𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞
──── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ───

Five days passed by in a blur.

Y/n's funeral was set on the third week of September at the Stark's lake house. News of the billionaire-hero's daughter spread out like wildfire after Pepper and the Avengers finally made an official statement. The world was in shock and despair at the sudden death of the young Stark.

People were curious the moment they heard of this; they were suspicious of the girl's death at such a young age. Journalists, reporters, celebrity talk shows—everyone talked about what caused her death. Seeing as it what a sensitive subject, Pepper disclosed the information of Y/n's death. All she said was that Y/n died of a rare disease and that her funeral would be private as settled.

No one had expected it. No one ever thought that the billionaire-hero's daughter had a rare disease all this time. And to die because of it was the least of what they expected. A lot of people had high hopes for the girl, she was Tony Stark's heir after all. An exact copy of almost every fiber and talent the man had, the daughter had inherited it.

Much like the death of her father's, everyone mourned for the loss of another Stark. Although not as grand, Y/n's name was remembered by the simple memorial Midtown and Stark Industries had organized. Flowers, candles, and toys were placed at the foot of Y/n's locker and in front of The Avenger's old building.

"Peter."

He whipped his head at the call of his name. Aunt May was by his door, clad in black clothing and heels. She made sure to speak softly to Peter as he was still sensitive and numb of emotions.

"We're leaving for the funeral. Are you sure you don't want to come?" The boy nodded silently in response and turned to the opposite side. Although May could understand where Peter was coming from, she wanted to at least have Peter see everything through. He had been the one who was with her every step of the way, he deserved to see it through.

But he refused to go.

Peter didn't want his last remaining memory of Y/n to be at a funeral. Seeing her lying lifeless on the operating table was more than enough. He did not want to see familiar faces again with the same sorrowful expression, to see her face that now only exists in photos and the presence of her belongings.  He won't have it.

The funeral will not be the last memory Peter will have of her.

***

The moment he steps foot at Midtown, little memorials of Y/n scattered all over the place. The flowers, art pieces, morals, stuffed toys and candles were placed at the foot of her locker and on the metal door. People who walked by would silently pass to honor the teenage Avenger. Peter saw it on his way to his locker. Down by seven metal doors, he could see the memorial the school had put up.

It somehow pained and angered him seeing it. He knew how she didn't like being glorified for saving the world and keeping it safe. It was her job after all. She's an Avenger. "It's just the bare minimum of what I have to do as a hero, Peter. I don't need it.", Is what she would say if she were still here.

If she was still here.

"Peter."

He froze at the voice. It was sad, lonely, felt distant but within arm's reach. A voice Peter knew well.

"MJ." He breathes out.

"Hey." She greeted awkwardly. Hands in the pockets of her jacket, and bangs slightly covering the pain and grief still evident on her face. "Uhm... I just wanted to check up on you. You didn't come to the funeral last week. Me and Ned were worried about you." Peter knew she how she felt, the guilt that still stayed—tainted on her. He felt it too.

"Yeah. I just felt a little sick that day. I didn't want to ruin her-.... I just didn't want Morgan to catch my cold." MJ only nodded as he walked with her. It was silent again between them as they ventured forward.

Midtown seemed to be in a mix of emotions. Peter could spot happiness, now that friends were reunited. Some felt grief at the loss of two heroes. Some felt neutral, like everything was just time that passed by in a flash. Everything looks normal, but it doesn't feel like it.

Something was missing, and Peter knew what it was. He wasn't going to bring it up of course.

A tug on his sleeve made him stop walking. MJ had stood still with a look in her eyes that made Peter wonder. "What?" he asked, a bit bland.

"I-... Pepper gave us something at the funeral. She said it was from Y/n."

His anxiety spiked. He knew what she was talking about. That night after the funeral, Peter woke up to Aunt May slowly opening the door of his room and leaving something at his desk. He didn't know what it was until the next morning when he decided to check up on it.

A letter, with his name written on it with her slightly messy penmanship. It was far from aesthetic looking, it was plain— like any other letter.

"What about it?" he asked, a bit forced as it rolled off his tongue.

"Have you read it?"

"No, I haven't." He answered softly stepping away before MJ could even get another word out. Knowing MJ, she'd inquire more about the topic unless Peter would give a proper answer. He noticed how she ignored the reason why he didn't go to the funeral. But with MJ's curiosity, he knew she'd ask somewhere in the near future.

Truth be told, Peter didn't want to open it. He left it locked in the drawer of his study table. He didn't want to read the contents.

Not just yet.

Maybe if he healed. Maybe if he would want it to help him move on. Maybe if he wanted to feel her presence through her words.

But for now, he'd leave it be. The letter wouldn't do anything good to him unless he fixes up his act and accept reality.

***

Three months.

Three months since, and Peter still hasn't found peace and accept the reality. It was a hard pill to swallow, and he couldn't seem to just to do it. Ned and MJ seemed to have noticed this as well.

He seemed a bit better compared to the first week of Y/n's death. A little livelier, more responsive. A little more like the old Peter before everything collapsed. But both friends knew he still wasn't at that point. In their own little way, they tried to help. They treated Peter the same as before, but with just a little more care.

He was like a cracked vase on the verge of breaking (even though Peter wouldn't admit it, he is.). Tape and glue were the only things holding him together, so they became cautious in handling him.

This year's winter was colder than the previous years, MJ noticed. Which was why she and Ned were wrapped warmly in thick coats and winter wear. The three were supposed to go to on a little trip around the city as they had planned weeks before Christmas break started. But almost an hour has passed, and Peter was still nowhere to be found. No message, no mop of brown hair—nothing.

The two sought shelter in a warm and cozy café that was decorated for the Christmas festivities. Thankfully, the owner was kind enough to let them stay and warm up while they waited for their friend.

MJ's phone was placed close to her ear as she waited for the call to be picked up. One, two, five rings later, there was no answer. Her foot tapped impatiently to the ticking of the clock at the end of the room.

"He's still not picking up?" MJ shakes her head at him.

"You?"

"Unread messages." Ned sighs as he pocketed his cellphone.  At this point, Peter leaving his calls on voicemail and him being nowhere to be seen was normal for them. It happened every once in a while, when they would make plans to hangout. And every time he did, it was always in a pattern.

Every week on a Sunday, he'd leave his apartment at exactly 3 in the afternoon then come back at around 7 or 8 in the evening. At the period of those five hours, Peter would leave his phone off and no one would be able to reach him.

"Did Aunt May say anything else?" She asked again.

"Other than he wasn't at their apartment—none."

There were only three places Peter would be if he couldn't be contacted. It wasn't uncommon for this to happen after all, and the two know for sure he would be there at this moment.

***

Peace was hard to find for Peter, and sleep didn't come off easy for the next three months. But he keeps quiet about that. Unbeknownst to May, Peter had been secretly taking counseling sessions to help cope with everything. He took sleeping pills, vent off during patrol, went on walks, anything to find peace with her death.

Peter sat by the frozen lake alone, his backpack beside him and motorcycle parked out by the lake house. He felt serene being there again, despite the memories that tainted it. His counselor told him to find a place to be his solace. A place that would serve as his haven and where he would be reminded of her but make him feel serene. The lake house was his solace—the only place where he could truly feel Y/n.

It was only five in the afternoon, but the lake still seemed to be glowing, the iced surface illuminating the sun's setting rays.

In his left hand, Peter was holding the letter. He brought it along with him yet had no intention to in the first place. Rather, he really didn't have any intention to read it so soon. But he figured, maybe it was time after letting it sit in dust for three whole months.  It could be time that he can find peace with her words.

With no second thought, he ripped the letter open, pulling out the piece of paper. It was fully written in ink with her handwriting. Peter could already feel himself throw up just by looking at it and slowly getting sentimental at the thought of her. But he pushed through.

Peter,

  If you ever receive this, then it would already mean that I'm dead.

He already laughed softly at that. Y/n always had been blunt from the start. Part of which why she and MJ got along so well.

I thought about leaving you with a parting gift if I ever meet my "untimely death. And as Dad would say "not that any death would be untimely" because then again, we expected this to happen.

I expected it to happen, even though I accepted the idea of you learning to love me. Because to be honest, I know you can't easily change what you feel for me in merely weeks or months, what with the little time I have left.

Or maybe you can. Maybe it could be in another dimension or universe, maybe if I told you sooner, or maybe if fate played differently from the start. Maybe there is in another story of us. But I chose not to in this one. Because truthfully, I've never seen you happier than when you were with MJ. Someone whom you liked, and gradually fell in love with without even realizing.

Peter, I know it'll be hard after this, but know that you never walk alone.

You have so much to look forward to and so much people around you who will need you—and you need them in return. We'll be there with you every step of the way—me, Dad, and even your Uncle Ben.

Peter, be happy, okay? Go and be with MJ, Ned, and Aunt May. Play with Morgan and look out for her and Mom for me. Be with the people who make you happy, Peter. And give love to the people who deserve your love, even if they don't give it back. You have so much unconditional love packed in that red spandex suit and small-buffy figure of yours.

God, I'm being too sentimental, aren't I? I think I made the right choice in making this a hand-written letter instead of a hologram.

Thank you again, Peter. For sticking by my side even at times when I didn't want you to. You did a great job making me feel loved by you, even if it was just a short while.  I'll see you again someday. Who knows? Maybe when we're reincarnated in another century, in your dreams, or maybe I'll visit you on during Halloween? ;>

I hope this letter enlightens you, Pete. I hope it lessened the grief you feel.

So go and be an Avenger, Dork! You know the rest.

                                                                                                                                   Y/n.

Peter had yet to notice the tears running down his face. But as he felt his scarf slowly becoming damp, he was pulled back to reality. The cold winter air billowed against his wet cheek, and as if in a movie, snow fell. It slowly dusted the terrain, and Peter could already feel the coldness blanket him despite wearing thick pieces of clothing. It all seems so surreal. It's as if nature was playing a scene out of a soap opera or from a romance novel.

He held the paper close to him once more, looking at the sky as if he was looking at her. Could she be looking down as well?

You know the rest. The words played in Peter's head over and over, searching for the meaning behind it. It could mean anything, really. So many possible meanings ran inside his mind, but only one stuck with him. He could only hope that was he was thinking was what the four words meant. Peter badly wanted it to be those three words. But, despite the letter being melancholic, it somehow made Peter feel comforted.

He cried in silence, finding her last words dictated in the letter quite comedic. "I don't get you at all, Y/n."

His heart felt warm as he looks towards the sky. Flakes of crystal snow fell around him. It looked like it was glimmering along with the reflection of the lake's frozen waters and the setting rays of the sun. It felt like he was in utopia. Everything looked alluring, and the scenery somehow made Peter feel euphoric.

Why though? he asked, a question that doesn't exactly need to be answered

The cold December wind didn't feel as lonely and harsh anymore. Peter closed his eyes to feel the sensation of his surroundings and looked deep and far in his mind's eye— there, he could see Y/n in front of him. Holding his cheeks with cold hands and a little smile that became a solitary light in the dimmed terrain they were in. It hurts him to see it—the smile that now only exists in his mind's eye and photographs of her that he kept.

If there ever were other versions of them that existed in another universe or if reincarnation ever did exist, Peter would want to protect that smile. But for now, he was fine with just this. Peter was fine with just seeing Y/n's smile in his memories.

And although they didn't get to see the cherry blossoms together, Peter could see it in the moments he had with her. The long lane of tall, thick trees with blades in shades of pink, The sun shining brightly with just enough clouds to cover them for shade, and the specks of pink falling ever so slowly as the wind blows, much like snow on a cold winter day. He could see it perfectly, an ideal day. A perfect date that he had been hoping for since he made that promise.

A spring day.