It is a Saturday
The first light of morning leaked through the bedroom curtains, casting pale lines across Peter's desk and the heap of textbooks he hadn't touched since Thursday. For once, there was no patrol to plan, no black suit to fold away. No alarms blaring across his comms or alerts from Matt.
Just the sound of birds outside and the soft clang of dishes from the kitchen.
Peter stretched under the covers, yawned, and rolled onto his back.
A Saturday with nothing urgent to do.
It was rarer than he liked to admit.
The smell of butter and eggs drifted through the hallway. Peter shuffled into the kitchen in pajama pants and a gray T-shirt, his hair a complete mess.
Aunt May stood at the stove, humming to herself, spatula in one hand, coffee mug in the other.
"Morning, sweetheart," she said without turning.
"Morning," Peter mumbled, blinking at the sunlight.
She glanced over her shoulder. "You slept in. That's a first."
"Felt like I deserved it," Peter replied, sliding into a chair.
May raised an eyebrow, amused. "Tiring week?"
"You have no idea," Peter muttered under his breath, before quickly adding, "Yeah. School's been rough."
She slid a plate in front of him—scrambled eggs, toast, and a few slices of apple.
"Eat. Then we're fixing that leaky sink in the bathroom. You promised."
"I did, didn't I?" Peter said, mouth full of toast.
"Yes. And I didn't raise you to break promises."
He smiled.
Peter crouched under the sink, wrench in hand, flashlight between his shoulder and cheek. The space was cramped, and the cabinet smelled like old soap and metal.
"This thing's ancient," he said.
"So am I," May called from the hallway. "Try being gentle."
"You're not ancient. You're... timeless."
"Nice save."
He fiddled with the connection until the leak stopped. A few more twists, a test run, and a slight tightening of the faucet.
"Fixed," Peter said, standing up and wiping his hands on a towel.
May poked her head in and inspected it with exaggerated scrutiny.
"Not bad, Mr. Midtown. You might be useful around here after all."
"Don't let it go to your head. I charge for labor."
"You'll be paid in gratitude and banana bread."
Peter smirked. "Deal."
Peter and May left the house and went to the local store.
The local store was quiet for a Saturday afternoon. Peter pushed the cart while May scanned her list. He noticed how she carefully checked prices, comparing brands like it was a tactical mission.
"Get two cartons of milk," she said. "The shelf-stable kind. They last longer."
"Got it."
"And if they have Liz's favorite cereal, grab a box."
Peter raised an eyebrow. "That... feels suspicious."
May shrugged. "Just being a good host. You never know who might stop by."
Peter chuckled softly. "Liz has been busy. We've both got homework, projects... life."
She looked up at him.
"She's a nice girl."
"Yeah," Peter said quietly. "She is."
May didn't press, but he could feel her watching him from the corner of her eye as they moved down the aisle.
"You don't talk about her much."
"What's there to say?" Peter asked. "She's smart. Funny. Gets me, I guess."
"That's a big deal."
Peter nodded, tossing in a bag of rice.
"I'm just trying not to mess it up."
May smiled gently. "Peter... you try so hard to hold the world together, you forget you're allowed to be happy too."
He didn't answer that. Just gave a small nod.
They reached the house, Peter stored the groceries inside the fridge, May took to folding the laundry in the living room while Peter vacuumed the hallway and wiped down the windows.
"You'd make someone a fine husband," she teased from the couch.
"That's horrifying. Please stop."
"Oh, come on," she laughed. "You do dishes. You fix things. You cook."
"Let's keep the bar low," Peter said. "I'm not trying to get married before finals."
They worked in companionable silence after that, the hum of the vacuum blending with the light buzz of the radio.
They made pasta. Nothing fancy—just penne, sauce, some garlic bread on the side.
May handed him a knife and a clove of garlic.
"Crush, don't chop. Trust me."
"You sure this isn't a trap?"
"Only if you burn it."
They moved easily in the kitchen, like a team. Peter sautéed the sauce while May set the table. He snuck a bite of garlic bread, and she smacked his hand with a wooden spoon.
"You're the worst."
"Guilty." He said with a small smile.
The evening light turned the kitchen soft gold.
They sat at the table, plates warm, glasses full.
"You ever think about... quitting?" May asked suddenly.
Peter paused with his fork halfway up. "Quitting school?"
"No," she smiled sadly. "Everything else."
Peter looked down at his plate.
"Yeah. Sometimes."
She reached across the table and placed her hand over his.
"You're so much like your uncle. Sometimes I wonder if that's a good thing."
"He was a good man."
"Yes. But he never gave himself room to breathe. Don't be like that, Peter. Be good, but don't be hollow."
Peter looked at her.
"I'll try." Saying that he went to his bed room.
He lay on his bed, arms behind his head, staring at the ceiling.
The suit hung in the closet. The city pulsed quietly outside.
But inside this little home, for once, there was peace.
Just being Peter Parker.