He wondered what your plans were.

If you had already found a job. If you were planning to stay in the city for good. Then, against his better judgment, another thought slipped into his mind.

Did you have a boyfriend?

The question made his stomach twist.

You’d been gone for four years. Of course it was possible. More than possible—it was normal. You had moved on with your life, met new people, built a future that had nothing to do with Peter Parker.

You deserved that.

Still, he couldn’t stop himself from wondering. He let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head at himself.

It didn’t matter. None of it did.

You didn’t remember him, and he had promised himself years ago that he wouldn’t interfere with the life the spell had given you.

He was just… curious.

That was all. Or at least, that’s what he kept telling himself.

The sound came before his spider-sense.

Tires screeching against asphalt.

Peter’s head snapped toward the intersection just in time to see a pair of headlights cutting through a red light. Too fast. Way too fast.

There was someone in the crosswalk.

His body moved before his mind did.

A web shot from his wrist, catching the side of a nearby building as he threw himself forward. The city blurred around him, wind rushing past his mask as he dropped toward the street. The driver wasn’t slowing down.

“Come on…”

He hit the ground running.

One arm wrapped tightly around the pedestrian’s waist while the other shielded them both from the impact with the pavement. Peter twisted instinctively, making sure he took the fall instead. They rolled across the sidewalk just as the car sped past, missing them by inches before disappearing into the night.

For a moment, all Peter could hear was his own heartbeat.

He pushed himself onto one elbow immediately.

“Hey,” he said quickly. “Hey, are you okay?”

The person beneath him was breathing too fast, hands shaking as they stared blankly at the empty road.

“I…” Your voice caught in your throat. “I didn’t… I had the light…”

“I know.”

“I-I looked both ways.”

“I know,” Peter repeated, softer this time.

You were beginning to panic.

Your breathing became quicker with every second, your eyes fixed on the intersection as if you were still watching the car come toward you.

“It almost—”

“It didn’t.”

“But it—”

“It didn’t.”

Peter carefully moved back just enough to give you some space, keeping his voice as calm as he could.

“Look at me.”

You did.

“You’re okay.”

You swallowed.

“You didn’t get hit.”

A shaky breath.

“You’re on the sidewalk.”

Another breath.

“You’re safe.”

Slowly, your shoulders began to relax.

Peter stayed exactly where he was, waiting until your breathing settled. He’d talked enough terrified people through panic attacks to know rushing never helped.

“There you go,” he murmured. “Just breathe.”

You nodded weakly.

“Thank you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No…” You let out a nervous laugh that sounded more like relief than amusement. “I would’ve… I would’ve died.”

Peter’s chest tightened. “You didn’t.”

Silence settled between you.

Finally, you looked up at him properly. Peter did the same and the world stopped.

You.

It was you.

Every thought disappeared from his head. Your face. Your eyes.

The tiny scar near your eyebrow that you’d gotten in sophomore year after tripping over Ned’s backpack.

He knew every part of you.

It had been four years since he’d been this close. His breath caught beneath the mask. All he wanted—all he had wanted for four years—was to reach out and touch your face just to know you were real.

To pull you into a hug and never let go. To tell you that he missed you. To kiss your forehead the way he’d imagined doing a thousand times but never got the chance to.

He wanted to tell you your name. Tell you his.

Tell you everything. But he couldn’t. Because none of those things belonged to him anymore. Not when you looked at him with the same grateful smile you’d give any stranger who had just saved your life.

Not when, to you, he was only Spider-Man.

Peter suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“…You…” escaped his mouth before he could stop it.

You tilted your head.

“What?”

He stared for one second too long before forcing himself to look away.

“You…” His voice cracked slightly. “…should be more careful.”

It sounded stupid. He knew it the second he said it.

You blinked, then gave him a sheepish smile.

“I’ll be more careful.”

Peter nodded quickly.

“Good.”

He pushed himself to his feet before he could do something he’d regret. His hands were trembling. He wanted to help you stand. He wanted to hold your hand just a little longer.

Instead, he took a step back.

“I- I should… go.”

“I didn’t even thank you, ” you said with a small laugh, still trying to recover from the shock.

Peter’s heart broke all over again.

If he stayed another minute, he’d forget every promise he’d made to himself.

He’d tell you everything.

So he fired a web toward the nearest building.

“Take care of yourself,” he said quietly.

Before you could answer, he was already gone.

He didn’t stop swinging until he was three blocks away. Only then did he land on a rooftop, pulling off his mask as he tried to steady his breathing.

His hands still shook.

Not because of the near accident.

Because, for the first time in four years, he’d held you in his arms.

And for one impossible moment… it had almost felt like nothing had changed. Until he’d looked into your eyes and remembered the truth.

You weren’t his anymore.

It started like every average Monday.

Peter went to his usual flower shop, the same one he visited every week to buy flowers for May. Or, well, what was left of her.

A name on a tombstone.

He’d gotten into the habit after she died. He didn’t really know why he kept doing it. Maybe because it was the only thing he could still do for her. Maybe because buying flowers felt better than doing nothing. Either way, every Monday, he came here.

He walked slowly through the store, looking over the flowers while trying to decide what to get this week. Roses were too much. Daisies felt too cheerful. He was considering tulips when a familiar voice reached him from somewhere down the aisle.

Peter froze.

He knew that voice.

He turned his head.

You. Again?

For a second, he just stood there. Then he blinked, almost afraid you’d disappear the moment he looked away.

You didn’t.

You were still there, standing a few aisles over with your phone pressed between your ear and shoulder, one hand holding a small bunch of flowers while you looked over the different options.

Peter stared. He probably shouldn’t have.

It was becoming a problem how often he found himself doing that.

“What do you think?” you asked into the phone. “Sunflowers or lilies?”

Peter’s eyes immediately dropped to the flowers in your hand.

He wondered who you were buying them for.

A friend?

Your parents?

A boyfriend?

The thought made something unpleasant twist in his stomach.

He tried to look away and he failed.

You listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone for a few seconds before groaning dramatically.

“MJ! It does matter!”

Peter almost smiled. Of course it was MJ. You were always close.

He wondered what it felt like to have you close, to know you. To know which flowers you liked.  To know what you’d been doing for the last four years.

Peter knew almost none of that. Not anymore.

He watched as you listened again, your expression slowly becoming more annoyed.

“Okay,” you finally sighed. “I’ll take the lilies.”

You lowered your phone slightly and looked at the flowers in your hand.

Peter smiled to himself.

Lilies.

He wondered if you’d always liked them. Probably.

There were so many things he used to know about you that he didn’t anymore. Somehow, seeing you standing there arguing with MJ over flowers made that hurt more than he expected.

Because it was so normal.

You were just you.

Buying flowers on a Monday morning, talking to your best friend, completely unaware that someone three aisles away was watching you like you’d just walked out of a four-year-old dream.

He still watched you.

Peter started panicking as soon as he saw you handing the cashier the money. He quickly paid for his flowers and followed you outside.

And followed.

And followed.

Every corner you took, he took as well. Every street you crossed, he crossed a few seconds later, keeping enough distance that you hopefully wouldn’t notice him. He kept telling himself there was a reason for it, that he wasn’t doing anything that bad, but even he knew better.

“This is so wrong,” he muttered under his breath.

He should stop and he knew that. He could go home, put May’s flowers on her grave, and forget this ever happened. He could let you live your damn life and stop acting like he still had any right to know where you were going or what you were doing.

Instead, you turned another corner.

Peter followed.

“Just until she gets home,” he whispered to himself.

He immediately realized how terrible that sounded.

It sounded reasonable in his head. Safe, even. He wasn’t going to bother you. He wasn’t going to talk to you or follow you inside. He just wanted to know where you lived.

He was only making sure you got home safely.

That was what friends did, right?

Except sometimes Peter forgot that you weren’t his friend anymore.

Not because you had chosen not to be. Not because you had done anything wrong.

You simply had no idea who he was.

Peter was the only one carrying around four years of memories, the only one who still remembered the late-night conversations, the inside jokes, the almost-relationship that never got the chance to become anything more.

To you, he was just Spider-Man. You didn’t even know who he was beneath the mask. You never saw his face.

To Peter, you were the person he’d spent four years trying to forget.

Maybe that was why he kept ignoring the obvious.

Maybe it was easier to pretend you were still someone he was allowed to worry about.

“Okay,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Definitely not making this better.”

Still, he kept walking.

Peter was just starting to feel slightly less ridiculous about the whole thing when his phone suddenly buzzed.

Not just buzzed.

It practically screamed. That stupidly loud alert sound filled the air, making Peter flinch as he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket.

CRIME DETECTED—0.6 MILES AWAY.

Peter stared at the screen.

“No.”

The phone buzzed again.

MULTIPLE HOSTILES DETECTED.

“No, no, no.”

He looked up immediately.

You were still walking ahead of him, completely unaware, already turning down another street.

Peter looked at his phone. Then at you and then back at his phone.

Of course. Of all the possible moments for New York to need Spider-Man, it had to be now.

He tried to keep you in sight while his brain desperately searched for another solution. Maybe the police were already on their way. Maybe someone else could handle it. Maybe, for once, New York could survive without Spider-Man for five minutes.

He looked down at his phone again.

Then back up.

You were gone.

Peter stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looking around frantically. The crowd had swallowed you completely.

“Fuck!”

He stood there for another second, hoping you’d somehow reappear.

You didn’t.

His phone buzzed again.

Peter sighed, already reaching for the mask hidden under his jacket.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Crime first.”

A week later, Peter found himself doing it again.

He really needed to stop and he knew that. After the whole flower-shop incident, he’d promised himself he wasn’t going to follow you around anymore. It was weird. It was intrusive. And, more importantly, you didn’t even know him well enough to understand why some random guy kept appearing wherever you went.

This time, he went to the flower shop again. He’d already bought the flowers for May and visited her grave earlier than usual, so technically, he had no reason to be here. None at all.

How did he know you’d be here?

He didn’t. He just had a feeling.

Well, his spider-sense told him otherwise.

Peter casually walked into the shop, trying his best to look like a completely normal customer. He wandered over to the orchids, picking up a little card and pretending to read it while his eyes occasionally drifted toward the rest of the store.

He wasn’t looking for you. Obviously.

He was just…

Looking around.

And fuck. There you were.

Peter immediately looked away, pretending to be extremely interested in an orchid he’d been staring at for the last thirty seconds. You were behind the counter, talking to one of the employees before grabbing your bag.

Then you disappeared through a door he’d never noticed before.

A few minutes later, you came back out.

“Bye, Gwen! See you in a week!” you called, waving before walking toward the entrance.

Peter’s brain caught on one thing.

See you in a week.

A week?

You worked here.

It made sense. You’d always loved flowers. Peter remembered that much. He waited a few seconds after you left before putting the orchid card back where he’d found it.

Then he followed.

He really, really shouldn’t.

He was Spider-Man. A superhero. A guy who spent his nights stopping actual criminals. Not a stalker.

And yet, the second he stepped outside and saw you walking down the street, his feet moved after you.

He kept a reasonable distance. Probably.

You turned left, so did Peter.

You stopped to check your phone and Peter suddenly became very interested in a restaurant menu.

Then you kept walking.

Peter followed.

He could stop right now. Instead, he found himself thinking about something that felt almost normal.

He just wanted to know where his girlfriend lived.

Except…

Girlfriend wasn’t exactly the right word. You had never actually been his girlfriend. Not officially. Not really. You’d been something close to it. Something that Peter had never been brave enough to name because he’d always thought there would be more time.

A girlfriend who never got the chance to become his girlfriend.

And now you didn’t even know him.

He followed you all the way to the subway.

Peter stopped at the top of the stairs, watching you disappear through the gates, and for a moment, he finally let himself think about what the hell he was doing. He had two options now. He could leave you alone, turn around, go home, and put some distance between you again. It was the smart thing to do. The safe thing. 

You were safer without Peter Parker in your life, especially with everything that came with Spider-Man. The criminals, the danger, the constant possibility of someone finding out who he was and using the people he loved against him. And then there was Peter himself, which was probably the biggest problem of all. He had already spent four years keeping you safe by staying away from you. Maybe he should keep doing exactly that.

He took a step back.

He should leave.

He knew he should.

But then he looked down at the subway entrance again and thought about you disappearing into the crowd, going back to a life he knew nothing about. He wanted to know where you were going. Where you lived. What your apartment looked like. If you still listened to music on the way home. If you would get there safely. He told himself it was just curiosity, but even Peter knew that was a lie. He’d spent four years wondering about you, and now that you were finally back, walking away felt almost impossible.

Before he could think about it any longer, he went through the gates.

The train was already approaching, the sound of it growing louder as it pulled into the station. You were standing near the platform, looking down at your phone, completely unaware that he was even there. The doors opened, and you stepped inside.

Peter followed.

The doors closed behind him before he could change his mind.

He stood there for a second, staring at his reflection in the dark window.

“Great,” he muttered.

He moved to the other side of the carriage and sat down, making sure there were a few people between you. This was fine. Completely normal. People took the same train every day. There was nothing weird about it.

Except Peter wasn’t here because he needed to get somewhere.

He was here because you were.

He glanced over.

You had your headphones in, staring out the window as the city lights blurred past. You looked peaceful, completely unaware of the fact that Peter was sitting only a few seats away, trying to convince himself he hadn’t just crossed another line.

He should probably get off at the next stop.

Instead, he leaned back against the seat and looked at you again.

Maybe just five minutes.

Five minutes couldn’t hurt.

At least, that’s what he told himself.

The train eventually slowed down, and Peter looked up at the screen above the doors. Brooklyn.

You stood up.

Peter immediately sat a little straighter, watching as you pulled your headphones out and slipped your phone into your bag before the doors opened. You stepped onto the platform without looking back, and Peter waited a few seconds before following.

He kept enough distance between you that he could still pretend this was a coincidence if anyone asked. The station was busy, people moving in every direction as you made your way toward the exit, and Peter followed you up the stairs and back onto the street.

So, Brooklyn.

He hadn’t expected that.

You walked ahead of him, taking a left at the corner without hesitation. Peter followed, hands tucked into his hoodie pockets, trying not to look like someone who had just followed a girl across half of New York.

The streets were quieter here. The city noise faded into the background, replaced by cars passing and people talking outside bars and restaurants. Peter watched you walk for another minute before you suddenly stopped in front of an apartment building.

He slowed down.

The first thing he noticed was the music. It was loud enough to hear from outside, bass shaking faintly through the walls. People kept coming in and out of the entrance, dressed up, laughing, carrying drinks. Someone nearly bumped into Peter on their way inside.

A party. Definitely a party.

You walked straight through the entrance like you’d been here before.

Peter stared after you.

So this was where you lived? Or maybe you were just visiting.

He should leave. Obviously. There was absolutely no reason for him to go inside. In fact, there were several very good reasons why he shouldn’t. But then he looked at the crowded entrance again. A lot of people went to parties like this. A lot of unknown people.

Which meant…

Peter could be one of them. He could just walk in and nobody would know who he was. Nobody would think it was weird. He could see you again, maybe talk to you for a few minutes, and then leave.

Completely normal. Absolutely not suspicious.

Peter nodded to himself.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That’s fine.”

He walked toward the entrance.

Then stopped. “What am I doing?”

He looked up at the building, already knowing he was going inside.

The second Peter stepped inside, he realized he had made a mistake.

The music was even louder than it had sounded from outside, the bass practically shaking the floor beneath his feet. The apartment was packed, people squeezed into every possible corner with drinks in their hands, someone yelling over the music from the kitchen while another group had completely taken over the living room. Peter stood near the entrance for a second, suddenly very aware that he had absolutely no idea what he was doing here.

Some random guy walking past offered him a drink, and Peter took the red cup before continuing deeper into the apartment. At least now he looked like he actually belonged here.

He wandered down the hallway and stepped into one of the rooms, only to stop almost immediately. The room felt strangely familiar, even though Peter knew he’d never been here before.

Star Wars Lego sets were everywhere. On shelves, on desks, on the floor. Some were carefully built while others looked like they had been abandoned halfway through. There was also the usual mess that came with too many people living in one place. Clothes thrown over a chair, empty cups on the desk, random things scattered everywhere.

Peter stared at the collection for a little too long.

“Um, sorry?”

He turned around.

Ned.

Peter’s entire brain stopped working.

“Uh—um, I like your Star Wars collection.”

You fucking dumbass.

Ned looked at the set. Then back at Peter.

“Thanks?”

Peter nodded.

“Yeah.”

A pause.

He needed to say something else. Anything else.

Instead, he gestured toward the shelves.

“This is… a lot of Lego.”

Ned laughed, glancing around the room.

“Yeah. My roommates say it’s a problem.”

Peter smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah. I can see why.”

So this was where you lived. You, Ned, and MJ. Three of you.

Peter’s eyes moved around the room again.

It was supposed to be four.

For a second, he could almost picture himself here. His backpack thrown somewhere in the corner, his own Lego sets mixed in with Ned’s, all four of you arguing over something stupid while music played in the background.

But that wasn’t his life anymore.

Ned looked at him expectantly, and Peter realized he’d gone completely silent.

“What’s your name?”

Peter’s stomach dropped.

Don’t say Peter Parker.

He couldn’t risk Spider-Man’s identity, even if Ned had no idea who he was.

His brain scrambled for the first name that came to him.

“Uhh—”

He hesitated.

“Lucas.”

Ned raised an eyebrow.

“Lucas?”

Peter nodded quickly.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

Peter took another sip of his drink, trying to act like he’d just introduced himself normally instead of inventing an entirely new identity in front of his best friend.

“Nice to meet you, Lucas.”

“Yeah,” Peter said quietly. “You too.”

And somehow, hearing Ned say nice to meet you hurt more than Peter expected.

“Ned—”

Peter’s head snapped toward the doorway.

You walked in.

His entire body went still. For a second, the noise from the party seemed to disappear completely—the music, the people shouting from the hallway, the laughter coming from the living room—all of it faded into the background as Peter looked at you. 

You were wearing a small smile, clearly looking for Ned, until your eyes landed on him. The smile didn’t disappear, but your expression changed slightly as your eyes scanned him for a second too long, like you were trying to place him somewhere in your memory.

You didn’t recognize him. How could you?

Peter forced himself to breathe.

“Hey,” you said, looking between him and Ned. “Who’s this?”

Ned turned toward you. “This is Lucas. I just met him. He was admiring my Star Wars collection.”

Peter almost winced at the name. Lucas. Right. That was him now.

You looked back at Peter and gave him a polite smile. “Hi, Lucas.”

Peter swallowed. “Hi.”

God, even your voice sounded the same. He wanted to say your name. He wanted to hear himself say it again, just once, the way he used to. He wanted to tell you that he knew you, that he knew your favorite flowers and the way you took your coffee and the stupid little face you made whenever you were trying to remember something. He wanted to tell you that he’d spent four years missing you.

Instead, he took another sip from the red cup, suddenly very interested in whatever was inside it.

Ned pointed toward you. “This is Y/N.”

Peter nearly laughed.

I know.

He knew everything.

Or he used to.

“Nice to meet you, Lucas,” you said warmly.

I’m Peter.

The words were right there. He wanted to correct himself so badly. I’m Peter.

He almost said it, his lips parting before he stopped himself. Because what would happen if you knew? You’d probably just look at him the same way you’d been looking at him all night, like some random guy at a party. But Peter knew better than to take that chance.

So he forced a small smile instead. “Nice to meet you too.”

The words felt wrong coming out of his mouth.

You smiled again, completely unaware that Peter Parker was standing right in front of you, desperately trying not to tell you who he was.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything else.

A few minutes later, Peter was still standing in the same room, pretending to listen to whatever Ned was saying about one of his LEGO sets when his eyes drifted across the apartment again. He stopped when he saw you near the kitchen, talking to some guy he didn’t recognize. Peter immediately disliked him, which was ridiculous because he had absolutely no reason to. 

The guy was leaning against the counter, smiling at something you said, and you were smiling back—not the polite smile you’d given Peter earlier, but a real one, your eyes brighter as you looked at him. Then the guy said something Peter couldn’t hear and you laughed, leaning a little closer. Peter’s jaw tightened. Okay. Fine. It didn’t mean anything. You were allowed to talk to people. You were allowed to flirt with people. You were allowed to have a life. You’d spent the last four years living it without him.

He took another sip of his drink, even though it tasted awful. Maybe the guy was just a friend. Maybe they had known each other for years. Maybe they weren’t flirting at all. Peter kept telling himself that until the guy leaned closer and you didn’t move away. His stomach dropped. Right. Of course. Why wouldn’t you have someone? You’d been at Oxford, you’d met people, gone out, made memories Peter knew nothing about. 

Maybe there had been someone before this guy. Maybe there were dozens of people Peter didn’t know about. And the worst part was that he had no right to care. You weren’t his girlfriend. You weren’t even his friend anymore. You didn’t even know his real name.

Peter looked down at the red cup in his hand. Lucas. He hated that name now. He set the cup down and quietly said, “I should go.”

Ned looked over. “Already?”

“Yeah. I’ve, uh… got stuff.”

“At this hour?”

Peter shrugged, glancing toward the kitchen one last time before looking away. “Very important stuff.”

Ned laughed. “Fair.”

Peter forced a small smile and slipped out of the apartment before he could make himself feel any worse. He didn’t notice you watching him leave.

You did.

A few seconds later, you excused yourself from the conversation and followed him outside. You found him standing near the entrance, looking up at the rain.

“Lucas?”

Peter turned around.

You stood in the doorway, arms crossed against the cold.

“You leaving already?”

“Yeah.”

You looked at him for a second, almost like you were trying to figure him out. “You barely even stayed.”

Peter shrugged. “I’m not really a party person.”

You smiled. “Neither am I, honestly.”

He looked at you.

For a second, neither of you said anything.

Then you nodded toward the street. “Maybe we should hang out sometime when it’s not… this.”

Peter blinked.

“Hang out?”

“Yeah.” You smiled. “You seem nice. And I feel like I barely got to talk to you.”

Peter’s heart did something stupid.

He wanted to say yes immediately.

He wanted to say I’ve been waiting four years to talk to you.

Instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets.

“Yeah. I guess.”

You smiled wider.

“I work at a flower shop in Queens, by the way. You know, if you ever want to stop by.”

Peter almost laughed.

He knew. He knew exactly which flower shop.

“I might.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

Another awkward pause.

Peter looked toward the street.

“I should go.”

You nodded. “Okay. See you around, Lucas.”

“Yeah. See you.”

He turned before you could see the way his face changed.

The second he was far enough away, Peter ducked into a dark alley and immediately fired a web toward the nearest building.

Then he swung.

Without the mask.

He knew it was stupid. Risky. Anyone could see his face. One clear photo, one person with a good camera, and Spider-Man’s secret could be gone. He knew all of that.

He didn’t care.

Tonight, Peter didn’t have the energy to care.

The rain was coming down harder now, soaking through his clothes as he swung between the buildings. Usually, the city at night helped. The movement, the cold air, the feeling of being needed—it all gave him something to focus on.

Tonight, nothing helped.

Eventually, he landed on the edge of an empty rooftop and sat down, pulling the mask off again as the rain hit his face. He stared out over the city, thinking about the way you’d smiled at that guy, the way you’d looked at Peter when you’d first walked into the room, and the way you’d just asked him to hang out again.

You wanted to see him again. Just not Peter.

You wanted to see Lucas.

Peter laughed quietly, but there was nothing funny about it.

He’d spent years telling himself that you deserved a normal life, that staying away from you was the best way to keep you safe, and now that you were actually living one, he couldn’t stand watching it. Maybe that was exactly what he’d been afraid of. You had Oxford. You had Ned and MJ. You had friends, a life, memories Peter didn’t know about, and maybe now someone else too.

And Peter had a mask, an empty apartment, and a fake name.

Peter wiped his face, even though there was no point with the rain falling this hard, and shook his head.

“Yeah,” he muttered. “Good job, Parker.”

For once, he didn’t feel like Spider-Man.

He just felt like the idiot who had followed the girl he loved to a party, lied about his own name, watched her flirt with another guy, and then ran away before she ever had the chance to find out who he really was.

And somehow, despite all of that, you had still asked him to come back.

Peter actually showed up.

He stood outside the flower shop in Queens for almost five minutes before finally forcing himself through the door. He’d spent the entire morning telling himself he wasn’t going to come, then the entire afternoon convincing himself that if he didn’t, he’d regret it. By the time he finally got there, he’d already come up with at least twenty different reasons why this was either the best or worst idea he’d ever had.

The bell above the door rang as he stepped inside.

You looked up from behind the counter, and your face immediately lit up.

“Lucas.”

Peter’s heart skipped.

You remembered him. wWAt least as Lucas.

“Hey.”

He walked closer, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, trying not to look as nervous as he felt.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d actually come.”

“Yeah, well…” Peter glanced around the shop. “You said I should.”

“I did.” You smiled, looking down at the time on the register. “My shift ends in, like, five minutes. We could go to the park or something?”

Peter froze.

The park.

For a second, he wasn’t in the flower shop anymore.

He was five years younger, standing in almost the exact same situation, listening to you nervously suggest the same thing because neither of you had any idea what you were doing. It had been your first attempt at something that was supposed to be a date, even though neither of you had been brave enough to actually call it that. You’d both been awkward, he’d been painfully nervous, and somehow you’d still ended up having one of the best afternoons together.

And now you were offering it again. Like none of those years had happened.

Peter blinked, forcing himself back into the present.

“Yeah,” he said, a little too quickly. “Sure. Absolutely.”

You smiled.

“Okay. Give me five minutes.”

Peter nodded, watching you turn back toward the counter.

He couldn’t help the small smile that appeared on his face.

Five years ago, he would’ve done anything to get another chance at that day. He just never imagined he’d get one like this.

The park wasn’t far from the flower shop, so you walked there together. It was pretty awkward at first, not painfully so, but enough that Peter kept wondering if you were regretting asking him to come. In the end, you didn’t know each other. Not really. You knew his name—or at least the fake one he’d given you—and that he’d somehow ended up at your party, but that was about it.

“So… you’re from there? I mean, Queens?” you asked, glancing over at him.

“Yeah. I actually walk around your flower shop daily. But I was never there.”

Liar.

Peter went there every week. Every Monday, usually. He’d been buying flowers for May there for years, long before he’d ever seen you working behind the counter.

“Shame,” you laughed. “We’ve got the best lilies.”

Peter smiled. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. They’re my favorite.”

He already knew that. He’d watched you choose them that Monday, standing in the exact same shop he’d been visiting for years.

Before he could say anything, you suddenly looked at him with a confused expression. “Wait. If you’re from Queens, why were you at my party?”

Fuck. Say something, idiot.

His brain immediately went through every possible answer. I followed you home. Absolutely not. I saw you at the flower shop and followed you to the subway. Even worse. I got on the same train because I wanted to know where you lived. He’d never recover from that one.

“I was just visiting a friend from there,” he said quickly. “And when I was walking home, I heard the music and…” He shrugged, trying to make it sound casual. “I figured I’d check it out.”

You looked at him for a second, and Peter could practically hear his own heartbeat. Then you nodded.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That’s actually pretty random.”

Peter gave a small laugh. “Yeah. I guess it was.”

You smiled and kept walking, apparently satisfied with the answer. Peter let out a quiet breath of relief and looked ahead, trying not to think about how close he’d just come to exposing himself.

Peter broke the silence after a few minutes.

“So, are you studying something?”

Was that too suspicious?

He immediately regretted asking. He knew you had graduated from Oxford. He’d known for months. He’d seen Ned’s post. He’d replayed it more times than he wanted to admit. You laughed and shook your head. “No, no, no. Not anymore. I graduated from Oxford like a month ago.”

Peter nodded like this was brand-new information.

“Oh. That’s… impressive.”

You smiled. “Thanks. Now it’s time for adult life.”

“Sounds terrifying.”

“Yup. It is.”

You laughed, kicking a small stone out of your way as you walked. “I just miss being in high school with MJ and Ned. It was the best and strangest time of my life.”

Peter’s chest tightened.

Right.

As if he hadn’t been there too.

He’d been there for homecoming. He’d been there for your trip to Europe. Prague, when he’d finally told you the truth about being Spider-Man even though you’d already known. Venice, where everything had felt so normal for a little while. All those stupid little moments that Peter had carried with him for four years because they were some of the only pieces of his old life he had left.

But for you, he wasn’t there.

That was the part Peter still couldn’t wrap his head around. You remembered the places. You remembered the people. You remembered the feelings. You remembered being young and stupid and happy with MJ and Ned.

But there was no Peter.

He wondered what happened to the memories that included him.

Were they simply gone?

Was there just an empty space where he used to be?

Maybe you remembered standing beside someone during homecoming but couldn’t remember his face. Maybe there were moments that felt strangely familiar for no reason, little flashes of déjà vu you couldn’t explain. Maybe you’d walk past somewhere in Queens and feel like you were forgetting something, like there was supposed to be another person beside you but you had no idea who.

Peter looked at you as you continued talking, completely unaware of the questions running through his head.

When you thought about Prague, did you remember standing there with someone and talking about Spider-Man? Did you remember the way the conversation had gone? Did you remember looking at him when he’d finally told you the truth?

Or had the entire thing simply disappeared?

Had he disappeared?

Peter swallowed and looked ahead.

Maybe that was the worst part.

He didn’t know whether there was truly nothing left of him in your memories or whether some tiny piece was still there, buried somewhere you couldn’t reach.

You glanced over at him after a few seconds, your smile fading into a curious expression. “You’re so quiet.”

Peter looked at you. “Am I?”

“Yeah.” You laughed softly. “Like, really quiet. I feel like I’ve been talking this whole time.”

“Oh.” Peter looked down, suddenly a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s okay, hope I’m not annoyin—”

“No.” Peter cut you off before you could even finish. “No. Never. It’s… exactly the opposite. I like when you talk.”

The words were out before he could stop them.

Peter immediately regretted them.

Was that too weird to say? You’d known him for, what, two weeks? Less, technically. He was supposed to be Lucas, some guy you’d met at a party. A guy you barely knew. Telling you that he liked listening to you probably wasn’t exactly normal.

Oh, God.

Peter watched your expression change. You were studying him now, your eyes moving over his face like you were trying to find something you couldn’t quite name.

Then you shook your head with a small laugh.

“Sorry. I just had this weird feeling like this happened before.”

Peter went completely still.

“Stupid déjà vu,” you added, laughing like it was nothing.

Peter had no words. Everything died in his throat immediately.

It had happened before. You’d said almost the same thing years ago. You’d sat beside him, talked to him for hours, and he’d listened because he could’ve listened to you forever. You just didn’t remember any of it now.

Peter swallowed and looked away before you could see how much that had affected him.

You seemed to think nothing of it, though. After a moment, you continued, “Y’know, I hope this isn’t too personal or whatever. I just have the urge to say it to someone.”

You walked over to a nearby bench and sat down, leaving enough space for him beside you. Peter followed, sitting next to you and keeping his hands together between his knees.

“Since I came back to New York, I feel like I’m missing something.” You looked down at your hands. “I don’t know what, though. I can’t really place it. I just… feel like something is missing.”

Peter stared at the ground.

His chest felt painfully tight.

What was he supposed to say?

It’s me.

The thought came instantly.

I’m what’s missing.

But what if it wasn’t him?

What if you were talking about something from Oxford? Someone you’d met there. A friend you’d lost touch with. A life you’d left behind. Something Peter knew absolutely nothing about.

He couldn’t just assume it was him. He couldn’t make your memories about himself when you didn’t even know who he was.

So Peter stayed quiet for a moment, trying to find the safest thing to say.

“Yeah,” he finally said softly. “I know that feeling.”

You looked over at him.

Peter kept his eyes on the street ahead. Because he really did know that feeling. 

You looked at him for a second, almost like you were waiting for him to say more. Peter didn’t. The silence started to feel a little too heavy, especially after everything you’d just admitted, so you suddenly shook your head and laughed under your breath.

“Okay. Wow. Look at us.”

Peter glanced at you. “Hmm?”

“Two complete strangers sitting on a bench talking about how empty our lives feel.”

Peter let out a small laugh. “Yeah. That’s… probably not the best first hangout.”

“Definitely not.” You smiled, nudging his shoulder lightly with yours. “Okay, enough. We’re not allowed to be depressed anymore.”

Peter smiled. “Deal.”

“Good.”

You leaned back against the bench and looked up at the sky.

“So. New rule.”

“What rule?”

“No more sad conversations.”

“For how long?”

“Until at least tomorrow.”

Peter laughed. “That’s very generous.”

“I know.” You turned toward him with a smile. “Now tell me something embarrassing.”

“Something embarrassing?”

“Yeah.”

Peter immediately shook his head, laughing as he tried to think of something. His mind went through the last four years, but there wasn’t exactly a long list of funny stories to choose from. Most of his life had been filled with loneliness, patrols, bad sleep, and trying to survive one day at a time.

“Wow,” you said, watching him struggle. “Your life is really boring, isn’t it?”

Peter looked at you, offended. “It’s not boring.”

“Then prove it.”

He thought for another second.

“I once had to steal some girl’s Juicy Couture pants and a top because I woke up on the street wearing only my underwear.”

You stared at him.

Peter continued, already laughing at how ridiculous it sounded. “And when I crawled into my apartment building’s laundry room, there was some guy there, so I panicked.”

Your mouth fell open before you started laughing.

“Why did you wake up on the street?”

To be honest, Peter didn’t really remember. Probably tough night. 

You stared at him.

“Party.”

Your laughter immediately stopped.

“Wait. You said you’re not a party person.”

Peter pointed at you. “Exactly. This is the reason.”

You burst out laughing again, covering your mouth as Peter smiled despite himself.

“Then I met her in the elevator,” he added.

That was it. You completely lost it.

You leaned forward, laughing so hard you had to cover your face, and Peter couldn’t stop smiling as he watched you. He’d missed that laugh. More than he’d ever admitted to himself. He’d spent four years remembering the sound of it, remembering the stupid little things that used to make you laugh until you couldn’t breathe.

And now he was sitting beside you, making you laugh again.

You didn’t remember why he knew how but Peter did.

Peter was out on patrol when his phone buzzed with an alert.

CRIME DETECTED: MULTIPLE HOSTILES—BANK ROBBERY.

He was already moving before he even finished reading it. The bank wasn’t far, and Peter swung between the buildings, following the location on his phone. But then his spider-sense suddenly went off.

Someone was approaching the bank.

Peter looked down. You.

His stomach dropped.

“No. No, no, no.”

Of course. Of all the people in New York, it had to be you.

For a second, Peter couldn’t understand how his spider-sense had picked you out from so high above. There were hundreds of people moving through the streets below, cars, sirens, voices, everything blending together into one giant mess of New York noise. Yet somehow, the second you came close, he knew it was you. Maybe after years of knowing you, his brain simply recognized you before he even had time to think about it.

You were walking toward the bank, completely unaware of what was happening inside.

Peter didn’t even think.

He changed direction immediately, swinging lower and faster until he was directly above you.

You barely had time to look up.

“What the—”

A red-and-blue blur dropped from the sky and scooped you straight off the sidewalk.

You screamed.

Peter wrapped one arm securely around you while his other hand shot a web toward the nearest building. He swung upward, carrying you effortlessly as you clung to him in complete panic.

“WHAT THE FUCK?!”

“Sorry!”

“SPIDER-MAN?!”

“Yeah, hi!”

He fired another web and launched himself higher, away from the streets and toward one of the tallest buildings nearby.

You had absolutely no idea what was happening. You were terrified by the height, screaming and clinging to him, desperately hoping he wouldn’t drop you. Peter could feel how tightly you were holding onto him, and despite everything, some stupid part of him wanted to stay like this. He’d spent years missing the feeling of having you close to him, and now you were literally in his arms again.

Except you were terrified.

Probably not the romantic reunion he’d imagined.

Peter landed on the rooftop and carefully set you down.

You immediately stumbled away from him, breathing heavily.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“Okay, listen—”

“No, no, no! You listen!” you snapped, still clearly shaken. “Did you just kidnap me?!”

“I didn’t kidnap you!” Peter quickly raised his hands. “You were going toward that bank! There’s literally a robbery happening. Guys with guns!”

You stopped.

Your expression changed as you looked at him.

“There’s a robbery?”

“Yes. You haven’t seen all the police cars?!”

You glanced toward the streets below, then back at him, your eyebrows pulling together.

“How did you know I was going there?”

Peter froze.

Right. How did he know?

He could hardly tell you he’d seen you from half a mile away because his spider-sense had apparently decided to recognize you specifically.

“Uh…”

He desperately searched for an answer.

“Hard to explain.”

You stared at him.

“That is not an answer.”

“I know.”

“Spider-Man—”

“Just stay here, please.” Peter gestured toward the rooftop you were both standing on. “I’ll come back for you.”

You looked at him like he was completely insane.

“Wait here?”

“Yes.”

“You just dropped me on the highest building in Manhattan!”

“It’s safer than the bank!”

“That is debatable!”

Peter almost laughed. Almost. But when he looked at you, he realized you weren’t joking. You were genuinely terrified, still breathing a little too quickly as you kept glancing toward the edge of the roof.

He immediately felt bad. You hated heights.

He remembered the way you used to grab onto his arm whenever he took you somewhere high, the way you’d complain about him choosing rooftops as if there were perfectly normal places to hang out. He remembered pretending it was funny just to see you roll your eyes at him.

Peter swallowed.

“Just stay away from the edge, okay?” he said more gently. “I’ll be back.”

You stared at him, still confused and clearly unhappy with the situation.

“You better.”

Peter nodded.

“I will.”

He took a step backward toward the edge of the roof, already preparing to jump.

“Wait—”

He stopped.

You looked at him.

For a second, Peter wondered if you were going to ask him something. Maybe how long he’d be gone. Maybe how you were supposed to get down. Maybe you were finally going to demand an explanation for how he’d known you were coming.

Instead, you just looked terrified.

Peter gave you a small nod.

“Stay here.”

Then he jumped.

He shot a web toward the next building and swung away, the wind immediately drowning out the rest of the noise.

But just before he disappeared completely, he heard your voice behind him.

“I wanna go home!”

Peter winced.

Yeah.

He definitely felt bad now.

It took way longer than it should have. Peter finished the job as quickly as he could, but for you, sitting alone on that rooftop with nowhere to go, it probably felt like entire centuries. By the time he finally swung back, the sun was already starting to disappear behind the buildings, leaving the sky orange and pink above the city. 

Peter landed on the rooftop and immediately looked around for you, expecting to find you pacing, yelling at him, or maybe desperately trying to figure out how to get downstairs. Instead, you were sitting on the floor, leaning against some random pipe with your knees pulled tightly to your chest, staring at nothing. You looked deep in thought, so deep that you didn’t even react when he landed.

“Are you okay?!” Peter called, his voice coming out more worried than he intended. He immediately tried to hide it. He was Spider-Man right now. Spider-Man was supposed to be calm, confident, in control. He couldn’t sound like some worried idiot who’d just spent the entire robbery thinking about whether you were okay.

“Don’t!”

You suddenly stood up way too fast, almost losing your balance for a second. You turned your back to him, refusing to look at him.

Peter froze.

Something was going on.

He didn’t move, just watched you carefully as the silence stretched between you. You stood there with your back toward him, shoulders tense, like you were trying to figure out how to put something into words. Peter’s heart started beating harder. He’d dealt with armed criminals, supervillains, aliens, monsters, and things he still didn’t fully understand. Somehow, standing on a rooftop with you refusing to look at him was making him more nervous than any of them.

Finally, you turned around.

Your eyes immediately found his mask.

Peter’s stomach dropped.

“We knew each other,” you said quietly.

Everything inside him stopped.

You swallowed, still staring at him like you were trying to see the person underneath the mask.

“Am I right?”

Peter’s mind went completely blank.

There was no way.

There was absolutely no way you could know.

For almost half of a decade, he’d watched you live without him. You remembered Ned. You remembered MJ. You remembered high school, Europe, homecoming, Prague, Venice. You remembered all the places where Peter had once existed beside you, but somehow, when you talked about those memories, there was never a Peter in them. 

And now you were standing in front of him, looking at Spider-Man like you were trying to find someone you’d lost.

Peter forced himself to breathe. He couldn’t let you see how badly that question had affected him. He couldn’t just tell you. Not yet. Maybe you were confused. Maybe you’d seen Spider-Man before and something about him reminded you of someone else. Maybe your brain was trying to fill in a blank that wasn’t supposed to be filled.

“Why would you think that?” he finally asked, forcing his voice to sound casual. He tried to play it cool, like you’d simply mistaken him for someone else, like his heart wasn’t practically trying to break out of his chest.

You started shaking your head, almost frantically, like you were trying to make sense of your own thoughts before they disappeared again. “Because this isn’t the first time I’ve seen you. I mean—” You stopped and shook your head again, looking genuinely frustrated. “Spider-Man.” 

Peter’s stomach tightened. He didn’t say anything, afraid that even one word might make you stop talking. “I sat on this damn roof for like two hours,” you continued, gesturing around you. “And I started realizing things. You saved me and my friends in high school. More than once.”

Peter’s heart dropped.

Damn.

Did that mean you remembered Spider-Man being there the entire time? The whole time you’d been talking about high school, the spell had somehow left Spider-Man in your memories while completely removing Peter from them.

How did that even work?

Peter didn’t know whether to feel relieved or completely devastated.

Because if you remembered Spider-Man, then you remembered him without knowing it was him. You remembered the mask. Just not the boy underneath it.

“Washington Monument,” you continued, counting them off on your fingers. “Prague. Venice. London.” You paused, looking at him more carefully. “Once is a coincidence. Maybe twice. But four times?”

Peter’s throat felt dry.

“And you saved me from that car weeks ago,” you added.

He stared at you through the mask.

You remembered. Not him.

But Spider-Man.

All those moments he’d assumed were gone were still somewhere in your head. You remembered being saved. You remembered the feeling of Spider-Man being there, even if you had no idea that the person behind the mask had been the same boy you’d once loved.

Peter swallowed hard. But before he could say anything, you spoke again, your hands moving as you tried to explain something you clearly couldn’t quite put into words.

“And I can’t help myself, but you sound so familiar. You feel so familiar.”

Silence fell over the rooftop again.

Peter didn’t know what to do with that.

He’d imagined hearing you say something like that. He’d imagined you remembering his voice, remembering the way he talked, maybe remembering some tiny piece of him. But now that it was actually happening, he couldn’t move.

You took a small step closer.

“Take off your mask. I think I deserve to know who saved me.”

Peter’s heart stopped.

“I can’t do that—”

“Take. Off. Your. Mask.”

Your voice was firmer this time, but there was something underneath it. Almost pleading. You weren’t trying to threaten him. You were looking for an answer, desperately trying to understand why this stranger felt so familiar.

“Please.”

Peter stared at you.

He should say no. He knew he should. The mask was the only thing keeping this simple. As long as it was on, he was Spider-Man. He could be the person you remembered without having to deal with the fact that the person underneath it was the one you had forgotten.

But maybe…

Maybe seeing his face would bring something back. Maybe you’d look at him and suddenly remember. Or maybe you’d just see Lucas.

Maybe you’d stare at his face and feel absolutely nothing, and Peter would have to watch the realization settle in that he really was just some stranger you’d met a few weeks ago.

Either way, he couldn’t keep lying to you while you stood there begging for answers.

Peter slowly reached up.

His fingers caught the edge of the mask.

For a second, he hesitated.

Then he pulled it off.

The cool evening air hit his face immediately, and Peter looked at you for the first time without anything between you.

He didn’t say a word. He just stood there, waiting.

“You—Lucas?”

That was all you managed to say as you took a small step back.

Peter’s heart sank. Lucas.

His face didn’t mean anything to you. Not really. Whatever you had felt when you looked at Spider-Man, whatever strange sense of familiarity had been pulling at you, apparently disappeared the second you saw the face underneath the mask. To you, he was still Lucas. Just Lucas.

“Look, Y/N. I can explain.”

Peter finally spoke, but the words came out rushed and messy. He didn’t know where to start, and suddenly four years of silence felt impossible to fit into one conversation.

“We—we—we were together, okay?” He swallowed. “I mean, not really. Not officially, I guess, but… we loved each other. At least, I think we did. And I hope you did too.”

You just stared at him.

Peter kept going because stopping felt even worse.

“We went to high school together. With MJ and Ned. You knew me. I knew you. We were… us.” He shook his head, trying to get the words out properly. “And I know this sounds completely insane, but something bad happened, okay? I had to save the world, and the only way to do it was to make everyone forget me.”

Your eyebrows pulled together.

Peter’s voice became quieter.

“Everyone I ever loved forgot me.”

“What?” you finally said.

You looked genuinely confused now.

Peter almost laughed, but there was nothing funny about it. Of course you thought he was insane. If someone had walked up to him and told him this story, he would’ve thought the exact same thing.

“I know how it sounds,” he whispered. “I know.”

He looked down for a second, trying to breathe through the tightness in his chest before looking back at you.

“And the truth is, I really tried to move on. I tried to live my life without you. I thought maybe that was what I was supposed to do. You were supposed to forget me, and I was supposed to let you.” His voice cracked slightly. “But I just can’t.”

He swallowed hard.

“I love you.”

The words finally came out.

“I always did. And you have no idea how mad I’m at myself for never telling you.”

Peter’s eyes burned, and he quickly looked away, but it was too late. He could feel the tears slowly making their way down his face.

Silence.

You didn’t move. You didn’t say anything. Peter almost wished you would yell at him. Tell him he was crazy. Tell him to leave.

Anything would have been easier than watching you stare at him like you were trying to understand how the hell this stranger could possibly be telling you that he loved you.

Finally, you spoke.

“I don’t know what to say.”

Your voice was quiet.

“I—I really try to remember. I swear I do.” You shook your head, looking frustrated with yourself. “But I just can’t.”

Peter’s heart broke a little more.

“It’s like someone actually erased all my memories,” you continued. “Like there’s supposed to be something there, but there isn’t.”

You looked at him again.

“And I can see why the girl I once was loved you, okay?”

Peter’s breath caught.

“But…” You paused, struggling to find the right words. “That’s not me.”

He looked down.

“I mean, I don’t know you. Not the way you know me.” You gave a small, helpless shrug. “But I bet we were fun.”

Peter let out a tiny, broken laugh, but his eyes stayed fixed on your face. He was trying to read your expression, trying to figure out what you were thinking before you even said it. There was still so much he wanted to tell you, so many things he wanted to explain properly, but suddenly you looked at him differently. Your eyes narrowed slightly, like another piece of the puzzle had finally clicked into place.

“Your name isn’t Lucas, right?”

Peter’s stomach dropped. He slowly shook his head.

“No.”

You stared at him, and Peter could practically see your thoughts catching up with everything he’d just told you. The fake name, the party, the flower shop, the fact that he’d somehow known where you were going, everything he’d lied about because he’d been too scared to tell you the truth.

“Does that mean you lied to me—”

You took another step backward.

Peter’s eyes immediately dropped toward your feet.

“Wait—”

Your heel caught the edge of the rooftop.

Everything happened at once.

Your eyes widened as your balance disappeared, and before Peter could even think, you were falling backward.

“Y/N!”

Peter jumped.

There wasn’t even a second of hesitation. His body moved before his brain could process what was happening, launching itself over the edge after you. The city rushed past him in a blur, the wind hitting his face as he reached for you, but you were already several feet below him.

“Shit, shit—”

His web shot from his wrist and attached to the side of the building, but it wasn’t enough. You were still falling too fast.

Another web.

This one caught you around the waist.

Your body jerked violently as the web pulled you back, and Peter immediately swung after you, reaching out and grabbing you before the momentum could throw you away. He wrapped both arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest.

“Got you,” he breathed, barely able to get the words out. “I’ve got you.”

But he hadn’t stopped the fall completely.

The swing carried both of you toward the building, and Peter twisted his body at the last possible second, putting himself between you and the ground. He tried to absorb as much of the impact as he could, but everything happened too fast.

You hit the pavement.

Your head struck the ground before Peter could fully protect you.

Peter landed beside you and immediately rolled onto his knees.

“Y/N?”

You didn’t move.

His heart stopped.

“No, no, no.”

He crawled toward you, his hands already shaking as he carefully turned your face toward him. For a second, Peter couldn’t breathe. All he could see was you lying completely still, your eyes closed, and the image brought back every terrible memory he’d spent years trying not to think about.

“Hey.” His voice cracked. “Hey, look at me.”

Nothing.

Peter swallowed hard, his eyes burning as he gently touched your cheek.

“Y/N, come on.”

Still nothing.

His breathing became faster, panic taking over completely. He didn’t care that his mask was still somewhere on the rooftop. He didn’t care who might see him. He didn’t care about Spider-Man, the bank robbery, or anything else that had happened tonight.

You were all he could see.

“Please wake up.”

His hand moved carefully to the side of your head, terrified of hurting you but even more terrified of doing nothing. He stared at your face, searching for any sign that you were okay.

For four years, Peter had learned how to live with losing you.

He’d convinced himself that maybe this was just how his life was supposed to be now. He could survive knowing you didn’t remember him. He could watch you live without him. He could even pretend that seeing you happy was enough.

But this?

He couldn’t do this again.

Not after finally finding you.

“Please,” he whispered, his voice breaking completely. “I just got you back.”

“Somebody help, please!” He cried out. 

It had been weeks.

You were still in the hospital, still in a coma. That night, Peter—Spider-Man—had rushed you there himself, still wearing his mask, refusing to leave until the doctors took you from his arms. They hadn’t told him much. They couldn’t. As far as they were concerned, he was just some masked stranger who had brought an unconscious girl into the emergency room and disappeared before anyone could ask too many questions. The only thing Peter managed to find out was that you’d suffered severe traumatic brain injuries, and that they had left you in a coma.

So he waited.

He visited whenever he could, usually late at night when the hospital was quieter. Sometimes he’d come straight from patrol, still wearing part of the suit underneath his hoodie, and sometimes he’d sit beside your bed in normal clothes, looking like any other exhausted twenty-something who had no idea what to do with himself. He always brought flowers. Lilies most of the time, because he’d heard you say they were your favorite. He bought them from your own flower shop in Queens, standing there awkwardly while someone else rang him up, because he couldn’t bring himself to explain why he kept buying flowers for a girl who worked there but couldn’t even remember him.

They reminded him of May, too. Maybe that was why he kept doing it. Flowers were one of the few things Peter still knew how to give people when he didn’t know what else to say. He’d spent years bringing them to May’s grave, talking to a piece of stone because it was easier than admitting how lonely he was. Now he brought them to you and placed them carefully beside your bed, hoping that somehow, somewhere, you could still smell them.

He would sit there for hours. Sometimes he’d talk. Sometimes he’d just stare at you.

He’d tell you about stupid things that happened during patrol, complain about the weather, tell you his random thoughts, even though he had no idea if any of it could reach you. Other nights, he’d sit in complete silence with his hand resting beside yours, too afraid to touch you without knowing if you’d want him to.

And every time he looked at you, the same thought came back.

This is my fault.

Maybe technically it wasn’t. He hadn’t known you’d fall. He hadn’t pushed you. He’d tried to save you. But if he’d never followed you in the first place, you wouldn’t have been on that rooftop. If he’d never lied to you, you wouldn’t have been backing away from him. If he’d just left you alone after seeing you again, maybe you’d still be walking around New York, laughing with MJ and Ned, living the life you’d built without him.

Instead, you were lying in a hospital bed.

Peter couldn’t bear another loss.

Not another person he loved disappearing from his life. Especially not you.

Peter had no idea how long he’d been sitting there that night.

The hospital room was dark except for the small light above the bed and the glow coming through the blinds from the city outside. He was slouched in the chair beside you, arms crossed over his chest, his head slowly dropping forward every few minutes before he forced himself awake again. He’d told himself he was only going to stay for an hour. Maybe two. Then he’d go home, shower, sleep for a little while, and come back tomorrow.

He’d been saying that every night for weeks.

At some point, exhaustion finally started winning. Peter’s eyes closed, his head resting against the back of the chair as he sat beside you, still holding the stem of one of the lilies he’d brought earlier.

Then he heard something. Barely anything.

A quiet, rough sound.

“Peter.”

His eyes opened immediately.

Peter looked around the room, confused and still half asleep. For a second, he genuinely thought he’d dreamed it. He hadn’t slept properly in weeks. His brain had started doing weird things when he was exhausted, and hearing your voice was probably just another one of them.

He rubbed his eyes.

“Okay,” he whispered to himself. “I’m officially losing it.”

Then he heard it again.

“Peter.”

Peter froze.

His head snapped toward you.

Your eyes were open.

He couldn’t move.

You were staring at the ceiling at first, blinking slowly as you tried to focus, before your eyes finally shifted toward him. You looked exhausted and confused, your breathing shallow as you tried to understand where you were.

Peter stood so quickly that the chair scraped loudly against the floor.

“Y/N.”

His voice cracked, and he immediately cleared his throat, trying to pull himself together. “You’re awake.”

You looked at him.

For a second, neither of you said anything. Peter’s heart was already pounding, but then something in your expression changed. You stared at him like you were trying to focus on something just beyond his face, like you were putting pieces together that had been scattered somewhere in your mind.

“Peter?”

Peter stopped breathing.

There was no way.

He stared at you, completely frozen, afraid that if he moved, he’d wake up and realize this was just another dream.

You swallowed, your voice still weak and hoarse from weeks without speaking.

“You’re Peter Parker.”

You weakly pointed at him.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Yes.” His voice came out almost immediately. “Yes, I’m Peter Parker.”

Your lips curved into the smallest smile.

“My Peter Parker.”

Peter just stared at you. What the fuck. His eyes immediately filled with tears again, and he shook his head quickly, almost like he needed to make sure he’d actually heard you.

“Yeah,” he whispered, a broken smile finally appearing on his face. “Yeah. I’m your Peter Parker.”

Peter saw the single tear that escaped from the corner of your eye and slowly rolled down your cheek. Something in his chest tightened at the sight. You looked overwhelmed, like you were trying to hold onto a hundred memories at once, and then you let out a shaky breath.

“I think I remember now,” you sobbed.

Peter’s eyes widened.

“Do you?”

“Yes.” You nodded weakly, another sob catching in your throat. “I do. Everything that happened in high school.”

For a second, Peter could only stare at you. Then it finally hit him that you weren’t saying it because you were confused or because you’d pieced together a story that wasn’t there. You actually remembered. The memories were yours again—the stupid ones, the good ones, the painful ones, all of them. He didn’t have to convince himself that this was happening or wonder if he’d imagined hearing you say his name.

This was real. You were really here. And you remembered him.

“Oh my God,” Peter whispered.

He reached for your hand carefully, almost like he was afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly, and gently placed his hand over yours.

“I’m so sorry—”

“No. No, Y/N.” Peter immediately shook his head. “Don’t be sorry. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I—”

“No.” His voice cracked. “I should be the one apologizing. I shouldn’t have followed you. I should’ve just left you alone and let you live your life. I knew you didn’t remember me, and I still—”

“Just shut up,” you interrupted with a weak laugh.

Peter stopped. For a second, he just stared at you.

Then he laughed too, wiping quickly at his eyes.

“Yeah. Okay.”

You smiled faintly, still holding onto his hand. Peter looked down at your fingers intertwined with his, almost unable to believe he was touching you again without imagining it.

“I missed you so much, Y/N.”

Your smile trembled. “I missed you too.”

And Peter finally let himself believe it. You were back.

They say that when you’re close to death, your whole life passes in front of your eyes. Maybe that’s what happened to you.

Maybe that was why you remembered him.

“You came.”

Peter sighed in relief the second he saw you step through the rooftop door. He’d been sitting there for almost twenty minutes, staring out at the city and wondering if you’d changed your mind. After everything that had happened, he wouldn’t have blamed you.

“Of course I did.” You laughed softly as you walked toward him. “Sorry it took me that long. I mean, I’m no Spider-Man. I had to walk all the stairs.”

Peter laughed under his breath.

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

“You should be.”

You walked over and sat down beside him, your shoulder brushing against his. Neither of you spoke for a moment. The city stretched out beneath you, glowing in the warm light of the setting sun. It was strangely peaceful up there, especially after everything you’d been through.

“So?”

Peter glanced at you.

“So.”

You smiled, looking at him.

“I mean, you were the one who wanted to talk to me.”

“Right.”

Peter rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly nervous.

“Yeah. I just… wanted to apologize.”

You groaned immediately. “Peter.”

“What?”

“I already told you. Stop apologizing. It wasn’t your fault.”

“I know, but—”

“No.” You turned toward him. “You didn’t make me fall. You tried to save me. You spent weeks sitting beside my hospital bed when you probably should’ve been sleeping. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Peter looked down at his hands.

“I still regret a lot of things.”

“Like what?”

He was quiet for a moment.

“Not telling you.”

Your expression softened.

Peter swallowed, looking out over the skyline instead of at you.

“I had so many chances. Back then, I kept telling myself there’d be more time. After high school. After the next thing. After I figured everything out. I thought I could tell you how I felt when everything was less complicated.”

He let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Then there wasn’t any more time.”

You reached for his hand.

Peter looked down at your fingers wrapping around his.

“I spent years wishing I’d just said it.”

You squeezed his hand.

“Peter…”

“I love you.”

The words came out quietly, but there was no hesitation this time.

“I loved you then. I love you now. I think I probably would’ve loved you even if you never remembered me.”

You stared at him for a second, your eyes filling with tears.

Then you leaned closer.

Peter barely had time to react before you kissed him.

He froze for half a second, almost like his brain couldn’t believe this was actually happening, before his hand gently moved to your cheek and he kissed you back. He waited for this moment for so long. He never really forgot the feeling of your lips on his. Because, how could he?

It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t desperate. It was just familiar.

Like coming home.

When you finally pulled away, your foreheads stayed together, both of you smiling through the tears.

“I love you too,” you whispered.

Peter stayed quiet for a moment, still holding your hand as the last bit of sunlight disappeared behind the skyline. The city slowly lit up beneath you, thousands of windows glowing as the evening settled over New York, and somehow everything felt different now. It was the same city he’d spent four years swinging through alone, but somehow, sitting there with you beside him, it didn’t feel quite as lonely anymore.

You rested your head against his shoulder, and Peter looked down at you with a small smile. “You know how I told you I felt like I was missing something?”

Peter murmured in agreement, his thumb gently brushing over the back of your hand.

“The whole time,” you whispered, looking out at the city, “it was you.”

Peter’s smile slowly disappeared as his eyes filled with tears.

Because maybe that was the strangest part of all.

You had forgotten him. Completely. You had lived four years without knowing his name, without remembering his face, without even knowing there was supposed to be someone missing from your life. And still, somewhere inside you, you’d felt the empty space he had left behind.

You’d felt it without knowing what it was and somehow, after everything, you still found your way back to him.

© wersies 2026 : all works are my own. don’t repost, copy, translate my works on any platform. don’t fed my work into any type of ai.

notes4you : hey guys! my name is Klara! this is my first time posting a fic on here, so please be kind 😭 i left the cinema with willing and able playing in my airpods and a dream, okay? i literally created this blog just to post this fic, so i’m really excited (and a little nervous) to finally share it with you all. i’m sorry for the lack of action —this is more of a romance. i hope you’ll enjoy it tho!🫰🏻 also I have another fic planned so if you’re curious, you can stay around! 🩷