Bloom - Peter Parker

Orange: A Date With Fate

"So let me get this straight, Y/N. Your soulmate is Spider-Man, like, the actual Spider-Man, but as soon as your bond connected, he ran away?" The direct cut of your older sister's words causes you to wince as you nod in sad agreement. "That's so..."

"Stupid?" You offer.

"Yeah," she agrees. Callie begins to pace in front of you. "Why would he do that?" She muses, drawing a hand through her thick hair. "Did he get your number at least?"

You shake your head despondently. "Nope," you respond, voice dry. "He knows my first name, but that's all. He swung away before he got anything more." You sigh loudly and flop back onto your bed dramatically. "I'm doomed to a life of loveless torment."

Callie chuckles. "Nah," she comforts, sitting down beside you. She takes your hand and squeezes your fingers, and for a moment you're transported back a few hours to when it was Spider-Man holding your hand. "He'll come back. He probably just freaked out. It's quite a bit thing, y'know, finding the love of your life. Maybe he just needs some time to process it all."

You hum. "I hope he comes back," you say, staring up at the dark grey of your ceiling.

Your older sister nods sadly. "So do I."

———

Every day for the next week, you retrace your steps down the same street you'd trodden when you'd had your phone snatched, hoping desperately that Spider-Man might return. And every day, you find yourself growing disappointed when he fails to show.

Until the following Thursday.

One full week after your first encounter, contact is made again. And it comes in the form of a folded note arranged neatly on your windowsill. When you first see it, it sticks out as one of the only yellow things in your room, so you quickly make your way over to it and snatch it up, thumbing at the fold until it splits open. Your eyes widen as you read the sloppy script, your heart lodging in your throat as you realise who it's from.

Hey. I'm so sorry I ran away from you last week... It wasn't cool of me at all, and I definitely shouldn't have done it. Please forgive me. If you don't hate me, I'd really like to meet up with you. Tomorrow at 4? That coffee shop on the corner of 22nd and 31st? So sorry again... - Peter x

Despite the week of anxious torment, you find the anger at Peter fading away. You can practically feel the shameful guilt radiating from the lines printed across the page, and find your heart aching to know he's been distressed over his flee.

You find a smile tweaking the corners of your lips as you reread the note several times, each repetition of the words causing your grin to widen. Any residual anger you felt quickly drains away, and despite being completely alone in your room, you find yourself nodding.

———

Come 4pm the following day, and you're a nervous, shaking, bumbling mess.

Unsurprisingly, as you settle into a booth at the side of the café, you can't quite keep ahold of your nerves. Your heart's beating so quickly you're afraid you might pass out, and your hands are so sweaty that you have to abandon the half-written text to your sister due to the slickness of your fingertips. No amount of deep breathing or twiddling with your hair helps: you're completely freaking out.

Before you'd left your apartment, Callie had shoved you into a new dress. It was around knee-length, skater skirt, a cute neckline, and it was yellow. She'd made a point of this, reasoning that there was nothing more fitting than wearing this particular colour to your first date with Peter. And as you sit there, drumming your fingertips over the tabletop, you can't help but agree: there is an awfully nice symmetry between the colours.