Today was a good day, you decided, punctuating the thought with a soft smile, eyelashes relaxed and comfortable lazing on the bed of your cheeks. After nearly a full week of dark rainy days and cold, cloudy nights, it was just so nice to be sitting out in the open air, morning sun warming you to the core, spreading the skin of your upturned face with buttery rays. You could still smell the rain, wafting from puddles and dewy grass; the perfume of moist earth and wet flowers hanging in the still-thick air, carried on the gentle breeze blowing through leaves on the trees whispering their good mornings to anyone listening. Little, excited birds singing to you in the same tune as the laughing children playing on slides and swings behind you.
You drew in a deep breath of that heady, good air, noticing that there was a new, familiar note to it as it reached your lungs; it was heavier, but the same: sunshine, warm honey, and musky thunder storms. You heard the sound of a shutter closing, lips curling and lashes fluttering open as his voice greeted your ears.
"Man," his voice warm and fitting the day, "How are you so damn photogenic?" His brows were scrunched over the top of his view finder, fingers of one hand awkwardly posed around the camera he had started carrying around with him after he'd found it tucked away in a box of his Uncle's things.
"I'm not really, you're just a real deal photographer," but you were blushing because you knew what he was actually saying, "you make me photogenic." From underneath his camera you could see a crooked smile on his thin lips because he knew what you were actually saying, too, grinning as his thumb pushed at the advance lever and his finger pressed down on the shutter release and with another click he'd captured that light blush and shy smile.
Today is a good day.
He made you photogenic.
He did it with kind, cryptic, sugary words, sunshine lips, and rose bud blushes.
When he put the camera back in its place over his chest, dusty old leather strap tightening around the back of his neck as it hung, you could see his sun-kissed face and cheeks that were pink flower petals like yours.
He stood there looking at you as you looked at him, light from the morning star shining through brunette curls and lighting them on fire, catching on his eyelashes; a sunrise, light lining his earth colored eyes. The smile on both of your faces going shy as he caught himself, looking down at the way you had your knees pulled up to your chest and arms wrapped around shins on the slightly dampened bench instead of pink lips, pink cheeks, and little frizzy hairs.
"I, um, brought you coffee," the hand he'd kept hanging by his hip coming to brush against yours as he took a step forward, offering his caffeinated gift, "just the way you like it."
"Thanks, Pete," fingertips brushing past each others, tingling as they often did when your skin met; the feeling much warmer than the heated cup he slid into your hand.
You took a sip and looked up at eyes waiting for approval, "Just the way I like it," you said with a nod, and this time your smile wasn't shy, it was grateful and sure of itself; chest warm from more than the coffee.
The corners of his eyes crinkled in the way you liked.
"Where's Ned at," you asked after another sip, brown eyes that were always watching following the path it took as you swallowed, "I thought he was meeting us here?" You watched nervous fingers fiddling around with the zipper of his jacket, metal tinkling as it moved when he shrugged his shoulders.
"I'm not sure," his gaze moving past you and over at the vacant swing set hidden behind swinging branches of playful trees, "but, we could have some fun while we wait." He was already walking away from your quiet, cozy bench and towards rust and squeaky chains.
"C'mon, [Y/N]" he called from over his shoulder, lean, lanky legs having already carried him most of the way to the faded rubber of the seats. You laughed when he walked to stand behind one of them, hands wrapping around chains, eyebrows and lips rising as he waited for you, poised and ready to push.
You laughed at the expression on his face, walking over to him, steaming gift resting on the mulch beneath your feet as you took a wobbly seat between chains and strong arms that held you in place; your body buzzing between the sliver of space between your back and his chest that smelt like the morning.
Today.
"Ready?" he asked and his voice was light and fluttery like your heart, your body swayed as his arms pushed at rattling chains. The back of your head bounced off his chest.
You shook your head, "Wait, no, not yet," a few strands of wild hair clinging to the fabric of his shirt.
You adjusted your hips one last time, wiggling, hinges of the seat squeaking, Peter chuckling, until the hard edges settled against your skin comfortably, the tops of nervous fists resting under warm ones.
"Ok, now I'm ready," you nodded, looking over your shoulder and up at a pointy chin with a smile.
"You sure? Really, really sure?"
"Peter, just push me," his honeyed laugh drizzling welcome ears with its sweetness, chest close enough to your back that you felt it in yours.
"Yes ma'am," and then you were moving and the air was sliding between your hair and over your skin, kissing at the places where hands were touching. You were both laughing, and his hands were on top of yours instead of chains as he pushed, fingers clasping and unclasping as the space around you pushed and pulled the way your heart did as he laughed.
It surprised you when he wasn't behind you anymore, but instead in front, cheeky expression on his face, eyes alight with mischief. Your body jerked awkwardly to the side when he stopped your swinging with a pair of arms before completely surprising you yet again, heart leaping from your chest and stomach clenching as he wrapped them around your waist, messing up his curls as a broad shoulder met with your belly and you were being lifted and swung over his back; the world full of laughter, shivering metal, and air you were losing track of leaving excited lungs.
"Peter!" you exclaimed, blood rushing to your face, voice sounding funny as you hung, arms grasping at belt loops and pockets at hips, clinging to a jacket, tightening as a too-hot hand wrapped itself around a nervous thigh and another found your back, a few fingertips sliding past the fabric there and tickling at bare skin.
Then you were laughing because he'd started twirling, and your hair was in your mouth, but so was his name, which was good because it matched with the day; the sunshine, sweet honey, flower petals, and the lingering smell of rain.
"Peter! Quit it!" You exclaimed, but he knew what you actually meant because he didn't stop, he just kept laughing as he ran around the swing set with you hanging over his shoulder, camera bouncing clumsily between a shaking chest and less nervous legs. He didn't even stop when he stumbled, kicking over your coffee; which was OK, because this was a good day.
He was touching you and laughing and it was good.
It wasn't until your eyes caught sight of the figure standing with arms crossed and a grin on his face that you suddenly felt embarrassed, cheeks blazing at having been caught.
"Peter, really, quit it," you said a little more seriously, hand tapping at his back trying to get his attention.
But he was still stuck on the morning and the sun.
Ned was still looking at you both with a smug expression.
"Peter Benjamin Parker," fists demanding his attention as they rapped at his back, "Put me down!"
He stopped moving then, smile still lingering on his words, "Yeesh, OK, OK," he said as he bent his knees enough for you to slide off of his shoulder and your feet to mix with mulch, "no need for full names. You'd think I was in trouble or something." He stood smiling at you, cheeks pushing at puffy eyes as you worked to adjust your shirt and fix your hair. He noticed your blush, the light in your eyes that hung like the sun in the sky, the laughter that still worked at your chest.
Then you watched as he clued in, as he noticed that your eyes were focused on a point over the shoulder you'd touched.
"Oh," his cheeks were made of flower petals again when he turned around, "good morning, Ned," hands that he'd been sure of moments ago shoving into the safety of pockets.
And bless it if Ned didn't say anything, he just smiled and smiled and it was good.
