✨Book of Imagines & Short Stories✨

Spiderman: Andrew Garfied - Short Story

Requested by my pretty friend EverlastingOriginal

- this takes place after Spider-Man 2

He didn't want to be bothered. Not after letting her die at his hand. Peter forced himself to the nearest coffee shop to at least get fresh air. The air in his apartment was beginning to suffocate him more than his intrusive thoughts. He brought his laptop and noise cancelling headphones along for the journey.

Obtaining his highly caffeinated coffee, he settled in for an afternoon of public isolation. Until, that is, she walked in. She noticed him first to be clear. His attention hadn't left the screen since he sat down, but something about him was enticing her. She could tell he had no interest in conversation but the worst he could do was tell her he wanted to be alone. So, she ordered and grabbed her coffee and confidently sat across from him.

Her focus was set on him, seeing how long it would take the man to finally look up. He did, eventually. His head hadn't left but his eyes glanced upwards and he clicked a button on the laptop before removing one side of his headphones.

"Can I help you?" He questioned.

"Well, not really. But I wanted to come over and say hello," she explained through a friendly smile.

He lightly furrowed his eyebrows, not wanting to appear rude but his confusion was obvious. He looked around and back at her, then lifting himself to sit up right in his chair.

"Um, hi?" He proceeded to take off his headphones and lie them on top of his keyboard.

"Hi," she smiled and held out her hand.

He took it and offered a mediocre handshake but it was all he had.

"What brings you in here?...." She implied asked for his name.

"Peter. Parker. And I've got a lot on my mind. Needed to get out of the house sorta thing."

"I'm with you on that. I've been going through it too," she waited a few moments, "Can I ask what's going on with you?"

He let out a hard sigh. No, he said in his thoughts. I don't even want to be talking to you. But her kind demeanor was giving him this odd sense of trust that he hadn't felt in a while.

"I uh, I had a loved one pass away...a really, really loved one," he couldn't look her in the eye and traced the wood lines on the table with his finger.

"Oh, Peter. I'm so sorry to hear that," she placed her hand out on the table.

"It was my fault anyways. They died because of me," why am I telling her all of this? "I don't even know why I'm telling you all of this," he scoffed at his own vulnerability.

"No, don't be embarrassed or anything. Weird thing is I'm going through the same thing."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I wish I couldn't relate but yes," she sighed, "I was driving my boyfriend upstate and long story short, I lost control of the wheel and he suffered what I should've," she lifted the baggy sleeve of her dark green sweater to reveal a massive healing wound on her forearm, similar to the one she showed on the side of her head after that, "Had to get stitches for that one," she let her hair fall back down where she had lifted it.

"My God," he whispered, "I'm really sorry to hear that."

"Guess we both have that in common. We both feel sorry for each other," she smiled sorrowfully to herself. It was bitter sweet.

Maybe he didn't regret leaving his house today. It's not everyday you meet someone with extremely similar sob stories to yours. She had a way of making you feel like you weren't alone in a place where you could be surrounded and still be alone. She was the right amount of sunlight he needed to at least get through the week.

"I'm sorry for keeping you from whatever it was you were doing. I just felt compelled to come over and sit with you."

But then again, what was the real reason he left his house? To meet new people? New people who he would never talk to again? People that could never replace her? No one could. No one. And for him to be so stupid and let himself be vulnerable with someone he didn't even know? He felt ashamed of himself. His attitude towards her changed and a cold front overtook his body language.

"It's fine. Sorry about what happened to you, but I think it's best you leave now," he realized how harsh he sounded as soon as it left his lips.

She was physically taken back and her eye squinted in confusion. What happened to him?

He swiftly placed his headphones back on his head and refocused all his attention back on the screen; slouching as he had before. Peter hadn't even given her one last glance goodbye. But still she couldn't leave so soon, he was still hurting. She thought for a moment and reach in her bag for a pen.

As she rummaged, Peter's eyes glanced up but quickly returned to the screen when she retrieved her pen. She slid one of the napkins over and began to write on it. Not long after, she folded it up and slid it back over to him.

"If you need anything." Was the only explanation she gave to her napkin.

She was unaware he had turned off his sound and vaguely heard her before she grabbed her belongs and walked out the door.

He watched her walk out, and had no intentions of opening the napkin. He knew it would probably be a phone number he'd never dial. But he couldn't resist. He knew he was a jerk to her and felt guilt piling in his stomach.

He subliminally picked up and unfolded it, and to no surprise it was a phone number, but not just that. It was signed

- Gwen

His mouth was ajar as he watched her walk across the street. He ripped off his headphones and sat up right in his chair. She was too far to run after her.

"Gwen?" he whispered, as he held tightly to the napkin in his grasp.