It had taken a few weeks, but life after your meeting with Spider-Man had finally returned to normal. The groups of people hanging around your locker had broken up, the teachers stopped questioning you in front of class, and only three people asked if you had Spider-Man's number when they wrote in your yearbook. Despite the attention you had received, however, your school year had come to an uneventful close. And although you were grateful the interrogations had stopped, you were less than overjoyed about the dullness your days had once again become coloured with.
Your time was filled with events in which variety was far and few. You woke up at the same time, ate the same breakfast, took care of the same two year old next door, visited your same friends, and tried not to notice the slow ticking of the clock on the wall. It wasn't that you didn't enjoy the time with your friends, or your favourite toddler; it was just that you felt...different. Different in a way that you couldn't explain, or even put into words. Just different.
Even your nights on the fire escape, which you had so loved, had been tinged with a feeling of monotony. You still sat on the metal steps, and doodled in your notebook, and listened to music quietly, but you couldn't help but wish that there would be an explosion a few blocks down, like there had been almost two months ago.
Okay, that wasn't entirely true. You were already down one favourite restaurant, and you didn't need to lose another (the Thai place on 68th, however, was amazing, just like Spider-Man had said, and you and your mom had begun frequenting it). You especially didn't want anyone to get hurt, or for Spider-Man to get hurt. But you just wanted a reason to see him again; you felt like there was more you could have told him last time, more that you wanted to talk about. You had so many questions! Like how he balanced school and superpowers (you assumed he was around your age, based on his voice and demeanor), or if he was ever scared, doing what he did. Was there anyone looking out for him? Did he have someone to check up on him and make sure he was okay, not too banged up after a battle? Did anyone toss and turn at night, waiting for him to come home? Did anyone even know who he was?
That last thought made you stop cold. Your hand froze, pen still poised on paper where you had been drawing your neighbor's cat that had been running around. Did Spider-Man have anyone who knew the burden he bore? Or did he bare it in silence, never letting anyone seeing him falter? You thought back to what Peter Parker had said in the hallway over a month ago. "No one ever asks the hero if they're okay. They just kind of assume they are. Everyone likes being treated like they matter." Even Spider-Man himself had told you how no one had ever checked if he was fine. He was so shocked when you asked the question. And, if you were being honest with yourself, you had only really asked it because you were in a bit of a shock. It wasn't like you were trying to look out for him or be different than other people. You weren't really different from other people. Right now, the only person you were different from was you from two months ago. In every other way, you were like every other citizen.
You shook your head, trying to clear your thoughts and focus on your sketch. The more your mind wandered, the more Reginald the cat looked like Winnie the Pooh. You reached over and turned the music up on your speakers, and made the decision to push Spider-Man from your mind. You met him, you talked, it was fun, and you were most likely never going to see him again. It was time to move on.
"I like your music."
You screamed and jumped off your perch on one of the metal steps, sliding on your butt to the ground three steps down. Looking around frantically, you tried to find who had spoken, but there was no one around you.
"Up here." The voice said again.
You glanced up, and dangling above you, upside down, was Spider-Man.
He gave a small wave with this free hand and your eyes widened in disbelief. You weren't quite sure what to say.
"Y/N?" You heard your mother call from inside. "Are you okay?"
"Uh, yeah," You called back, not taking your eyes off the masked hero. "Yeah, there was, um...a spider. It scared me."
"Okay, well, keep it down," Your mother called back. "It's late."
"Sure thing." You answered, quietly moving your speakers from the window sill and sliding your window shut. You didn't want your mother to hear who you were talking to. "Um, hi."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Spider-Man finally flipped right side up and straightened up in front of you. "Are you okay?"
"I thought that was my line," You gave a small grin. "Yeah, I'm fine. My dignity is a little bruised, but I never had much to begin with? So it's whatever."
"Funny," Spider-Man chuckled. "You're funny. Drawing again?"
"Uh huh." You paused for a moment. "No offense, because I'm glad I'm seeing you again, but what are you doing here? I didn't know you did house calls."
"I don't." Spider-Man rubbed the back of his head. "But I was in the neighborhood and I heard your music and thought I would stop by to say hi."
You raised an eyebrow.
"So...hi." Spider-Man waved again, making you laugh.
"Hi." You repeated.
"How've you been?" Spider-Man leaned against the metal stairway in what you guessed was an attempt to act casual. "Been —been doing okay?"
"Uh, well, I've been thinking of you, actually," You confessed, leaning back against the brick wall of your apartment building (if Spider-Man was going to lean to attempt to look casual, you were going to lean to attempt to look casual).
"Y-yeah?" Spider-Man's voice cracked, and he cleared his throat. "I've, uh, I've been thinking of you, too."
"Really?" You wrapped your arms around yourself as a breeze blew through the air.
"Well, of the drawing you gave me," Spider-Man added on quickly. "I have it on my wall, so I-I look at it a lot."
"Oh," You smiled, albeit confused. He seemed so nervous, but you had no idea why. He was the hero of Queens; if anyone was supposed to be nervous, it was you. "I'm glad you like it."
"I do, I do." Spider-Man moved away from the stairway, walking backwards towards the edge of your fire escape. "Well, I should—just thought I would stop in to tell you."
"I thought you stopped by to say hi?" You furrowed your brow, biting your lip as you did so.
"I did! That too, I guess. It's been—" Spider-Man stumbled over one of the flower pots you had in a little cluster at the edge of the fire escape. "Shit! Sorry, um, it's been good—great! Great seeing you again, but, uh, I have to go. People to be, places to save—I mean—shit—"
"No, no, it's totally okay," You nodded and walked closer to him. "I understand; you have to go be Spider-Man, so...go be Spider-Man. Just..."
"Just what?" Spider-Man's head tilted to the side, curiosity evident in his voice.
"I'm really trying not to sound creepy, but just...let me know you're okay? Or let someone know you're okay." You pushed some hair out of your face. "You can't be Spider-Man all the time, right? You save all those people, and take care of the city, and that's great, but make sure you're taking care of yourself, too." Spider-Man didn't say anything. "Please." You tacked on, trying to sound more polite.
"I—yeah," Spider-Man nodded. "Yes, Y/N, I promise I'll take care of myself. I'll let you—someone know that I'm okay after a rough day."
"Okay." You smiled and sighed in relief.
"Okay." Spider-Man waved and shot a web to a nearby lamppost, swinging off into the distance.
You really thought that would be the last time you would see him. Honestly, you did, and you were fine with it. You were still different, but okay. Okay was better than you were before. Okay was better than bored with everything. Okay was...okay.
Except okay didn't last long for you. A week and a half later, there was another explosion. Louder than the one months prior, but farther away. You quickly climbed out your window and onto your fire escape to try and find out what had happened, but all you could see was a puff of smoke in the distance. Around you, you heard the screams of civilians on the street, followed by multiple sirens coming from all directions.
You pressed your hand to your chest as your pulse sped up rapidly in a mix of fear, shock, and worry. What had happened? What could have caused this? Would everyone make it out alright?
"Y/N," Your mother poked her head out through the window. "Come inside."
"But, Mom—"
"The news said that everyone should remain inside their homes," Your mom reached out a hand. "Come on, honey."
With one final glance towards the smoky horizon, you accepted your mother's hand and climbed back through the window, shutting it behind you.
The two of you watched the news all night, trying to understand what was happening. The news only aired bits and pieces at a time; at first you thought it was because they didn't want to make anyone panic, but later you realized that they didn't really know what had happened either.
From what you could tell, there had been some sort of explosion on the Queensboro Bridge, caused by a pursuit between a few weapons dealers and Spider-Man. It was thought that the dealers were the leftover workers that had been under the employment of the Vulture, who Spider-Man had caught months prior. The newscasters claimed that the dealers tried to lose Spider-Man on the Bridge by causing an explosion, guessing he would stop to help civilians. They guessed right, but what they didn't guess was that the impact of the blast would knock their car into the East River. The car had been recovered, and so had two of the three bodies, but one was still missing. As for civilian casualties, none had been reported yet, although at least seventeen people had been taken to the hospital for their injuries.
You watched the news for hours, until the sun had set and the stars came out. The more time passed, the more anxious you became.
Around eleven, you finally excused yourself for bed. Watching those images had exhausted you, emotionally and mentally, and you were worried about the people of your city (and, if truth were to be told, you were worried about one person in particular).
As tired as you were, though, you couldn't turn your mind off enough to fall asleep. You tossed and turned for what seemed like forever, but when you checked your clock, it was only 12:13. With a sigh, you gave up on sleep and sat up in bed, turning on your lamp. You grabbed a book from your bedside table and tried to read, hoping to get your mind off things, but that didn't work either. The reason, however, wasn't because the book couldn't distract you from Spider-Man, but because a few minutes later, Spider-Man knocked on your window.
The sound of his fingers tapping made you jump, and your head turned around so fast you thought it may give you whiplash. At the window, peaking in, was the masked hero.
Quietly, so as not to wake your mother (who had gone to bed after you), you opened the window and climbed out onto your fire escape, gently shutting the window behind you.
"Hey," Spider-Man said quickly. You stared, a little uncomprehendingly, at the boy in front of you. "Um, what's up?"
"What's up?" You repeated incredulously. "What's—what are you doing here?"
"Last—last week you said to let you know if I was okay." Spider-Man rubbed the back of his neck. "You know, after a rough night. So...I'm okay."
You nodded. "Okay." You were unsure of what else to say. It had become clear to you that this was becoming more than just a hero checking in on a civilian, or a civilian checking in on a hero. Something else was developing, but you weren't entirely decided on what it was.
"Could I—" Spider-Man began, at the exact same time you said, "Would you—?"
"No, sorry, you first." The boy apologized, gesturing to you.
"Would you like something to drink?" You asked. "Water, or anything?"
"Water...would be great, thank you," Spider-Man nodded, and you quietly opened your window to grab him a glass, leaving the hero on your fire escape.
You two spent the rest of the night talking. You discussed the fight, what really happened (the news had it right, it seemed), how he felt seeing it ("I've never...in all my fights, there was never somebody I couldn't save"), and how he felt he had almost caused it ("I chased them to the Bridge, Y/N"). When you wanted to lighten the mood, you asked about school. He couldn't tell you much, but you learned you were in the same grade, although he wouldn't say what school he went to. After that, he asked you to draw him. Then he drew you. Before you two knew it, the sun was rising, he was saying goodbye and swinging off to wherever he really belonged, and you were left on the fire escape.
And that became the routine. For the rest of your summer, you saw each other at least once a week. After a big fight, Spider-Man would show up on your fire escape, and you would be ready to listen and talk, with some snacks and drinks. Once August rolled around, Spider-Man was coming on nights he didn't fight anyone at all, just because he enjoyed talking to you so much. You two would sit on the fire escape, look out onto the Queens skyline, and be honest (as honest as a superhero with a secret identity could be) with each other, about anything and everything. Spider-Man kept collecting the drawings you did, claiming he kept them all in a special place.
You would roll your eyes whenever he asked for one. "I'm sure the other Avengers like looking at all the scribbles a teenager does in the dead of night."
"They don't see them," Spider-Man admitted. "I keep them for myself. I'm kind of...greedy that way, I guess."
You blushed, looking down at the drink in your hands. You heard the sound of Spider-Man drinking his soda (he insisted on using a bendy straw so that he could tuck it under his mask because "I can't pull the mask off, Y/N, not even a bit") and you felt like something was beginning to burn inside you. If you closed your eyes, you could pretend that this was a normal hangout between two friends. In the solitude of your mind, you imagined Spider-Man behind the mask. Not so much what he looked like, but what he felt like. It wasn't even that you had never been able to feel his bare skin because of the suit; ever since the night you two met, except when he pulled you up from falling, he had never touched you. It was almost like he was afraid of crossing a line—like touching you, even just a brush against your shoulder, would turn this into something else. If you were completely honest with yourself, you were afraid of that, too.
"Y/N?" Spider-Man's voice pulled you out of your thoughts.
"Yes?" You answered, looking up from the ground and up at his mask-covered face.
"I don't know if I—" Spider-Man took a deep breath. "I wanted—"
"Yes?" You repeated, pushing some loose hair out of your face.
Spider-Man reached out a hand, like he was going to tuck the hair behind your ear. You kept as still as possible as his hand approached, but when he was a few inches away from your face, he thought better of it.
"Nothing," He pulled his hand back and looked up at the sky, just beginning to tinge pink with the rising sun. "It's late. Or early, I guess. I should go."
"Okay." You whispered. You watched as Spider-Man stood up and shot a web, swinging up onto a nearby rooftop and went home—wherever that was.
You sighed wistfully, tucked your own hair behind your ear, and rested your head into your cupped palm (and you only half-wished it was the hand of someone else).
