Peter Parker One Shots

Espresso

The thing about Peter is that he loves violently, but silently.

He doesn't say it, but his goodbyes are laced with a mix of I don't want you to go and I can't wait to talk to you again. He gets this spark in his eyes when his Aunt May teases him and even though he's really inconspicuous about it, he leans into touches. A hand on the shoulder, that complicated handshake he has with Ned, a hug. Around those he loves his dark eyes turn into warm honey and a smile molds onto his lips like it's meant to be there. It is meant to be there.    

I think he's that way because after losing his parents, he understands how much humans crave recognition and love from one another. That's one way we're equal; we all love. It makes us weak, and it makes us strong. It's uncontrollable and a lot of us don't want it to happen, but it does. Love is one thing we can't fight off.

The first day I met Peter - Freshman year, lost and doing a terrible job at avoiding getting trampled - I knew that we'd be friends. He was all shy and careful, picking at the sleeves of his dark blue sweater and stuttering as he handed my dropped notebooks back to me. Those eyes kept darting anywhere but to mine and pink had found a habitat at the tips of his ears. He'd been the most adorable thing I'd ever seen.

We became friends surprisingly quick. Lab partners in chemistry and later a suffering duo in Spanish, we found our compatibility through studying. He learned that coffee was the only thing keeping my brain tied together enough to comprehend foreign languages and I learned that colorful flashcards were the only way to keep him focused enough to remember things.

And soon that spark in his eyes belonged to me, too. He's vulnerable around those he trusts; funny but scared when he wants to be. My feelings for him grew so fast over the months we spent together, but I think I knew I was a goner from that first day.

Now we sit on his bed opposite one another, Starbucks coffee sitting in the nursery of my crossed legs and index cards reading Spanish in colors ranging from cerulean to bright orange scattered around his bedspread. The clock reads 1:16 am in bold red numbers and I know that neither of us are getting rest soon because our Spanish exam is at eight later today and we're severely unprepared because we spent too much time pigging out on the couch and having movie marathons.

I tear off a piece of my sloppily written notes to ball up and throw at Peter, whose eyes are sliding shut. He jumps violently at the light thump smack dab in the middle of his forehead and sends me a thankful grumble before grabbing a random stack of cards and shuffling through them. His hair is a pile of messy curls, the usually gelled up style ruined by the midnight shower he'd taken earlier. I personally loved it natural and hated how much it'd begun to distract me. I just...ugh I wanted to run my fingers through it.

God, Jess you're getting too tired. Stop it.

I take a big gulp out of my cup before scanning over my paper and grabbing a separate stack from the one I know Peter is barely comprehending in front of me, hand smooshed against his cheek to keep his head upright and blinking furiously to keep himself awake.

"Okay," A yawn sneaks past my lips. "What does Mi amigo y yo fuimos a la tienda hoy translate to?"

Peter stares at me with cloudy eyes for a good five seconds before he groans. "Can we please take a break for like five minutes?" He rubs at his eyes. "I'm suffering here, Jess."

I purse my lips in response. "Do you want to take Spanish again?"

"Just five minutes! Come on." He hits me with the puppy dog eyes - that cheater - and I sigh because I know I've lost.

"Fine. Five minutes, but you have to tell me what it translates to."

Peter sighs and grumbles sleepily - but adorably - as he reaches for the paper on my binder. The dark brown eyes that are similar to melted chocolate in the minor yellow lamp light scan the lines for a while before he slams it down. His lips quirk up and it's then that I decide that I either need to get a grip on myself or go to sleep because the urge to kiss him almost overcomes me.