Y/N 🍪

_

I'M STRESSING.

I almost let my soulmate's (alias) name slip during dinner, when Luka was sending me annoying looks across the table, and then a serious problem occurred to me.

I can't tell anyone my soulmate is Spider-Man.

Why?

Because if I do find him, and I find out who he really is, then people are going to start having questions when I start dating them. Let's say Spider-Man's name is John Ham. If everyone knows my soulmate is Spidey, and then I start dating John Ham, people are going to start putting two-and-two together.

John Ham is my soulmate.

Spider-Man is my soulmate.

John Ham is Spider-Man.

And that would compromise his identity.

"I'm going for a walk," I said, although it was clear my words were less than confident, "outside."

Luka poked his head out from his room, the now open door streaming soft guitar out of the cracks. I could see his friend Marinette sewing something from behind him, chatting away on FaceTime with some girl with red hair. My foster-brother, however, was more focused on my decision to leave.

"Where outside?" He questioned, narrowing his eyes into slits.

I glared back. "Out."

"Mom wouldn't want you going alone."

"Well, Mom's doing a night shift right now," I said, rolling my eyes, "she won't know I left."

Swatting him away with my hand, I grabbed my keys and made my way towards the door. I knew Luka wouldn't rat me out for leaving, because he knew I wouldn't hesitate to get revenge if he did—and let's not bring up some past memories. Let's just say he'd forget I was even gone.

Brooklyn was cold tonight, a chilly breeze sweeping through the low-top buildings, and the sound of soft car horns drifting down the street. It was dangerous to be walking alone at night—unfortunately, even more so in my case—but I needed the air. I just wanted to breathe.

Spider-Man. My soulmate?

His name is terrible for someone with arachnophobia. In fact, his powers are too. Stringy webs, clingy hands and feet, ugh, I want to vomit just by thinking about it. I hate spiders with a passion. A burning fire. I just want to run to Antarctica, because I know there are zero spiders living over—

CRASH!

—there.

Oh Hell, I should run.

When you hear a loud clattering noise coming from a dark alley, your first thought probably isn't a good one. Think of all the possibilities! A murderer, a robber, a creepy demon that crawled out of a sewer and wanted to reign havoc over the world.

But before I could dash the other way, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, stumbling towards me with a slight limp in their right leg. I grabbed my keys, slipping them through my fingers as I prepared to defend myself from the unidentified ghoul. Remember the face, [y/n], I told myself, so you can identify them later if you need to.

Okay, okay, a little short in height, fluffy brown hair, a glint of honey eyes when they stumbled past the street lamp, and a couple bruises on their—wait a damn minute—his face.

What.

"Peter?" I said, my mouth nearly hanging open. "Peter Parker?"

The boy flinched when he saw me, his eyes darting around like he was about to throw a punch. For a moment he whispered something under his breath, exhaling a sigh of relief when he saw it was me.

"[y/n]?" He mumbled, coming to a stop, "the science girl?"

I pursed my lips. "It's scientist, Peter."

"T-tist, Sci," he mumbled, smacking his forehead with his palm, "I am so sorry, but it's really late, and my brain doesn't seem to work."

Something was off about him. Not that I knew him for long enough to know what 'off' was regarding his person, but it was clearly evident. The bruises on his cheekbone, the limp, the flustered speaking and on-edge behavior.

"What are you doing in that alley?" I said bluntly, "did you get jumped?"

Peter widened his eyes. "No!"

"You have bruises, Peter."

"Uhhh, I tripped and fell," he explained weakly, stumbling closer to me, "and I lost my backpack."

It seemed like a reasonable excuse, given the fact that I heard the fall, and he wasn't wearing anything but wrinkled sweats and a hoodie, but I wasn't sure if I wanted to believe him. I may not be a medic, but I know that bruises don't turn that dark-violet shade a few minutes after you get hit.

Hm.

"Sorry about your backpack," I said, before squinting my eyes, "but what are you doing in Brooklyn?"

Peter furrowed his brows. "This is Brooklyn?"

"Yeah?"

"Oh," he said, swearing something under his breath, "I'm in the wrong alley."

"What?"

"Nothing, never mind, I just...got lost," he said, waving his hand, "I should probably go."

Yeah, something was definitely wrong. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it seemed like he was hiding something other than wounds under his skin, and was desperate to change the conversation. There was an explanation, of course, but it wasn't a good one—and I couldn't bring it up without knowing for sure.

I hope everything is okay at his home.

"Okay," I said, turning to leave, "I'll see you at school, then."

I expected him to start leaving like he said he would, but he just stood there like a deer in headlights. Pushing his messy hair out of his eyes, he blinked, stammering over his words as he started to flush a pink color.

"Home walk!" He said, holding out his hand, "no, um—walk you home—okay, I meant to say, do you need me to walk home with you?"

I blinked hesitantly. "I don't want to put you out of your way."

"No, I'm going the same way."

"Where do you live then, Peter?"

"Queens."

I paused, waiting for the punch-line. When nothing but silence fell between us, I realized that he was definitely not joking, and that he really did live in Queens.

"Pete, this is Brooklyn," I said, my jaw nearly hanging open in shock, "why the hell are you over here to begin with?"

The boy was like a walking mess—and I mean that in the nicest way possible—but he was definitely struggling. As soon as I asked the question, he blinked rapidly, trying to fathom up an excuse from the depths of his mind.

"Lost pack-back, back," he said again, his eyes darting around, "backpack, but I'll ask my Aunt to get a new one, so it's fine?"

"But you should probably head home," I suggested, squinting my eyes, "Queens is far from here, and it's getting late."

Peter ignored my comment. "Are you sure you'll be safe walking back?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," I nodded, "besides, I'm just a few blocks down."

Nice move, [y/n], you just told him the area you live in.

He could rob you.

Turning to leave again, I tried not to think much of his awkwardness, but then I heard him call my name again. I spun around, glancing at the boy in confusion. I'd only known him for a day, and yet he seemed to have grown a habit of calling after me before I could make my exits.

"How did the soulmate thing go?" He asked quickly.

I shrugged, shifting on the balls of my feet. "Still complicated."

There was another pause, and his bashful expression changed to something...sadder. He glanced at the concrete ground, lifting his hand to rub at one of the bruises on his cheek.

"I don't think I have one," he mumbled softly, "a soulmate, I mean."

I paused. "Why not?"

"Um...no reason," he said, "I just didn't have a red string."

"What?"

"Yeah, when I woke up there was...definitely no string."

"So there was nothing?"

"Um, well, kinda? Well, not really, but—"

For some reason, my heart broke a little for him. I heard about people waking up to see no string, but I thought that was just a myth. And for it to happen to Peter? This awkward, charming, mildly suspicious boy I just met? I could see the confusion in his eyes, and it made me hurt inside.

"Oh, Hell, Peter, I'm so sorry," I said, holding up my hands hesitantly, "do you want a hug?"

He blinked. "I can have one?"

"Of course!"

Crossing the space between us on the pavement, I wrapped my arms around his shoulders and hugged him as tightly as I could. He seemed to have gotten the message, because I felt his arms wrap around me right after, and...wow.

His grip was something else.

I never thought he'd be the strong type under the baggy hoodies I'd seen him wear.

And for a moment I felt like the hug meant something to both of us. Maybe I needed this hug just as much as he did, because we were both two people with soulmate-issues. I hated spiders, my soulmate was apparently a spider, and he just didn't have one. So, I let myself melt into the hug for as long as I could, my cheek pressed up against his as I exhaled a deep breath. 

But I probably shouldn't have inhaled.

"Peter, maybe you shouldn't hide out in alleys anymore," I said, wrinkling my nose, "you smell like sweat and trash."

He widened his eyes, pulling out of the hug. "Oh god, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay," I laughed, "just make sure you take a shower when you get home."

"I will!"

"Lovely," I said, "but I should go now. See you around, Peter."

He was already bolting down the sidewalk, probably off to take a warm shower. 

_

writer's block is not a good thing to have when you're writing three books at a time...