Y/N 🍪

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STEPHEN ISN'T THE ONLY THING THAT'S STRANGE.

That was a terrible joke, I know, but my mind is one gram away from causing a chemical reaction. As a scientist, I like keeping things ordered. Precision is the most important part about my work, and I'm far past the point of messy experiments.

Peter is an unfinished hypothesis.

I thought I had him figured out, but yesterday, a multitude of the unexplained happened. Being my one friend, I had time to categorize his personality—socially awkward, intelligent, humble—and yet I'm clearly missing something else about him.

Yesterday, I hugged him after he saved me from that spider.

I felt something...strange. Like someone had taken a jump-cable and attached it to my heart. I'm not sure if he felt it too, but I brushed it off as lingering fear from my arachnid scare. It wasn't anything. It shouldn't have been anything.

Until it happened again.

I tried to rest my head on his shoulder when researching, but the same feeling happened for the second time. I'd never felt it before, and I couldn't explain it. I decided to try my best and forget about it, because the looming stress of my Spider-Soulmate was already too much to handle.

We got breakfast, went to school, I finished some tests, and soon we were on our way to Stark Tower for another lab excursion. We were used to our train trip to Manhattan by now, the exact routes and stops burned into our minds. I was grateful Peter agreed to be my chaperone, never hesitating to accompany me to the tower each day after school.

But now it was awkward, and I think I know why.

It's mainly my fault. Every time he tries to start a conversation, I feel myself freezing up and not knowing what to say. Every time I look at him, I remember the strange feeling from before. It's not like I like him―he's not my soulmate―but it almost feels like I do. Which can't happen. It just doesn't make sense.

"You should listen to this song," Peter said, flipping around his phone, "it's so good."

We were sitting across from each other on the train, backpacks clutched in our laps as we stared at each other through the packed car. On his phone screen was his Spotify-Player, displaying the song 'Starchild' by The Midnight Club.

I flinched.

I love that song. I used to blast it through my beaten-up headphones in middle school, and the fact that Peter suddenly brought up that he liked it too was alarming. It wasn't helping. I shouldn't even be thinking about how perfect he is.

I shouldn't be thinking about how he's the first person to care about me at school. Saving me from failed experiments, asking me about my day, offering to help me pursue my dreams as a scientist.

I shouldn't be thinking about how similar we were. Usuals at Delmars, having a passion for STEM, being socially awkward most days, and listening to the same music. I'm sure there's more to discover about us. I almost don't want to, because it'll only further this strange feeling I have about him.

I shouldn't be thinking about how the sunlight whizzing through the train-car's window makes his hair seem like strands of gold. The smile on his face as he rambles on about how the song makes him happy, the crease of his eyes after he reaches an awkward pause and doesn't know what to say.

I'm screwed.

This is so, so, so wrong.

I shouldn't be looking at Peter like more than a friend, because we're only destined to be friends. I found my soulmate and it's definitely not him. Spider-Man is cocky, arrogant, and immature. Peter is kind, sweet, and smart.

And Peter's red-string leads to someone else.

I shouldn't, but I wish it was me.

Illıllııllıllı

THIS IS BAD. THIS IS VERY, VERY BAD.

I've been working on this new batch of cookies for an hour, but I've been failing miserably at everything. I meant it. Everything. Peter's been scrolling through TikTok on his phone, laughing at random cat videos, but I've been having a full-fledged panic session right in front of him. He hasn't noticed, because it's mainly internal.

Mainly.

Except for the parts where I get too distracted by the goofy smile on his face, and screw up the batch measurements. I nearly cut my finger on a broken eggshell, because he mumbled something to himself, and I thought he was talking to me. The kitchen was a mess and it's all his fault (not really, but I'm blaming it on him just to spare myself from admitting that something is horribly wrong with me).

"Oh hell," I said, swearing under my breath as I dropped the bin of flour on the floor. The plastic container made a loud cracking sound when it hit the ground, the white powder spilling over the sides and onto my shoes. "Frick."

I heard Peter's phone click off when the commotion happened, and soon he was crouching in front of me, scooping the wasted flour into a pile. To say I was embarrassed was an understatement. It was an under-thought hypothesis. I could write a research paper on how horrible I felt in the moment.

Every time Peter's hand would move closer to mine, I made sure to start brushing up a different section of the floor. I didn't want to touch him again. I couldn't entertain the strange feelings that we'd shared previously.

"You okay?" He asked, looking up to meet my gaze. A stray curl of his hair had fallen in front of his eyes. "You've been acting weird all day."

I bit my tongue anxiously. "Thanks."

"Weird isn't a bad thing, I just meant you haven't seemed focused."

"I know."

"So is everything okay?"

Heck no.

Everything is not okay, because everything is falling apart. I have a soulmate who isn't you, Peter, and yet you don't seem bothered by the fact that everytime we touch, I feel all sparkly and weird inside. NO, Peter. Not okay. I ought to smack you over the head just for asking such an idiotic question.

I'm getting really stressed, if you couldn't tell.

"I'm fine." I lied.

Peter seemed to see through me. "You aren't."

"Yes, I am."

Before he could call me out again, I stood back onto my feet, dusting off the flour from my hands. It fell onto the floor like snow, and I felt just as cold. I had to keep my distance for a moment, just so I could collect my thoughts. I needed an answer. I hated being clueless, especially in situations that had to do with fate.

I left the kitchen with a feeble, "I'll be back."

I rushed out of the kitchen, my head spinning with confusion. What would Spidey think if he found out I was nearly breaking the soulmate norms? That just wasn't done. Even if it was clear the version of Spider-Man before he became a mutant was gone, I couldn't leave him for Peter.

And besides, Peter has his own soulmate. I'm not a home-wrecker, and if Peter found out I'd begun to...like (?) him, he'd most likely stop being friends with me. I'd go back to being a social outcast with no friends.

I turned a corner of the tower's floor, anxiously walking wherever my feet would lead me. I needed to talk to someone. I needed advice.

Maybe that's why I found myself outside of Tony Stark's office, standing like a fragile shadow in the doorway.

He was playing with a pen, tapping it against his desk when I knocked. Eyes darting up to look at me, he pushed his tinted sunglasses down the bridge of his nose in interest.

"Hey kid," he said, tilting his head. "Let me guess."

I didn't say anything, waiting for him to continue.

"'Peter Problems'?" He continued.

Even just the sound of Peter's name made my stomach do a flip. At this rate, I could qualify for the olympics.

"What?" I stammered, "I mean, I don't—"

He cut me off, waving his hand towards the chair across from his own. His expression softened slightly, but I could still see that smug look of arrogance on his face. He knew why I was here, and he knew he was right.

"Take a seat," he said.

So I did.