.ೃ࿔*:･𝐱𝐱𝐢𝐢𝐢. i was enchanted to meet you

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐂𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐏𝐓, but at night, it was at its most beautiful.

The street lights cast a soft, golden glow on the pavement below, mingling with the flashing neon signs that bathed the city in vibrant hues of purple, orange, and blue. The honking of cars echoed through the air, a constant reminder of the city's restless energy. Each vehicle that passed seemed to carry with it a fragment of the city's relentless pulse, contributing to the symphony of noise that defined New York.

Billboards loomed overhead, painting the streets in a kaleidoscope of colors, the bright lights reflecting off the glass of towering skyscrapers. The buildings, standing tall and proud, appeared like guardians of the night, their windows flickering with the lives being lived within.

It was a shame that Ingrid couldn’t appreciate the beauty surrounding her as she walked. Her pace was hurried, almost frantic, as she navigated through the winding streets, her focus solely on escape. She deliberately chose the least crowded routes, the ones that most would avoid after dark. The looming shadows of narrow alleys and the unsettling quiet of deserted sidewalks didn’t faze her. The danger felt like a welcome distraction.

Her feet throbbed with every step, the ache spreading from her soles up through her legs, a painful reminder of the distance she had covered. She had left the compound on foot, the argument with Tony still echoing in her mind. Ingrid left to go for a walk right after the argument and she hadn’t stopped walking since, her anger and hurt propelling her forward.

Tears welled up in her eyes, blurring her vision. She blinked rapidly, trying to hold them back, but the effort was in vain. A few escaped, trailing down her cheeks, only to dry almost as quickly as they fell.

Occasionally, Ingrid would spare a glance at her reflection in the windows of passing restaurants, and each time, she couldn't help but flinch. She had always prided herself on resembling her late grandmother, a woman she had never met but whose beauty was evident in old family photos her father cherished. He had often spoken fondly of her, painting a picture of a gentle soul whose presence still lingered in their lives.

But now, as she stared at her reflection, she felt a deep sense of shame. It seemed almost disrespectful to compare herself to such a beautiful and gentle woman when she looked like this—an empty shell of her former self. The dark circles under her eyes were more pronounced than ever, casting shadows that made her look gaunt and exhausted. Her face, once full of life and warmth, seemed sunken and hollow, the faint dusting of freckles now barely visible under the smudged mascara that clung to her skin.

Her green eyes, usually so vibrant, were now bloodshot and red, the whites streaked with the remnants of her tears. They stung from all the crying, the constant pain irritating her so much that she dug her nails into her palm.

Unable to bear the sight of herself any longer, Ingrid tore her gaze away from the reflection in the window and continued walking, ignoring the searing pain that radiated up her legs with each step. She didn’t know where she was going, only that she couldn’t stop—not yet. The city around her was alive, bustling with energy, but Ingrid felt detached from it all, as if she were moving through a world that wasn’t hers.

After what felt like an eternity, Ingrid found herself standing on a bridge, the familiar structure offering a strange sense of solace. She approached the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded. The world around her seemed to blur as she held on tightly, feeling lightheaded and unsteady. The thought of letting go, of losing herself entirely, sent a shiver down her spine. She gripped the railing even harder, the pressure in her hands grounding her in the moment.

Slowly, she lifted one leg, then the other, and placed her feet on the narrow metal pole just above the concrete. Ingrid’s eyes drifted downward, watching as the cars sped by on the illuminated street below. The bridge was cloaked in darkness, a stark contrast to the bright, bustling world beneath it. The way the streetlights cast long shadows across the asphalt was strangely beautiful.

For a fleeting moment, Ingrid almost forgot why she had left the compound in the first place. The chaos in her mind quieted, replaced by the rhythmic hum of the city’s nightlife. But the memory of the argument with Tony resurfaced. Her grip on the railing tightened, her knuckles turning white. The tears she had tried so hard to hold back came rushing forward, spilling over her cheeks in hot, silent streams.

Her thoughts spiraled, a whirlwind of doubt and confusion. Her dad wouldn’t be disappointed in her. Would he? The question gnawed at her. Tony just doesn’t know what he’s talking about, she told herself, but the words felt hollow. Or does he? Ingrid clutched the railing tightly, the pain in her head throbbing. He just said something he knew would hurt her. Right? But even as she thought it, a sliver of doubt crept in. What if Tony was right?

"Hey! You okay over there?" A voice called out, breaking through the haze of Ingrid's thoughts. She blinked, looking around, but there was no one immediately nearby. Realizing the person must be addressing her, she turned slightly, her gaze still fixed on the cars passing below.

She stepped off the railing, suddenly self-conscious about how suspicious her actions must have appeared. "Leave me alone," she shouted, her voice cracking with raw emotion.

There was a brief silence, and for a moment, Ingrid thought the person had taken her request to heart and left. But then the voice spoke again, quiet but persistent. "I don't think I can do that."

Ingrid rolled her eyes, frustration and annoyance bubbling up inside her. "Why not?" she snapped, her tone sharper than intended.

The voice hesitated before responding, the concern evident even from a distance. "Well... I need to know you're okay."

Ingrid hesitated for a moment, her mind racing as she weighed her next move. Then, with a sudden burst of determination, she turned in the direction of the voice. "I'm alright. See?" she called out, forcing herself to let go of the railing. She put on the biggest smile she could manage, though it felt strained and unnatural. The effort was almost painful, and she couldn’t help but think she must look ridiculous, her forced grin sharply contrasting with her red, puffy eyes and the smudged mascara streaked across her cheeks.

But she hoped it would be enough to convince whoever was watching that she didn’t need saving. For a moment, she held that smile in place, hoping it would be enough to deflect further concern.

Then she took a closer look at who she was talking to. It was a boy, probably around her age, his features obscured by the hood of a sweatshirt—or maybe it was a mask. The shadows and distance made it hard to tell, but she could make out flashes of blue and red.

Her smile faltered, the forced expression slipping away as her confusion deepened. She studied him more closely, her eyebrows knitting together in puzzlement. "Wait... who even are you?"

"I'm... Spider-man."

Ingrid snorted, though her expression remained stoic, a slight crease forming on her forehead. "Your parents named you Spider-Man?" she asked, her voice laced with mockery, but there was genuine curiosity hidden beneath the sarcasm.

The boy— Spider-Man —immediately began waving his hands around in a flustered manner, clearly taken aback by the question. "No, no, no! That's, uh..." He stumbled over his words, searching for the right explanation. "That’s my crime-fighting name."

Ingrid couldn’t help but smirk at his awkwardness, her amusement breaking through the cloud of gloom that had been hanging over her. "So you’re a superhero?" she asked, her tone now more teasing than mocking. She noticed how he fidgeted slightly under her gaze, as if unsure whether she was making fun of him or not.

By this point, Ingrid had a pretty good idea that either he didn’t know who she was or, if he did, he simply didn’t care. Either way, it was perfect. It allowed her to drop her guard a little, to engage in this playful banter without the weight of her usual identity pressing down on her.

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and took a few steps closer. Now that she was nearer, she could make out more details of his appearance. The red mask he wore covered his entire face, with what looked like black-framed goggles over his eyes. The lenses were a stark white, giving him an almost bug-like appearance. His hoodie, also red, featured a black spider emblem on the chest, a detail that might have seemed intimidating if not for the fact that, overall, he looked rather ridiculous— in the most endearing way possible.

"Sort of," Spider-Man muttered, so quietly that Ingrid barely caught his words over the steady hum of traffic beneath them. His voice held a note of uncertainty, as if he was trying to piece something together in his mind. "You remind me of someone. I just don't know who."

Ingrid felt her heart skip a beat. Shit, she thought. There goes him not knowing who she is. The last thing she wanted was for this moment of anonymity to be shattered. She had been enjoying the feeling of just being a regular girl talking to someone who didn’t see her as an Avenger, but simply as herself.

She sighed, feeling the weight of her reality threatening to crash back down on her. "Oh, I'm—" she began, ready to reveal her identity.

But before she could finish, Spider-Man quickly waved his hands in front of himself, cutting her off mid-sentence. "No, don’t tell me!" he exclaimed, his voice taking on a hurried, almost panicked edge. "I'll figure it out."

A moment of silence stretched between them, the city’s distant hum filling the void, before Spider-Man spoke up again. "It’s getting late. Let’s get you home."

Ingrid raised an eyebrow, tilting her head slightly as she looked at him. "You think I can’t take myself home?" The idea of leaving the bridge, of facing Tony and Natasha and whatever awaited her back at the compound, was far from appealing.

Spider-Man shook his head vigorously, his gesture almost comical. "No, no, no! Of course you can," he exclaimed, his voice tripping over the words in his haste. Ingrid couldn’t help but giggle at his awkwardness; there was something endearing about how he seemed to be fumbling through his attempt to offer help.

"I’m just..." He continued, glancing around as if to emphasize the peacefulness of the night. "I patrol the streets, but it’s been a pretty slow night." He gestured to their surroundings, the empty streets illuminated by streetlights, suggesting a lack of crime. "And I have plenty of time. You’d be keeping me company. It’s like you’re helping me out."

His attempt at persuasion was earnest, and there was something about the way he spoke that made it hard for Ingrid to refuse. She considered her options with a heavy sigh. She could stay on the bridge, enduring the ache in her legs and the growing fatigue, or she could let this complete stranger, who somehow managed to make her feel oddly at ease, take her home. The latter option seemed far more appealing, despite the uncertainty of it.

"I don’t think I can walk, though," she admitted, her voice tinged with resignation. "I came all the way out here, and my legs are killing me."

"Who said we're walking?" Spider-man replied, and Ingrid swore she could almost hear him smirking beneath the mask.

Ingrid raised an eyebrow, her skepticism evident as she looked at Spider-Man, trying to figure out what he meant. When he extended his hand, she hesitated for a moment before taking it, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and nervousness. Spider-Man wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close in a firm yet reassuring grip.

Without giving her a chance to fully brace herself, they were off. The sensation was immediate and exhilarating. The ground fell away from beneath her feet, and a rush of adrenaline surged through her veins. For a heartbeat, Ingrid squeezed her eyes shut, overwhelmed by the sudden drop and the wind rushing past her face. But then, determined not to miss out on this extraordinary experience, she forced her eyes open.

It took a moment for her to fully process what was happening. They weren’t just moving; they were swinging— swinging through the city on spider webs. The realization was almost too surreal to grasp. Ingrid shook her head slightly, trying to dismiss the absurdity of it all, and instead focused on the view around her.

The cityscape below them was a dazzling blur of lights and shadows. Buildings soared past in rapid succession, their details merging into a continuous streak of neon colors and dark silhouettes.

Ingrid wrapped her arms even tighter around Spider-Man's neck, trying to anchor herself as they soared through the night. "You do this every day?" she yelled over the rush of the wind, her voice tinged with awe.

"Pretty much!" Spider-Man yelled back, his voice carrying a sheepish grin even through his mask. "What do you think?"

Ingrid glanced down at the cityscape rushing past and then back at him, her eyes wide with excitement. "It's... amazing!"

Spider-Man tilted his head slightly, as if considering her words, and then a thought seemed to strike him. "Oh! I just realized who you remind me of!" he exclaimed, his voice bright with realization.

Ingrid leaned in closer, eager to hear the name he was about to drop. "Who?" she asked, bracing herself for a possible mention of Solar Flare or her own name.

"You know that super old movie..." he trailed off, clearly rummaging through his mind for the title. "Oh, yeah! Pulp Fiction! You look exactly like that girl with the short hair and bangs!"

Ingrid burst into laughter, the sound mingling with the wind and Spider-Man's own amused chuckles. "You mean Mia Wallace?"

"Yeah, her," Spider-Man confirmed, his voice filled with satisfaction at finally remembering the name.

"I get that a lot," Ingrid said, still laughing.

Spider-Man nodded as he guided them toward a nearby building, his focus evident as he prepared for a smooth landing. When they touched down, Ingrid felt an unexpected emptiness where his arm had been wrapped around her waist. The playful energy of their swing gradually shifted into a more relaxed and comfortable atmosphere as they stood together on the rooftop.

"That was just a small test to see if you could last all the way back home," Spider-Man said, his tone light but with an undercurrent of satisfaction.

Ingrid chuckled, a playful smirk spreading across her face. "I could get used to it."

He was silent for a moment, his gaze thoughtful as if weighing something in his mind. After a brief pause, he sighed and said, "By the way, I’m Peter. Just so you know who to yell at if I ever drop you."

Ingrid's smirk widened. "Nice to meet you, Peter. I’m Ingrid."

Peter’s eyes widened slightly as he took in her name, his hand rising to his head as he processed the revelation. But before he could voice his thoughts, Ingrid closed her eyes, bracing herself for a barrage of questions about her powers or the Avengers.

Peter noticed her reaction and, with a quick mental adjustment, decided to set aside his curiosity. "Then let’s take you to the Avengers Compound," he said, his tone filled with a genuine enthusiasm that matched Ingrid's own growing excitement.

They stood on the rooftop for a moment longer, the city sprawling out beneath them like a living, breathing entity. Ingrid couldn’t shake the feeling that this was the beginning of something different—something good.

Peter extended his hand once more, and Ingrid took it without hesitation. The trip to the Compound was all too brief for her liking. The cityscape unfolded around them, and they both seemed content to let the quiet and the view fill the space between their words.

When they landed with a soft thud on a rooftop a safe distance from the Compound, the sense of finality settled over them. The location was chosen for privacy, but it allowed them a clear view of the Compound, making it easy for Ingrid to walk the rest of the way on her own.

They stood there, silently observing each other, the moment stretching as if neither wanted to say goodbye.

Peter finally scratched the back of his head, a touch of awkwardness creeping into his demeanor. "Well... I guess I’ll see you around, right?"

Ingrid's cheeks ached from the constant smiling. "Yeah, of course," she replied, her voice warm and genuine.

"Goodnight, then."

"Goodnight, Peter."

After a brief, contemplative silence, Peter gave a quick salute before firing off another web and swinging gracefully into the night. Ingrid watched as his figure grew smaller, disappearing into the distance, until he was nothing more than a faint streak against the dark sky.

For the first time in a while, she was looking forward to tomorrow.