"Go Fish."
"I hate this," you say, reaching down to the pile of cards in front of you. "You've got to be lying to me."
"I cannot believe you just accused me of being a liar."
"You are!" you look up as you tuck your new card into your hand. "I thought Spider-Man was a friendly neighborhood guy, not a liar."
Spider-Man's eyes narrow at you in what you assume is an attempt at a glare. But his mask is stretching around his mouth like it does when he smiles. Over the past month, you've done an excellent job at reading Spider-Man's facial expressions despite the literal mask covering his face.
Yeah. So, it's been a month since you moved to Queens. A month since Spider-Man dropped in front of you and the world exploded in color. A month since you started school at Midtown and met Ned, MJ, and Peter Parker.
Peter Parker. Involuntarily, your expression falters slightly. It tends to that these days, whenever you think of the curly-haired, brown-eyed boy who walks with you to the train after and before school now.
"What is it?" Spider-Man asks, the eyes on his suit widening. You've decided that his eyes are blue behind the mask. Or maybe green. Or grey. Anything but brown.
"Nothing," you say. It's a blatant lie, but you're unsure if he picks up on it. You don't lie often. But you don't want to hurt your soulmate's feelings. You feel guilty enough; whenever you're with Spider-Man, Peter somehow drifts into your mind. But when you're with Peter, sometimes you forget about Spider-Man. You're wading into dangerous waters, and you know it, but you can't stop yourself. "I just. Can't believe you won't admit you lied to me."
"I didn't lie!" Spider-Man protests. He shifts closer to you, holding on tightly to the four cards in his hand. "I didn't have a three. Or a five. Or a seven. Statistically, it's possible. You just have bad luck this round."
Go Fish isn't the only thing you have bad luck at right now.
"Let's do something else," you say, setting your cards down. Spider-Man does the same without questioning. You like that about him. He's easy-going, he's sweet. Last week he'd even helped you with your Statistics homework.
Then again, on Wednesday, Peter did that too.
Spider-Man has visited you a total of seven times in the past month. Almost twice per week. You look forward to every meeting, really. You've managed to always leave your window unlocked, and tonight was the first time he hadn't knocked before climbing in. You didn't mind. It's another step forward.
"Do you want to play Five Questions?" he asks, putting all of the cards into one neat pile.
Five Questions is pretty self-explanatory. There aren't really any rules, because you already promised you wouldn't ask for his name until he was ready to tell you; you also don't really ask about physicalities, because it falls under the same category of you not knowing his name. The pair of you only started this game last time, when Spider-Man asked you five questions about yourself. So now it's your turn to ask questions about him.
"Sure," you answer. And screw it. You said you wouldn't ask for his name, but the only thing you can think about right now is Peter and Peter is not your soulmate. Taking the deck of cards from Spider-Man's outstretched hands, you ask, "Do you have a middle name?"
You can see the caution on the mask. "I do," he says.
Biting your lip, you reach for the empty card tin and pop it open, placing the deck inside. "Can I know it?"
Spider-Man says nothing. You're too busy making sure the deck of cards fits inside the tin, so you aren't looking at him. You're kind of afraid to. You place the lid back onto the tin and stand up from the carpet, crossing to your desk to place the cards back in the drawer you'd gotten them out of.
"Benjamin," he says.
So...you weren't actually expecting him to answer.
You whirl around. The red-and-blue clad superhero is looking up at you, eyes wide, fiddling with his hands in his lap. "My middle name is Benjamin," he repeats.
"Benjamin." you say slowly, testing out the name on your tongue. You're not sure if Benjamin is a name you would have associated with Spider-Man, but now you do, because it's his. It's his middle name. "Do you go by it?"
"I do not."
"All right." you take your seat again across from him, leaning against your bed. "Does it have any significance, or did your parents just choose it because they liked it?"
"It was my uncle's name." Spider-Man says. Suddenly, the tone of his voice sounds as masked as his face is.
You watch him carefully. "Was?"
The room is silent. Spider-Man hangs his head, looking down at his clasped hands, taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly. "Was," he agrees, in the softest voice you've ever heard him use. "My uncle died when I was fourteen. Just before I got these powers. It was-really hard to deal with. When I got my powers, I knew that...that I had to do right with them. So I stopped small crimes. Robberies. I stopped a three-thousand pound car from barreling straight into a city bus. I stopped a man from taking alien tech to create his own weapons. Everything I've done, it's all been to try and make this world a better place. No one else should lose their family members because of petty theft or people who think that they have any power because they've got a gun."
It's more than you asked for. And you're really, really glad he told you.
You lean forward and put your hand on top of both of his. Spider-Man looks up at you, his fingers twitching beneath yours. Then he unfolds his hands and lets you lace your fingers through his, resting your entwined hands on his leg. "Hey," you say, very quietly. "I think your uncle would be very proud of you and all the work you've done."
Spider-Man squeezes your hand. "Thank you, (Y/N)," he says. "And-and, uh, that's five questions."
You smile slightly. He's right. "Okay," you say. "So what do you want to do next?"
"I think I should go home." he admits, but he doesn't let go of your hand or attempt to get up. "It's getting pretty late."
"Sure." Glancing at the clock, you realize he's right; it is pretty late. This is probably the latest Spider-Man has ever been at your house. It's a good thing your parents are out for the night. "Be safe on your way home?"
"I promise." Then, with another brief squeeze of your hand, Spider-Man stands up, pulling you to your feet as well and letting go of you. He goes to unlatch the window and slides it open, stopping just before he crawls through. "See you."
Then he's gone, sliding the window closed behind him.
-
"Benjamin, huh?" (Y/BFF/N) muses, only her eyes and forehead visible on your phone screen. "That's cute. Does he go by Ben?"
"He doesn't go by his middle name," you reply, glancing at your closed window. Spider-Man left only minutes ago and the first thing you did was call your best friend. Naturally, she answered. "Which is why he told me, I think."
"Huh. Well, did he tell you anything else?"
"No." So maybe telling your best friend that Spider-Man's middle name is Benjamin probably wasn't the best idea, mostly because you're sure Spider-Man trusts you not to tell anyone what his name is. But anyway, Spider-Man doesn't even appear in Manhattan ever, so what's the harm? Plus, your best friend is the exception to the "don't tell anyone" rule in every situation. Except for when Spider-Man was heartbreakingly honest about the death of his uncle. "Just that. We also played Go Fish and then he left."
"Wow. Why Go Fish, of all things?"
"I suggested it."
"You're so weird."
You grin. "Back at you."
Your best friend shakes her head at you. "Listen, I'd love to stay up and talk, but I have to get up early tomorrow for swim practice. So I'll call you tomorrow, if I can, okay?"
"Okay." You're not going to lie; you're a little sad that she has to go. You haven't really seen her recently, because you've both been busy, and your FaceTime calls have been getting shorter and shorter over the past couple of weeks. "See you."
"See you," she says. Then she hangs up.
-
"Wrong." Peter says to you gently, erasing your given answer on the worksheet. "Try again."
"Can't I just copy yours?" you complain, frowning at the paper in front of you.
Peter smiles slightly. "No, you can't."
"Why not?"
"Because a question just like this one is going to be on the test, and you need to know how to do it. Copying it won't tell you how to do it."
You sigh and fling your pencil down onto the table. "This sucks."
"Trigonometry isn't for everyone." Peter gives you a look, reaching for your pencil to hold it out to you. "Just keep going. You'll get it eventually."
But you won't. You know you won't. Not right now, anyway, when Spider-Man is the only person on your mind. "Can't we just take a break?" you sit back in your chair. "When are Ned and MJ supposed to get here, anyway?"
"Soon, I think." A frown passes Peter's mouth as he reluctantly closes his textbook. "One of them is bringing over a pizza. I don't remember who. (Y/N), are you okay?"
Great. So he's also attentive to your emotions. Which is kind of what you wanted, but now that he's actually asked you about it, you don't want to talk about it. "I'm just thinking," you say, which is true. You close your notebook. "About Spider-Man."
"What-what about him?"
"I don't know. Everything, I guess. He came to my house last night."
Peter looks surprised. "O-oh, he did?"
"Yeah." you bite your lip.
"What did he say? Did he tell you anything?"
And you want to say yes; you want to tell Peter everything word-for-word about last night. But you can't. Spider-Man trusts you. You telling his secrets to your friends-even if they are your closest friends-violates that. And you don't want to lose his trust at all. Telling your best friend his middle name is all the secret-spilling you're going to allow yourself. After all, she's your best friend. You tell each other everything. So instead, you say: "I found out a little bit more about who he is."
"That's good," Peter says, reaching for his water. "Isn't it?"
"Yeah." But all you can think about is how Spider-Man told you about his uncle. "But...it's got me thinking about a lot of stuff."
"Like?"
"Like...maybe I shouldn't find out who he is."
Peter, who is taking a sip of water as you say this, quickly lowers his glass, almost spitting out the water in his mouth. In fact, he practically chokes on it, coughing behind his sleeve. "Wh-why would you say that?" he says between coughs, his face reddening. "He's your soulmate. You have to find out who he is."
"He was in a situation where he lost someone and couldn't do anything about it." you blurt. "So I know why he doesn't want to tell me who he is so he can protect me. What if I know his identity, and everyone knows we're soulmates, and some enemy of his targets me? If it's down to saving me or saving someone innocent, he shouldn't-"
Peter stares at you in disbelief. "What, like you're not as innocent as anyone else?"
"If I never find out who he is, then his enemies will never target me. They'll never hurt him that way. He'll never have to make that choice."
"He knows who you are." Peter reminds you. "He sneaks into your house to talk to you. Anyone could see that, if they were in the right place at the right time."
"He already told me that he'd choose to save me first." you tell him. "And that's just it. I'd want him to let-"
"Don't." Peter says sharply. You blink at him; all redness is gone from his face, replaced with a determined look in his eye. "I know what you're about to say, and don't say it. You're his soulmate, (Y/N). You're more important than the entire world. So don't you dare think for one minute that Spider-Man wouldn't give all of that up just to save you."
At that exact moment, with quite possibly the worst timing in the entire world, the door flings open.
"We're here!" Ned announces, walking into Peter's apartment with MJ behind him. "And we come bearing food!"
"They took way too long to make the pizza." MJ adds, closing the door behind herself and Ned. "But we did get free breadsticks."
You're still staring at Peter. He's still staring right back at you. You've never seen him look remotely angry in the month that you've known him-but he does right now, and there's something else in his eyes that isn't anger and it makes the butterflies in your stomach stir-
"Hello?" Ned sets the pizza on the counter. "You guys good over there?"
Peter breaks eye contact first. "Uh, yeah, man." He clears his throat and pushes his textbook to the side, standing up to join the others in the kitchen. "Let me grab napkins and stuff. We were just doing a little bit of homework."
"Yeah," you say. Your voice sounds a little foreign to your own ears. Peter glances nervously at you as you stand, grabbing your notebook to shove it back in your backpack. "Homework."
That's all it was allowed to be, anyway.
-
Your intentions to return to your homework after eating fly out the window the minute Ned mentions Peter's Star Wars DVD collection.
"I had no idea you liked Star Wars," you admit, when Ned moves to put one of the movies in the DVD player.
"Like?" MJ snorts. "Peter loves it. He's obsessed."
"Really?"
"Er-yeah, I do." Peter picks at the pepperoni on his pizza. "It's my favorite series."
How ironic it feels that the first thing you learned about Spider-Man's personality happens to be one of the last things you feel like you're learning about Peter's. "Mine, too," you say to him, picking up your pizza crust.
That's how all four of you end up in front of the TV with one of the several Star Wars movies starts up. You and Peter end up together, on the floor, sitting as close as you did on the train a month ago. For a minute, you can forget that the two of you just argued for the first time.
For a minute, you actually forget about Spider-Man.
And then May Parker comes home.
You've met Peter's aunt before, only once; you know he lives with her because his parents died when he was little. You also know she's quite possibly the best person you've ever met, because she's kind and loving and also loves to embarass Peter.
The fact that you know she loves to embarass Peter after only meeting her once is also one of the reasons why you love her.
"Hey, kids!" she greets, stepping into the apartment. "Peter, help me with the groceries, will you?"
"Coming!" Peter sets his pizza down on the ground and pushes himself up, walking away from his spot beside you. You don't mean to, but you watch him go, immediately helping his aunt pull things out of plastic bags and put them in the cabinet or the fridge. May says something to him that you don't hear and he grins, looking lighthearted and happy.
You might really have a crush on him.
It's times like these when you wish you had a way to contact Spider-Man. He's got to have a phone number, doesn't he? Or an email? Or maybe he could make another email account just to talk to you? Maybe that's something you should talk to him about.
Peter Parker is one of your closest friends. He's also not your soulmate. Having a crush on him would be complicated in more than one way. And you don't want to have a crush on him. But he's unbelievably cute, and dorky, and sweet, and kind, and funny without meaning to be, and...you know who he is. He's Peter. And he means a lot to you.
But Spider-Man is your soulmate. You don't know who he is, but the masked superhero means a lot to you too, already. He's also kind, and sweet, and he cares about you. He'd give up the world for you.
You miss your best friend. You wish you could call her, but the last time you attempted to it had gone straight to voicemail. You're sure she's busy, because she is, but her advice is really what you want right now. What you need right now.
You're so lost in your own thoughts that you almost don't hear May say it.
"Peter Benjamin Parker!" the middle-aged woman chides sharply. You turn your attention away from the TV to see Peter's aunt walk out of his room with a full laundry basket propped against her hip. "I told you to clean your room before you had friends over. Where am I supposed to put this basket?"
"Sorry, sorry!" Peter throws his hands up. "I'll do it right now."
"You'd better." she holds out the basket. He takes it and disappears into his room.
Benjamin.
"Benjamin?" you echo, only loud enough for MJ and Ned to hear you as May Parker goes into her own bedroom. "I didn't know Peter's middle name was Benjamin."
"Yeah." Ned says, clearly only half-listening to you, his eyes glued to the TV screen as the Millennium Falcon flies from one edge of the frame to the other. "That's his uncle's name. May's husband who died during freshman year."
MJ hits him.
And if she hadn't, maybe you wouldn't have noticed. But MJ does with an expression you don't see, and you watch as Ned tears his eyes away from the movie, looking from her to you, seeming to realize what he'd just said and who he'd just said it to. Then his eyes widen, and he says, "Oh, hell. Uh, I mean-"
But you aren't listening anymore. How could you?
Benjamin. That's his uncle's name. May's husband who died during freshman year.
Benjamin. It was my uncle's name. My uncle died when I was fourteen. Just before I got these powers.
Peter knows Spider-Man!
I've-uh, I've met him. Once or twice. Through an...internship that I had. Through Tony Stark. He's pretty, uh, pretty cool, I'd say.
"I have to go." you say immediately. You must have interrupted Ned, because his mouth is open, but you don't care. You push your plate aside and stand up, reaching immediately for your backpack that is resting against the back of the couch. "Sorry. My mom-uh-just texted me."
That's not a lie at all. Except you're not holding your phone. Smooth.
"(Y/N), wait." MJ says, standing up from the couch. You shove your shoes onto your feet, your mind running a mile a minute, unable to comprehend what you probably should have a month ago.
"Tell Peter-" your voice catches with your hand on the doorknob. MJ's eyes immediately soften. "Tell him thanks. And I'm sorry."
You wonder if they know. You're sure they do. With the way they both reacted, they must both know and they probably have for longer than you've known either or them. They're Peter's best friends. Of course they know.
You close the apartment door behind you and winces at how it slams. You're so dumb, sometimes. How could you not have seen it before?
Spider-Man is your soulmate.
Peter is Spider-Man.
Peter Parker is your soulmate.
