Peter's POV

She sits by the window like usual. Her colorful lips are curved up into a dazed smile as she draws with one hand and stroker her cat Murphy with the other. She stares intently a the paper, looking caught halfway between concentration and enjoyment.

And I don't think anyone has ever looked so beautiful.

It feels strange to watch her like this and—honestly—a little unfair. Each time I see her in raw moments like this, I discover another color. Yet, she doesn't.

Still, I've got a plan to change it. In a few days, I'll go into the deli later than usual when I know she'll be there—as Peter Parker, of course. Then, all she has to do is see me, and she'll know.

"Just a few more days." I say to myself fas I take one last look at her before starting my usual patrol. Plus, I'll be back later like every day this week to make sure her and Mr. Delmar make it to their home safely.

...

Y/N's POV

"What do you think, Murph?" I ask my cat who is lazily purring on my lap, tail occasionally swiping across my leg in content. "I'll take that as you like it."

Dad's chuckle echoes through the empty store. "Y/N, you know he's just a cat, right? Not an art critic."

"He may be a cat, but he's not just any cat. I've told you, Dad, Murph is magical." I tease and stroke him between his ears. "Isn't that right, bud?" Murph just meows in confirmation, and I turn back to my Dad with a laugh.

It's been a long running joke that Murphy is more than just a normal cat. Mostly because as a little kid I was convinced he was a wizard in disguise, and he's been alive since before I was born. It's silly, but Murph is pretty much a best friend to me—well, more like the one I talk to about everything because he can't judge me or share secrets.

My attention is drawn from the purring cat in my lap by a loud crack, and I instinctively look up to see the ATM vestibule across the street being broken into by a group of men with cheap halloween Avenger masks with weapons in hand. "Dad!" I shout and run behind the counter to his side.

"Go in the back and stay out of sight. I'm calling the police." He tells me with fear flashing in his eyes as he pushes and grabs the phone. My fingers shake and curl around Murph's fur in a desperate attempt to calm myself down. All I can hear is my Dad's muffled voice and the crashing noises echoing from across the street. He marches in a moment later, phone still pressed to his ear as he pulls me into his chest. "It's gonna be fine, sweetie. Police are on their way."

Something in my gut still twists though. I don't know what to do. It's like I can't remember how to breathe. My whole body can't stop shaking beneath my dad's tight embrace, and I have to keep myself from pushing him off to breathe because I know he needs the comfort more than I do. It's clear he's just as terrified as I am.

I mean, this is New York. Things happen all the time, but it always feels so distant and foreign until it's literally right across the street with guns. Unsurprisingly, that little fact makes all of it very real.

There are a series of clashes, snaps, and thumps that echo and send a series of tremors through me. My dad's arms instinctively clutch me even tighter to him as we both wonder how this will end.

An eerie purple glow fills the room growing progressively brighter with an ear-ringing noise. Murph scrambles from my arms, and Dad knocks me to the ground mere seconds before the destruction hits.

It's all a blaze of heat, smoke, and panic. A shelf topples over and drops the entirety of its contents—some flaming— directly on top of me. I shriek as I shove them off and attempt to orientate myself in the midst of the haze.

My feet are glued down. I'm too terrified to step in any direction for fear of going further into danger. "Dad?" I repeatedly call out between coughs and search for any sign of him. And with every quiet second that ticks by, I only grow more panicked. "Dad?!"

A mixture of clatters and muffled shouts make it to my ears, and I take a bold step toward the source without thinking. Although, the sudden movement makes me realize a few things—most of which is the pain. Flurries and patches on my arms and legs that threaten to topple me if not for the adrenaline.

"Dad?" I call again and blindly stumble through the dark, hazy bodega to where I heard voices a moment before.

"It's okay," a familiar voice says and a pair of arms scoop me up into the mystery person's chest. "It's okay, Y/N. I got you."

Something about their voice stands out amidst the swirling, panic-muddled thoughts. But it slips right past me as we make it out into the lit street, where my dad is watching anxiously with Murph in his arms. He lets out a deep sigh of relief at the sight of me safely in the arms of—what the heck.

Spiderman, who I am only now able to see clearly. It's also now that I can see the slightly-greyed colors against the dull world. The lenses of his mask squint in concern. "Are you alright?" He questions with such tenderness.

It's only natural for him to be worried. I'm a smoke-scented, shocked mess trembling in his arms. But I can't seem to find the words—or anything at all really. My brain is playing catch up and lets nothing out.

Sirens wail in the distance, and Spiderman quickly sets me down with my dad there to hold me up. "I-I'm sorry, but I have to go." He stutters and turns away.

"Wait!" I yell and stumble after him despite the sway in my step and the pain now shooting through my body. His strong hands catch me before I fall too far, and my fingers wrap around his wrists as I use him to keep myself upright. "I know who you are to me." I whisper with more strength and confidence than I feel.

It takes him a second, but it's clear he understands when the lenses of his mask widen as he stutters, "I-I—um—well—"

My voice hastily cuts him off as I hear the sirens nearly on us and know he needs to leave soon. "It's complicated, I know." I glance over my shoulder to make sure my dad isn't watching and lean closer to Spiderman. "I'll leave my window unlocked for the next few days. Just in case you want to talk and try to help uncomplicate things."

I'm not sure what I expect him to do, but it doesn't keep my heart from dropping as he leaves. The cops and medics arrive just seconds after him. My eyes still watch the now empty spot where just a second ago he was a momentary streak of colors before leaving nothing but grey in his wake.

Police officers and paramedics chatter and ask questions as they guide me and my dad away to be tended to. I absently answer every inquiry and watch emptily as they work to put out the fire. The issue is, my mind isn't here. It's tangled up in the webs of a certain hero as I wonder if he'll actually come—or if any of this is even real.

It's two hours of the process. Cops taking our statements, medics checking up on us and patching us up, and the firefighters assessing the damage. My dad refuses to leave my side the entire time, but I don't mind.

I just want to go home.

My mom practically tackles us in joy when we walk through the door—bandaged, but fine. Her fingers brush through my hair as she speaks so quickly in Spanish, I can barely catch a syllable of her rant.

Luckily, Dad calms her down enough for me to escape to my room. I set Murph down and let out a deep sigh. All I want right now is to get rid of the smoke stench and collapse into bed.

But, of course, I don't get the chance.

There's a tapping at my window, much like how I assume Poe discussed in the Raven. And I halfway wonder if I'm going crazy too after today. Maybe I'm just hallucinating the noise, because it stops for a long second before persisting.

I slowly walk over to the window, fairly certain I know what's making the noise. After all, my bedroom is on the fifth floor with no fire escape or way to access it. The curtains pull back with ease beneath my fingers and confirm my suspicion. There's no way to access it unless you're Spiderman.

He quietly slips inside without the slightest sound as I crack open the window. I would be lying if I didn't say it wasn't a little impressive and startling how easily he seems to do it. Just like with earlier, there's seem to be a natural ease to what he does. Even when he was carrying me, it's like I weighed nothing to him.

I snap out of my thoughts when he turns to me, and we are only a foot apart. It feels so strange. I'm so close to someone who is supposed to be my perfect match, yet there's nothing but curiosity and intrigue. "So—" He starts, clearly as nervous as I am right now.

"Where do you suggest we start," I pause and take another long look at the brighter colors of his suit compared to the limited, dulled versions elsewhere, "soulmate?"