Y/N 🍪

_

MAYBE I DODGED A BULLET.

I hate spiders, my soulmate is a spider (I think, although whatever's underneath his mask has yet to be determined), so maybe this was good after all. 'Friends' he said. I could do friends, I guess, it didn't require love—which was something I did not want at the current moment.

It's crazy how you're supposed to love someone you barely know. You just meet them for the first time, and you think 'wow, so we're supposed to marry each other?'.

Well, in my case, it's: 'hah, I'm a superhero lol, let's be besties instead'!

I didn't tell Luka what happened though, because I knew he'd end up scouring all of New York to yell at Spider-Man for friend-zoning me. I wasn't ready for that kind of humiliation.

But now I was back at school, purposely avoiding social interaction like I usually did. YANA was progressing nicely, but the problem was finding the money to kick-start it, and no one was likely to stick their leg out for a high schooler. Especially one who can't get this damn dough recipe right.

"I give up," I mumbled under my breath, scraping burnt cookies off the pan, "this sucks."

Of course I didn't really give up, but I felt like I should. I've been in this chemistry room for an hour now, and I haven't figured out what's wrong. Everything else was perfect—the dimensions of the product, the title, the tag-line—but the dough! Ugh.

Readjusting the goggles I had covering my eyes, I tossed the pan in the sink, making a beeline for my notebook on the other side of the desk.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE RECIPE

Cookie batter (See Recipe)

Sugar

Serotonin

Tetrahydronaphthalene

Chocolate chips (?)

I removed any of the things someone might be allergic too, because I care about all-round accessibility. The only problem is that the lack of 'cookie' itself can't balance out the antidepressants. I'd need to stay up late and figure this out, because I need to spend my week focusing on finding a donor instead.

I was about to jot something down, when I heard a knock at the door.

Looking up, I saw the familiar sight of brown curls and a sheepish grin lingering awkwardly by the entrance. Peter had his backpack slung on one shoulder, and was wearing his Midtown™ jumper, his hands shoved into the pockets of his trousers like he wasn't sure where else to put them.

"Hey Parker," I smiled, lifting up my goggles.

He blinked, panic flaring in his eyes. "Sandwich."

I gave him a confused look, dusting off my hands on my apron as I pried the silence for answers. He was a little strange sometimes, even though I haven't known him for long, but I didn't mind. It was charming. Also alarming. I wasn't sure which one it was at the moment.

"I agree," I said finally, "sandwich is good."

Peter looked horrified—at himself—for whatever reason.

I waved my hand, beckoning for him to come inside the room, which he hesitantly did. It was supposed to be lunch hour for the rest of the kids in my class, but I didn't join. I wondered if he was here to ask why I didn't show up—but that wouldn't make sense.

"What's up?" I asked, leaning against the counter, "and what is this about a sandwich?"

His backpack nearly fell off his shoulder. "Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Okay, well—" He began, cutting himself off, "I was trying to ask if you wanted to go to Delmars, but I panicked, and messed it up."

I chuckled. "It's okay."

"But do you want to go?"

"Ah, sorry, Peter, I can't," I sighed, "I'm trying to find someone who will fund my experiment, but so far the estimated cost is coming up way to high, and I need to start problem-solving."

Somehow, Peter didn't look deterred. He just looked like that picture of Robert Pattison standing in a kitchen with his eyes wide-open and his arms dangling by his sides.

"Delmar's tomorrow then?" He choked out.

"Tomorrow," I smiled.

Peter smiled, turning towards the door. But I stopped him.

"Did you find your soulmate, Peter?" I asked.

I wasn't sure why I was asking, but I suppose it was because I was feeling scorned from yesterday. Spider-Man ruined my chances of having a perfect, loving, not scary soulmate, and I suppose I just wanted reassurance that Peter was okay with his. Maybe love wasn't nonexistent?

He hesitated, but I couldn't tell if he shook his head or nodded it.

"Why do you ask?" He mumbled sheepishly.

"No reason," I sighed, glancing at the ground, "you just mentioned that you haven't found your soulmate, and I was wondering if you finally did."

He did this strange thing with his eyes, where his pupils dilated, but then they shrunk when he glanced away. I don't think I've ever seen that happened to someone before.

"I don't know," he said, before freezing up, "did you find yours?"

I shrugged. "I don't know either."

"You don't?"

"Nope," I said, "I thought I did, but I'm pretty sure it was a mistake."

"Why?"

"Because according to him, we're just friends," I said, rolling my eyes, "but it's fine, because I don't think we would have made each other happy anyways."

I was being vague on purpose, because Peter obviously didn't know my soulmate was Spider-Man, and I was going to keep it that way. I also wanted to rant about it. Being rejected by your apparent soulmate was more than annoying, and I wanted to cry and kick something at the same time.

"Happy," Peter said suddenly, "yeah, happy is good."

I blinked. "Yeah."

"I should go."

"Already? You just got here—"

Before I could finish my sentence, Peter was already running out of the room.