Not Exactly Comfort

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"So, what's up?" he asks. I turn and walk over to the bed, flopping onto the soft mattress. 

"Can you do me a favor?" I ask, ignoring his question. He shuts the door and walks over, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"Sure," he says.

"One night..." I start. "For one night. I need you to pretend that I'm that girl. The girl from the movie. Please." He stays quiet for a minute.

"You're scared," he whispers. "If you really are the girl from the movie, that means you have no idea how this happened. You're confused and hurt since I-- since Peter wished you away."

"Yeah..." I mumble. 

"And you don't know me," he continues. "Not like the {Y/N} I know. Would you like to know about your movies?" I nod and turn to look at him.

"You only have two," he begins. "At first, you were only supposed to have one, but everyone loved you so much that they wanted another one. But that one ends with Peter wishing you back to your world. Your fans were absolutely devastated. They shipped you and Peter like it was some sort of religion."

"I have fans?" I ask, confused as to why anyone would like me.

"Hell, {Y/N}, you have flipping cults for you," he laughs. "It's absolutely crazy. I think everyone loved you so much because, on screen, you're this badass, sassy girl, and off screen, you're exactly the same."

"How do the other cast members like me?" I ask, sitting up so it's easier to hear him.

"They love you. It's like every person met you and instantly fell for your charm," he smiles. "I remember the first day you came on set. You had these absolutely ridiculous sunglasses on. And you said, 'What's up my bitches? Where's my fuckin' trailer?' And it was the best part of that day."

"So, if everything that happened with Peter is my movie, how did the kissing scenes go?" I ask.

"Th-They went pretty well actually," he says. "There was one deleted scene, where we tried to do the Spider-Man kiss. It was a total disaster though. I could hardly even breathe and we were laughing so hard that we spit all over each other's faces. But everything else... We had to go through that a lot because I-- YOU were nervous about kissing me. Counting every moment we had to kiss, I think we, in total, made out for a good two hours."

"And what are we?" I ask, scared of the answer.

"{Y/N}... We talked about this," he sighs, running a hand through his curls.

"Movie girl, remember?" I remind.

"We're friends. Nothing more," he looks out the window. 

"And why's that?" I ask, silently begging him to look at me.

"I have a girlfriend..." he states. "Zendaya. We're keeping it down low. I showed interest in you, but you told me you didn't feel the same." 

This world's me a fucking asshole.

My heart aches. Yesterday I was fifteen and dating fucking Spider-Man. And today I'm twenty-one and single. This is just cruel, Universe. This is just cruel.

"So I'm single," I mutter. He nods, still staring at the moon.

"So what's really wrong?" he asks. I point to my phone lying on the ground in front of the door. Tom stands and walks over to the door, picking up the device. 

"Home screen," I mumble. He glances at me before unlocking it and looking at the home screen. 

"It's just a picture of us in costume," he says, bringing it over to me.

"Movie girl," I start. "That isn't a picture of us, Tom. That's a picture of me and Peter."

We're standing on the beach. This was taken just before Father made us do the photoshoot. My hair is loose, blowing in the wind. Right before I took this, Peter had whispered the most hilarious thing in my ear. So he's laughing, a smile of pure joy on his face. And I'm laughing from the stupid joke. Peter isn't even looking at the camera. He's staring at me while I'm looking into the camera. Stray strands of my hair blow in our faces. My left arm holds the phone while the other is wrapped around his waist. Both of his arms pull me closer to him.

"I'm scared, Tom," I say, my voice cracking. "I don't know what's happening and I feel useless without him. That's why I ran out! I'm alone and even though he promised he would protect me, he isn't here. I'm alone and vulnerable. And I hate the thought of never seeing him again." Tears well up in my eyes again. Finally, Tom looks up and meets my eyes. 

"This is why everyone loves you," he whispers. "You're amazing at acting."

"Do you think they're sad?" I ask.

"Who?" Tom asks, fiddling with my phone.

"Father and Peter," I say. "Do you think they're sad?"

"Well, yeah. But they are not real, so you're okay," he tries to comfort. It didn't work.

"They are real, Tom," I spit. "All of them. They're people, just like us. With hearts and emotions! If you could wrap your head around that, maybe you would be able to understand. But you're just like everyone else. Only focused on one place, when you could be in another."

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