CHAPTER SIXTEEN;
bye, bye New York!

THE SUN BEGINS ITS SLOW DECENT INTO THE HORIZON. On a busy Saturday, cars and taxis make their way through respective terminals, dropping off and picking up families. The wheels of a suitcase get caught on a sidewalk crack, a child sits on top of a cart, bags are forgotten in faraway cars. All around, the airport is buzzing with traffic.

"Alright, this is it." Amala breaths out, suitcase in hand. "I'm excited." She confesses.

Her parents give her a bright smile even if sadness reflects through their eyes.

"I'm going to miss you, Albe," her mother admits sadly, tears brimming her eyes. "So, so much. Have fun, okay?" ('Albe' means my heart in Arabic)

Amala brings her mother into a tight embrace. "I'm going to miss you, too. Don't worry, I will."

Pulling away, she hugs her father, too. "Baba," she whispers when her father squeezes her.

"Stay safe, Zahra, okay?" Her mumbles into her hair. "We love you very much. Always remember that."

"I know, Baba. I love you, too." She says, pulling away.

Her parents look her over with smiles on their face.

"I'll text you before we take off, okay?" She says before a voice has her turning around.

"Mala!" Someone squeals.

Turning around, Amala knows exactly who that is.

"Aki!" She shouts, waving her hand.

In the distance, Akira, Ned and Peter walk out the door, making their way towards Amala.

Akira breaks out into a small run, stumbling on her way before slamming Amala into a bone crushing hug.

"It's about fucking time! I couldn't handle Mary's fucking tantrum over her stupid boyfriend any longer." She whispers into her neck as they rock back and forth. "I'm glad you're here."

Amala laughs, squeezing her best friend's shoulders. "Yikes, glad I missed that. My mom made me quadruple check my suitcase, so..."

"Speaking of," Akira starts as she pulls away. "Khalto, Khalo, hi!" She smiles at Amala's parents.
('Khalto' means aunt in Arabic. 'Khalo' means uncle.)

"Akira," her parents greet. "How are you, Habibti?"
('Habibti' means 'my love' in Arabic)

"I'm good!" She beams, hugging Amala's parents.

While Akira indulges her parents with a brief catch-up, Amala greets both boys.

"Ned! Peter! Hey, guys." She smiles.

Ned and Peter return her greetings, hugging her and making small talk.

Peter's hug lingers for several moments and they pull back with matching blush on their cheeks.

Regardless, as Akira bids her best friend's parents farewell, the remaining trio discuss seating and various airport things.

"Akira and I are gonna watch Harry Potter on the plane." Ned says.

"Oh, are you guys sitting together?"

Ned shoots Peter a glance that doesn't go unnoticed. "Uh- yeah. Like I said, we're gonna watch a movie together."

"Like on the same screen or...?" She inquires, brow lifting — not because she cares but because Ned looks like he's about to break out into a heavy sweat.

"No!" He says a little too quickly. "Like - on different screens but at the same time. And um - we're gonna be next to each other 'cause we wanna commentate and stuff so it would just make sense if we were next to each other, ya' know? So you and Peter should sit together and like do stuff, too. Ya' know? Watch a movie, read together - uh..."

The raven eyes him weirdly."Okay... I mean, you didn't have to be this detailed but thanks for the rundown?" She laughs. "Y'all have fun with that. Peter and I will just... vibe."

The boy in question smiles at her shyly. When she turns away to get Akira's attention, she notices Peter smack Ned across the arm.

Shrugging, she grabs the handle of her luggage and turns to Akira.

Waving, Amala says: "Aki, come on. We have to meet up with the rest of the class."

Her best friend bids her parents farewell as Amala shouts a finally "love you!" to them, too.

With her back turned to New York, Amala takes the first steps into the airport. Friends by her side, she's more than ready for a vacation.

"No!" Ned gasps besides her. "No! No! Cedric... is he actually dead?"

Snapping her attention away from her book, Amala looks to her left.

Ned and Akira are huddled together, sharing a single set of headphones, with tears in their eyes.

On the screen, 'Goblet of Fire' plays; Cedric's death scene flashes across the monitor.

"Holy shit..." Ned mumbles as he sniffles.

"I know," Akira tells him, sobbing. "He deserved so much better. I'm -"

Amala shakes her head and laughs, turning her attention back to her book.

Five hours into the flight and she's already on her second full book.

Thumbing through the sequel in the 'Chaos Walking' trilogy, Amala sighs.

The seats are beyond uncomfortable and as a result, her back and neck ache beyond belief. Her body feels sluggish from the lack of movement and her eyes swim with blurry words from how much she's read.

Amala is just about ready to throw herself off this plane. They've never been her favorite (growing up she had an immense fear of flying) but it's never been this bad. The raven feels as though her brain is about to drain through her ears due to the atmospheric pressure.

Maybe that's an easy way to go, she reasons with herself.

"...Mala?" A distant voice says.

"Hm?" She hums, snapping out of her little mind wander.

"Are you okay?" The voice — Peter — queries.

Amala closes her eyes. "Yeah, I'm good. I'm just so bored — I could die."

Peter chuckles slipping his headphones to his neck. "Yeah, well that makes two of us."

The raven gives him a soft, tired smile. "I wanna sleep." She mumbles.

"So... sleep." Peter deadpans.

Amala gasps, faux wonder painted into her features. "No way! You're actually a genius. Why didn't I think of that?"

Peter tosses his head back and laughs. His eyes crinkle when he does, his entire face lighting up. His cheek pull into a smile, and his head is always pushed back — a full display of his neck taunts her every time.

Heat creeps from Amala's neck, its tendrils extending to her cheeks.

"Seriously, though. Why can't you just sleep?" Peter asks her.

"I don't know," she plays with her bookmark. "Seats are uncomfortable as fuck — I can tell you that. Plus, it's cold."

"Why don't you take my hoodie?" Rushes Peter, face burning.

"What?"

Swallowing, Peter repeats a bit slower and says, "why don't you take my hoodie since you're cold? And you can just - I don't know - sleep on my shoulder or something. Of course you don't have to if you don't want to. I'm just simply suggesting so like - don't take my word for -"

"Peter."

"Seriously! I mean, I just want you to feel comfortable -"

"Peter."

"Honestly, it's like fine-"

"Peter!" She jokingly shouts.

He looks at her sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck, mumbling a shy "sorry".

"First of all, take a deep breathe." She demonstrates. "You just spoke, like, a million words a minute. Secondly," she continues. "Yeah, that would be nice. Like... your hoodie and stuff. I could use the sleep. Um... if that's still okay with you."

Trying her best not to blush after those words, Amala traces patterns into the armrest.

Besides her, Peter sputters, "y-yeah! Yeah. It's okay. More than. Um- one sec."

He digs into his backpack, pulling out a deep emerald hoodie. There's yellow lettering on it's front, spelling out a word she can't quite make out from the way it's folded.

He gives it to her shyly, their hands brushing at the exchange.

Amala's exhale is sharp and a sense of déjà vu overcomes her. Burning touches with masked figures run through her veins, sparking through her fingers.

"Thanks," she breaths out.

"Of course."

Slipping it on, the hoodie engulfs her whole figure. Her fingers peak out from the cuffs, the fabric pooling at the tip of her knees. Cologne and fresh mint swarm her senses — a hint of detergent, too. It feels so soft and comfortable. Amala immediately slumps into her seat, her skin begging for more contact with the article of clothing.

She discreetly inhales deeper, just to smell how lovely it is.

"So..." Peter pries, grinning. "Thoughts?"

"I think I'm going to marry your hoodie." She confesses. "I think this is what heaven feels like." She adds, rubbing her cheek into the fabric.

Peter just laughs bashfully. "Thanks."

Exchanging eye contact, the pair allow silence to engulf them.

The loud rumble of the plane engine whirs in the distant and some random baby cries a couple rows down. The air at this altitude is thin but taking a deep breath still shakes off some discomfort. Akira and Ned are still immersed in their movie, gasping and making comments as needed.

Their gaze doesn't waver for a while and Amala isn't sure who falters first but, either way, they both look away, blushful.

Amala speaks first. "So, what are you watching?"

Peter turns to his monitor before turning back to face her. "StarWars."

"Of course," she deadpans.

"Hey! Nothing beats StarWars, okay?" He says.

"A lot beats it, actually."

Peter makes a face in shock. "What? You're kidding."

Amala shakes her head. "I've never seen it, either."

His mouth gapes even wider. "You've been living life wrong, Amala. Really. You need to be enlightened. How can you know it's bad if you've never seen it?"

She laughs. "I don't think it's bad — I just don't care, babe."

Peter harshly inhales, dissolving into a fit of short coughs.

"Are you okay?" She replies, semi-concerned, semi-surprised at herself for the nickname slip-up.

Nodding his head, he says, "y-yeah! I'm - I'm fine. Totally fine. Um..."

Sensing he wants to say more, Amala queries, "what's up?"

"Um - nothing. I was just - do you maybe wanna - um... do you wanna watch StarWars with me? Since you said you haven't seen it and well, everyone should see it. I - I figured I could convince you otherwise — that these are the best movies ever." He fumbles.

Smiling at his attempt, her heart squeezes with affection. "Sure, that would be nice. 'Gotta see what the hype is about, right?"

"Yeah," he smiles as he extends an earphone towards her.

She takes it and puts it in her ear, scooting over to sit closer to him.

She lifts the armrest that seperates them — a little desperate for some contact — so they can be flush.

Their shoulders are pressed together and their knees are atoms away from touching. Both of their faces are closer together than what is deemed necessary for sharing a movie screen but neither make an effort to move.

Peter presses play and sound begins filtering through her ears. Some sort of fight scene plays out, lightsabers flash across the monitor. While this happens, he gives her a rundown of the previous parts so she can stay up-to-date and Amala hums when needed.

Amala doesn't understand half the things he says but she smiles at his excitement, throwing in comments here and there.

At some point, the talking stops and Amala feels her body get heavy — signal that sleep would be preferable.

She looks at the time: four hours till landing.

Sighing, the raven closes her eyes, feeling sleep overwhelm her almost immediately. Perhaps it's involuntary, perhaps it isn't, but Amala feels herself sink to her side, head laying into Peter's shoulder.

He tenses above her, obviously taken aback by the gesture.

Amala wants to blush and make a humorous quip but she can't. Her body slips in and out of consciousness, her mind starting to shut off.

"Is this okay?" She mumbles into Peter's neck, gathering whatever energy she has left.

Peter clears his throat. "Yeah. Yeah, it's okay." His hand slips timidly to the top of her knee, squeezing.

"'M sorry... 'm so tired," she whispers.

"It's okay. Go to sleep, I got you." Is the last thing she hears before darkness swallows her.

Feet aching, she stumbles into the foyer, kicking her sneakers off. They lay sole up somewhere near the doorway but Amala doesn't care enough to fix it.

"You're this tired?" Her father asks her, laughing at her sluggish behavior.

She hums. "I didn't sit down the whole time. All I did was shout and dance."

"Ah, so my daughter is what they call a party animal?" He laughs.

"Perhaps." She sends a tired but humored glance back.

Any other conversations become meaningless after that. Amala's too tired; three hours of non-stop partying will do that to you.

She drags her feet across the floor as she walks into her room. Familiarity makes her swoon and she's ready to dive into her bed — hair and makeup still on.

Plopping down her purse, Amala grabs a random set of plaid pants and t-shirt (this time, it's pink pants and an oversized, over-worn Nicki Minaj shirt). She shimmies out of her sparkly dress, watching it pool at her ankles as she slips on her sleepwear.

Holy shit, she remarks absentmindedly. Never wearing a dress again. She knows that's a lie.

Subtle wind blows into her room and Amala turns in it's direction.

The balcony door is ajar. He's here.

She's not sure when this became their thing. Perhaps it was the third or fourth time he came back, but leaving the door slightly open seemed like a good way to notify Amala of his presence. She was willing to give it a shot, so she conceded.

"Hey, B" she said, closing the door behind her.

Spider-man perks his head, still perched on the railing. "Hi, Amala."

"What's up?" She asks nonchalantly.

Initial awkwardness faded away as they spent more time with each other. It used to be this hot, constricting force that prevented them from really getting to know each other. Yet, by the fifth time she patched up his wounds, formality faded. Something about touching him in such intimate places — whether that was the intent or not — erased such uncertainty.

That's not to say there isn't any tension... because there is. Lots of it. Perhaps it's the cloak of anonymity the hero wears, perhaps it's fact that Amala feels like she knows him, but anything he says is enticing.

She wants to know more but he doesn't indulge her. Not in the way she wants.

"Nothin' much," he says. "Just came back from a party." He shares (Amala knows this is all the information she'll get tonight).

Oh? "Me, too." She replies. "Maybe it was the same one."

He gives her a short reply, "maybe."

"You're quiet today. Are you okay?" She queries, sensing his unusual quietness.

"You look really pretty." He says instead.

There's that, too. Subtle flirting, not-so-subtle tension. That's their thing. They're friends but they're not. She knows so much about him yet she knows nothing at all. He knows so much about her yet it's never enough.

"Thanks. I'm sure you do, too. I wouldn't know, though." She teases.

"Guess you gotta use your imagination." He quips.

"Guess so."

This is their game. Spider-man comes to see her some nights — only at night. Sometimes he's hurt, sometimes he isn't. Either way, Amala indulges him with her company or her care (or both). They'll talk for several hours, making sure to keep their voices down because there's two parents sleeping under the same roof. Then, Spider-man will leave. A week will pass without ever seeing him. Then, he'll come back. Hurt or not hurt. Then, the cycle repeats.

Amala doesn't like to admit that she misses him sometimes.

"Seriously, though." Amala says, turning the subject back around. "What's wrong? You're usually very talkative."

He sighs. "I need to tell you something before you leave."

Amala's eyebrows furrow. "Okay... what's up?"

"I like you." He says, noticing her eyes scrunch together. "I really like you."

Confusion overwhelm her features. Her heart rate picks up.

"I know we don't know see each other often. I know you don't know who I am — but I like you. I've liked you since I almost broke your window." He continues, voice smooth but strained. "You make me feel things. The way you touch me, the way you care for me... the way you listen. You make me forget about my problems — and my responsibilities. It's dangerous but you make me forget. And I need to forget sometimes."

Amala is at a loss for words. Her breaths become difficult and thin, her heart feels like it'll explode. There's shock mixed with flattery running through her veins. There's also sadness.

"I'm - I don't know... I don't know what to say, B." She replies, dumbfounded.

He hops down from the railing and walks towards her.

She becomes hyper aware of the fact that she's leaning against the wall.

"I really do. Seriously, Amala. You treat me like a normal person. Mask on." He says, getting closer to her. "You know me and you don't ask questions I don't want to answer. You don't pry. That's rare. You're rare."

"B..." she mumbles. At this moment, every interaction she's ever had with him flashes through her mind.

First meeting. Touching him. The second meeting. Touching him again. Flowers. Car crash. Her last night at the hospital. Sixth and seventh and eighth. The night after her birthday. Her dreams. Last week. Everything after that. Each moment plays like a slideshow behind her eyes.

"I'm sorry." She mumbles.

She has no idea what expression comes across his face — she can't see it. Is he hurt? Angry?

"You don't..." he trails off like he knows.

Shaking her head, Amala swallows. "You're a hero, B. You're Spider-man. And I'm a girl. Our worlds... how do our worlds work together?" She reasons.

"It can work." He replies, walking closer. "We can make it work."

She shakes her head. "I know nothing about you." Spider-man sends her a glare but she cuts it off. "Who you are? What do you do when you're away from the suit? Who are your friends? What's next? I know you're younger than eighteen and I know one initial of yours. But what else?"

"You know more. You know so much more." Spider-man breaths out, words burning his heart.

"Fine," she concedes. "I know that you get yourself in more trouble than you should. I know that you prefer nights over days, the moon over the sun, the rain over the heat. I know that you love dogs. I know that you're kind — too kind. I know that you just want to help people no matter happens to you. But it's not enough."

"Why?" He mumbles, masked forehead pressing into the wall she's leaning on. "Why can't it be enough?"

"We will never work without trust and honesty." She says, instead, knowing that it's an answer in itself. "Trust and honesty are the most important things two people can share. At least to me."

Spider-man sighs and even through his mask, she can feel his breath brush against the junction of her collarbone.

There's a bitter taste in her tongue. It sends shivers through her body.

"Is there someone else?"

"What?" She mumbles.

"Is there someone else?" He pries again, voice mulled. "Someone that is honest and trusts you. Someone you want."

Amala glances at him. She closes her eyes. "Maybe."

Spider-man shakes his head. "What's his name?"

"What?"

"What's his name?" He asks again.

Amala hesitates. Should she tell him? What good will it do? What harm will it do?

He deserves to know, she sighs to herself.

"Peter." She whispers.

Spider-man doesn't say anything. He doesn't say anything for a while.

"I'm sorry." Heard or unheard, the two words float into the wind.

She has no idea how long they drown thick through silence. At some point, she closes her eyes. When she opens them again, he's gone.

What happens after this? She wants to call after him. What do we become?

Amala wonders if he was even here in the first place or if it was all just a dream.

"Amala?" A groggy voice says.

It sounds far, far away. Syllables string together weirdly and they don't form a full thought.

"Amala? Amala, wake up." It says again, soft and kind. A hand accompanies it as it rubs soothing shapes into her shoulder, then her hair, then her cheek.

Amala leans into the touch, warmth flowing through her.

She hears soft laughter. "Amala. You need to wake up."

More shapes send goosebumps into her skin. She feels intoxicated by the contact. She never wants it to end.

"Don't stop," she mumbles. "Please. Don't want you to stop."

"I don't want to stop either," they says again (through her grogginess, Amala knows they're being honest). "But we're about to land."

Groaning, she blinks her eyes open.

Artificial light blinds her and she seeks shade in the crook of someone's — Peter's — neck.

"Good morning, beautiful." Peter mumbles into her hair.

The nickname is new and it muddles her sleepy brain. She can't find it in herself to question or complain about it, though — not when it sounds this good coming from him.

"Hi, Peter," she smiles into his shoulder.

"How was your sleep?" Peter asks her gently.

"Perfect," replies Amala with all the truth she can muster. "I should sleep with you more often."

Above her, Peter coughs loudly. She can only imagine the shade of red his face has become.

She just smiles a smile that speaks of thankfulness and rest. A smile that's simple and sweet.

She'd been questioning her choice. Questioning if rejecting Spider-man was a wise thing to do. Questioning if rejecting him for Peter was what she really wanted.

Peter leans his head against hers and mumbles. "Maybe you should."

Yeah, she thinks. I did the right thing.

— END OF CHAPTER ONE —

[ NOTE ]
hi :) welcome to chap
1 vol ii !! so so so so so
excited for what's next.

expect some mega amala
x peter fluff !! let's get into
some real romance, shall we?

sorry i keep publishing this !!
i originally wanted it to go back
to chap one, two, three but it's
throwing me off so i'm gonna
stick w sixteen, seventeen .. etc.
vol ii just shows you the dif phases.
other than that, it continues.

thank you for 600+ reads !! i
am so so so so so grateful. my
heart feels full. thank you, i
love you all <3 🤎

see you all soon,

pearl <3