𝗰𝗵𝗮𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝘆𝗼𝘂

hoodie

☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎︎ ☽ ☀︎

when i got home i was shattered, you think you've done nothing all day and yet your really tired. i've never understood human logic.
peter normally left his cloths at my house because he constantly comes over injured, the little shit. luckily because of this i get to keep some of his cloths. more specifically, his hoodies. the first time he brought them round i was confused.
"sleepover?"
i asked him. but he shook his head no. after explaining everything i decided to dedicate him a little drawer for his cloths. he'd probably think i was a psychopath if he knew.

i normally wear them when he's in hospital. i'd never tell a soul dead or alive but it does scare me. death. not my own, just peter's. or i'd wear them when i feel like it. feel like huddling into his side on a cold winters morning.
i slipped it on over my shoulders, warm fabric contrasting from the low temperature outside. it just came out the dryer. the feeling tingling down my neck down my waist. caressing my spine on its way down. something i'll never get over. a tingling sensation as if peters warm, gentle hands where touching my back.

it smelt like him. warm with that soft smell that every person owns. i've found it so strange that every person's house smells like them and they'll never be able to smell it. i find it immensely intriguing. peter smelt like a field of tulips after being showered in fresh vanilla and a slight tint of metal. you wouldn't think it was nice ultimately, until engulfed in it. i sat in bed and decided to text him. there was no point, and i really don't wanna be 𝘁𝗵𝗮𝘁 girlfriend but...

𝗺𝗲 :
hey

: 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲
hi

he responded quickly.

𝗺𝗲 :
so wuu2

: 𝗽𝗲𝘁𝗲
texting you
hbu

𝗺𝗲 :
wanna call i'm bored

i also just wanted to hear his voice. knowing he was lying in bed listening to me, face smushed into a pillow lightly snoring as i tell him any true crime case.
i normally told him any horror / true crime story but since 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 happened i tell him 'romantic' ones, or rather those that contained young love. my phone started vibrating so i answered to hear a faint,
"hey...... mj."
"hey ya' dork."

we spoke for awhile, our conversation consisting of me telling him about the twilight killers. every time i heard him
'hmm'
into his pillow as a response my heart caught in my throat. i kept telling him about everything that went down, each detail to the core.
almost making it sound like i was there myself. i was not. i just read.
until hearing a deep groan.
it wasn't the type i liked to hear when talking to peter.
then the line went silent. completely dead, silent, you could drop a penny on the floor and hear it.
"peter."
"please don't speak right now"
i wasn't completely shocked actually, i assumed that he was fighting crime... real crime.
i decided to check the news for anything live of spider-man just in case, not to jeopardise his 'mission'.

there wasn't anything on the main news channels, but soon i found a small radio show that broadcasted a lot about crime in new york, practically a show dedicated to my boyfriend.
"it appears that our friendly neighbourhood spider-man is currently undergoing some troubles at an abandoned construction site!"
ok?
that doesn't help much but at least i know his voice didn't deepen by 12 octaves. i looked over at my nightstand, at my phone, but peter had hung up.
it wasn't serious though because he called me back.