(Name) had been feeling a bit uneasy lately. It was hard not to when she noticed her boyfriend was off fighting crime more often than usual. She paced her room in the early hours of the morning trying-and failing-to stop her mind from worrying.
He'd be fine. He always was.
A sudden squeak from her window being pushed open drew her attention away from her thoughts. She stayed rooted in her place as she watched Peter crawl into her room, pulling his mask off in the process.
When his feet were planted on solid ground, he made eye contact with her and flashed her an exhausted smile. There were bags under his eyes and she took quick notice of his hand that clutched his side, obviously trying to conceal an injury from her worried eyes.
She sighed and frowned at him, which caused his smile to falter and his shoulders to sag. No words were said as he trudged towards her bed and sat, her following close behind him.
"How bad is it?" she whispered. He shrugged.
"Not too bad," he said, moving slightly to the side only to wince in the process. She rolled her eyes.
"Suit off. Now." she demanded and Peter quietly obeyed. His fingers pressed against the spider emblem and the suit quickly loosened, pooling around his waist.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the many bruises that tattered his pale skin. The side he had been clutching held a fairly deep cut that was beginning to bruise.
"Peter," she mumbled, her voice unusually quiet. Her eyebrows were knit together in concern and Peter slouched down.
"It's not that bad, honest (Nickname). It doesn't eve-" his words were interrupted with a wince when she gingerly brushed her fingertips against one of his larger bruises. She hurriedly got up and left the room only to return a minute later with the first aid kit, rubbing alcohol, and a rag in hand.
She dragged her desk chair in front of Peter and sat on it for a better look at his cut. She briskly unscrewed the rubbing alcohol and wet the rag with it. She began pressing the rag to his cut, which caused more wincing from her beloved.
When he got used to the sting of the disinfectant, he took in her appearance. Her hair was a mess and her frown seemed to be permanently residing on her face.
"You're upset," he stated, and she paused, but remained silent. Her hand continued to clean his cut, and Peter grabbed her wrist to stop her.
"C'mom (Name), please say something. Tell me why you're upset," he pleaded. His eyes were flooded with concern and she huffed, dropping her hands into her lap.
"What the hell do you want me to say, Peter?" she snapped and Peter flinched slightly in response. They sat in silence for a while. Peter stared at her while he gaze remained fixed on her lap. She suddenly cleared her throat and stood up, tossing the rag into the laundry basket.
She returned to her seat and grabbed some gauze, covering his wound with it.
"It's not deep enough to need stitches. You got lucky," she mumbled, packing everything away and setting it beside her bed. She sat in her chair, her gaze focused on the floor. She couldn't bring herself to look at him.
"Darling, look at me," Peter whispered. He reached a hand out and brushed her hair back. His hand cupped her cheek and she looked up at him, tears pooling in her eyes. His thumb gently caressed her cheek as she sniffled.
"Why are you crying?" he asked, leaning forward and cupping her other cheek with his other hand. She let out a dry laugh and a warm tear slipped down her cheek. Peter wiped it away.
"It's stupid," she shook her head and Peter frowned.
"It's never stupid," he said, running one of his hands through her hair. She inhaled and exhaled, it coming out in a sob.
"I just, god Peter what if you're not okay?" she asked and Peter's brow furrowed.
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, what if one day you go out there and you're not lucky. What if one day you go out there and get hurt so bad that I can't help you. What if one day you go out there and you don't," her body was softly shaking from her cries and she sucked in a breath. "What if you don't ever come back?"
Peter swears his heart broke at the sight of her shaking from sobs. He dropped his hands from her cheeks to her arms and gave them a slight tug forward, bringing her into his own.
"Hey, hey, shh," he soothed, rubbing her back with one hand while the other held her waist. Her arms wound tightly around his neck and she hugged him tightly. Her face was placed in the crook of his neck and her tears wet his bare skin.
"I can't stand the thought of losing you, Peter. I don't know what I would do," she cried, her words slightly muffled. Peter's own eyes seemed to brim with tears as he pressed a quick kiss to her neck.
"Hey, you don't need to worry about me, even though I know you will. I'll be fine. I always am. I have you to fight for," he pulled her back from him to look at her face. Tears silently fell down her cheeks and he wiped them away.
"I'll come back to you. I'll always come back to you," he whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to her lips. He released his grip on her and moved to lay down in her bed. His arm outstretched to grab her hand and he gave a small tug, pulling her to her bed to lay down.
She laid next to him, her eyes closed. He had an arm draped over her and occasionally stroked her hair. Soft sniffles left her every so often and Peter continued to whisper soothing things to her. The sound of his voice permeating the silence of the room was slowly lulling her to sleep.
"I love you, Peter Parker. I love you so much it's going to kill me," she whispered, eyes still closed. Peter smiled and kissed her forehead.
"I love you too, darling. I promise I'll always come back to you," he whispered back, and a small smile was placed on her lips for the first time that night as she fell asleep.
