I stood in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom, the one Aunt May had insisted on hanging when we moved into this place. She said it made the room feel "less like a hotel and more like home." I tugged at the collar of my button-down shirt. It was a simple navy blue, soft cotton, nothing flashy. I'd picked it up on a quick, awkward run to the mall with Harry last week. He'd rolled his eyes the whole time and said, "Dude, just don't wear the lab coat. You're not going to a conference."
I smirked at the memory, running a hand through my hair to tame the stupid cowlick that always fought back. It was date night. A real date night. No masks. No sudden alerts from Gaia about Maggia stragglers or encrypted pings from SHIELD servers. Just me, Gwen, and that overlook I'd spent way too much time scouting.
My phone buzzed on the dresser, the screen lighting up. The caller ID read: "Aunt May & Uncle Ben – Greece Edition." I hit accept, propping the phone against a stack of my old, untouched physics textbooks and angled it so they could see me.
The screen filled with two sun-bleached, smiling faces. May, in a big straw hat, her hair pinned up with wisps of silver escaping. Ben beside her, squinting a little in the Mediterranean glare, his reading glasses perched low on his nose. Behind them, I could see blurry white walls and a breathtaking, sparkling slice of the Aegean Sea. Santorini. Their "dream vacation," finally happening. I'd funneled a chunk of the first big Candy Smash royalty check into their account with a note that just said, "For all the times you covered my lunch money." They'd protested, of course. Then they'd booked the tickets.
May: Peter! There he is!
She waved, as if I was across a crowded room instead of on a screen.
May: You look so handsome. What's the occasion? Midterms over already?
Ben chuckled, leaning in closer. The connection crackled slightly.
Ben: May, it's seven in the morning here. The kid's probably just waking up. Or did you finally get that haircut you've been talking about for a month?
I laughed, doing up the last button on my shirt.
Peter: Hey, you two. Haircut's next week, I swear. And yeah, I've got plans tonight. Nothing major.
May's eyes narrowed with that playful, all-knowing suspicion I knew so well.
May: Plans, huh? With that girl from school? Gwen, right? The lovely one who helped us unpack all those kitchen boxes? She seemed so sweet. And smart—she asked all the right questions about the herb garden I wanted to put in out back.
A warm, stupid flush crept up the back of my neck. I tried to play it cool, grabbing my wallet from the dresser and sliding it into my back pocket.
Peter: Yeah, Gwen. We're just… hanging out. Maybe a picnic. Keeping it low-key.
Ben raised an eyebrow, taking a sip from a tiny-looking espresso cup.
Ben: A picnic. Classy. Good man. Just remember the number one rule—no onions before a first date. Breath like a garlic festival, and you're sunk before you start.
May: Ben!
She swatted his arm, but she was grinning.
May: Ignore him, Peter. But seriously, tell us about her. Is she a museum person? Or more of an arcade-and-pizza crowd? We could send tips. Lord knows I botched my first date with your uncle. Showed up in three-inch heels to a minor league baseball game.
I zipped up my light denim jacket over the shirt and gave my reflection one last, critical look. The white streak in my hair was tucked back, the skin mod completely off. I looked like… Peter Parker. A slightly-taller, slightly-broader high school senior with a video game side hustle. Not Vector. No System HUD hovering in the corner of my vision. Just a guy going on a date.
Peter: Museums, for sure. She loves science exhibits—has these crazy stories about field trips to Oscorp. But arcades? Yeah, we could do that. Maybe next time. How's Greece? You two already look like you live there.
May leaned back, fanning herself with what looked like a tourist map.
May: Oh, Peter, it's paradise. The sunsets here… pinks and oranges you wouldn't believe. Like someone's painting the sky with fire. And the food! We've had souvlaki every single night. Ben's already gained five pounds, but don't tell him I said that.
Ben: Lies and slander. It's all muscle. From climbing these damn stairs all day. But seriously, kid… we're proud of you. Stepping out like this. After everything with the, getting the game off the ground… you're handling it all. Makes an old man feel like he did at least one or two things right.
I paused, my wallet halfway into my pocket. His words landed softly, hitting a deep, quiet place. Ben didn't know the half of it—the bone-deep aches from the serum integration, the sleepless nights worrying about Gwen's powers, the constant, low-grade paranoia about SHIELD and the shadows they cast. But this… this sliver of normal life? It was the most precious thing they'd ever given me. It was the anchor.
Peter: You did a lot of things right. Both of you. This… all of this… it's because of you guys. Now enjoy the stairs. And the souvlaki. Send me some pictures of the caldera, I want to see if the water is really that blue.
May's expression softened. Her voice dropped to that warm, gentle tone she used when she was about to get sentimental.
May: We miss you, honey. This big house feels too quiet without your clutter in the kitchen. But we are happy. Truly. Just… you be safe out there, okay? New York has its charms, but it bites sometimes.
Peter: Always safe. Promise. Gaia's got the mansion security on a 24/7 loop. No one's getting in to steal my vintage comic collection.
Ben snorted.
Ben: Ah, yes, 'Gaia.' Your fancy AI alarm system. Tell her to stop making the motion-sensor lights in the hallway blink at me. Nearly gave me a heart attack last time I was over fixing the sink.
I grinned, hooking my car keys onto my finger.
Peter: She's got a personality. But yeah, everything's good here. You two get back to your beach. Call me tomorrow? I want the full jet-lag report.
May: It's a deal. Now, you have fun tonight. And Peter?
She leaned close to the camera, her smile knowing.
May: Tell Gwen we said hello. And bring her around for dinner soon. I'll make my famous meatballs.
Ben: The ones without onions, for his sake.
Peter: Will do. Love you guys.
Ben: Love you, kid.
The screen went dark. The quiet of the room felt different now. Fuller.
I let out a long breath I didn't know I'd been holding. I grabbed the small cooler from the hallway—packed with prosciutto sandwiches from the deli, fresh strawberries, and a pint of that salted caramel ice cream buried under ice packs. The truck was gassed up. A final drone flyover an hour ago confirmed the trail to the overlook was clear and empty.
I shot off a quick text to Gwen: On my way. ETA 5 mins. Pre-judging my playlist is a federal crime.
Her reply came back almost instantly: Too late. If there's no 80s power ballads, I'm walking home.
---
The drive to her apartment in Forest Hills was short. Friday traffic was light, for once. The late afternoon sun was turning the city skyline into a silhouette of gold and shadow as I crossed the bridge.
She was waiting on the front stoop of her building when I pulled up. The green dress. It was simple, but it fit her in a way that made my brain short-circuit for a second. Effortless, like MJ had promised. She'd paired it with clean white sneakers—a practical choice that made me smile. Ready to run if I screw this up.
Her hair was down, loose around her shoulders, catching the last of the sunlight. She hopped down the steps, a canvas tote bag slung over her shoulder, and met me with a grin that did something funny to my chest.
Gwen: You clean up nice, Parker.
She slid into the passenger seat, leaning over to press a quick, warm kiss to my cheek.
Gwen: You even smell like you tried. Cologne and mild conspiracy. What's the master plan? Top-secret lair, or are we actually having a picnic?
I pulled back into the street, one hand on the wheel, the other finding hers on the center console. Her skin was warm.
Peter: The lair's for Tuesdays. Thursdays are for tactical drills. Tonight is the Palisades overlook. Trail's quiet. Gaia ran a sweep—no creepy campers, no hidden cameras. We're clear.
She raised an eyebrow, buckling her seatbelt.
Gwen: So your all-seeing AI is my chaperone now? A little creepy, Parker. But also… weirdly efficient. So, come on. Spill. How'd the parental check-in go? Did they give you the third degree about me?
I laughed, flicking on my blinker to merge onto the highway.
Peter: It was like a friendly interrogation. May's already planning future double dates. Ben gave me the 'no onions' speech. Again.
She groaned, but it was a fond sound. She leaned her head back against the seat.
Gwen: But it's sweet. They… they like me, right? Or am I officially the 'bad influence' with the questionable after-school activities?
I glanced over at her. The fading light painted her profile in gold.
Peter: They love you. May asked if you were 'museum material.' I said definitely, but that we'd hit an arcade next time. Keep them on their toes.
Gwen turned, propping her chin in her hand, watching me.
Gwen: Arcades sound perfect. Loser buys the radioactive-blue slushies. But seriously, Pete… thanks for this. After the whole… SHIELD ambush, the files, the staring contest with Fury… I really needed some normal. Just you and me. No lists of Hydra agents hanging over our heads.
I nodded, my thumb stroking the back of her hand. The road began to curve, trees thickening as we approached the Palisades.
Peter: Me too. Fury's one good eye feels like it's permanently burned into the back of my skull, like he's mentally measuring me for a specimen drawer. But tonight? Clock's off. We're civilians. Veto rights on the playlist?
She snatched my phone from the dash holder with a playful smirk and started scrolling.
Gwen: Immediate veto on the Springsteen. Too broody for a sunset. And 'Wonderwall'? Bold choice, very freshman year. But you can keep the Taylor Swift. We can duet the bridge on 'All Too Well.'
Peter: Duet? Absolutely not. My voice cracks on anything above a C.
Gwen: Liar. I heard you humming in the shower last week. Sounded pretty decent.
Peter: Eavesdropping on shower concerts is a federal crime, Stacy.
Gwen: Call it a superhero perk.
She hit play. Some mellow, indie acoustic track filled the cab. It was perfect. She settled back, our fingers still laced together.
Gwen: Pull over here, right? The trailhead's up that gravel road?
I turned into the small, mostly-empty parking lot. There was one beat-up pickup truck that looked like it belonged to a hiker who was long gone. I killed the engine, and the sudden quiet was filled with the sound of wind in the trees.
I grabbed the cooler from the back. Gwen was already out, slinging her tote bag over her shoulder. She took my free hand without a word, her fingers slipping easily between mine.
The trail was narrow, winding gently uphill. The air was cooler here, clean, smelling of damp earth and pine. Birdsong filtered down from the canopy. For a while, we just walked in comfortable silence, our footsteps crunching on the path, her thumb tracing idle circles on my knuckles.
Gwen: So.
She broke the quiet, swinging our joined hands lightly.
Gwen: If this were a movie, what's the big third-act moment? You confess your undying love under the stars? Or do we have to fight off a bear with nothing but our wits and a half-eaten sandwich?
I snorted, ducking under a low-hanging branch.
Peter: Bears? In New york? Please. The big reveal is the view. And maybe the ice cream. Undying love confessions are strictly sequel material.
She bumped her shoulder against mine.
Gwen: Tease. Fine. View first, then ice cream. Race you to the top?
Before I could even process the challenge, she was gone. A blur of green and laughter as she sprinted up the last, steep switchback. I let her get a good head start, feeling the burn in my own lungs—a real, human burn—before taking off after her. I let her win by a step, pulling up beside her as we burst onto the flat, rocky ledge.
The world opened up.
The overlook was perfect. A broad, flat shelf of granite jutting out over the treetops. Below us, the Hudson River was a wide, silent ribbon of molten silver in the dying light. Across the water, Manhattan was a distant, glittering jewel-box, its lights just beginning to wink on in the deep blue dusk.
Gwen: Beat you.
She was panting, hands on her knees, but her face was lit up with triumph and the run.
Gwen: My prize is the first sandwich. No arguments.
I dropped the cooler with a soft thud and shook out the blanket, letting it settle over the smooth rock.
Peter: You had a head start. That's cheating. But fine. Winner's rights.
We settled cross-legged on the blanket, knees touching. I unpacked the food: the wax-paper wrapped sandwiches, the container of strawberries, two bottles of fancy sparkling lemonade. A strawberry escaped, rolling toward the edge of the blanket; Gwen's hand shot out and caught it mid-roll with that uncanny, spider-quick reflex. She popped it into her mouth with a grin.
Gwen: This is perfect.
She said it softly, unwrapping her sandwich. She took a big bite and closed her eyes for a second, chewing.
Gwen: No alarm bells. No calculating stares from super-spies. Just… this. Just us. Okay, your turn. Tell me something I don't know. The Peter Parker files. Boring edition. No lab accidents, no secret identities.
I leaned back on my elbows, the sun-warmed stone solid beneath me. I looked up at the darkening sky.
Peter: Boring, huh? Okay. When I was ten, I decided I was going to build a robot. I took apart two broken toasters, an old radio, and Ben's electric shaver. I called it 'Toaster-Tron.'
Gwen giggled, covering her mouth.
Peter: I hooked it up to a car battery I found in the garage. It didn't walk or talk. It just got really, really hot and then shot a shower of sparks that lit a box of old newspapers on fire.
Gwen: No!
Peter: Yes. Ben came running out with the garden hose. Put the whole thing out. The garage smelled like burnt toast and wet dog for a week. My punishment? May made me help her make s'mores in the backyard fire pit that night. She said if I was so interested in fire, I should learn to use it responsibly. Best punishment ever.
Gwen was laughing now, a full, free sound that echoed slightly off the cliff face. She wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
Gwen: S'mores arsonist. I love it. That's going in the official biography. My turn.
She hugged her knees to her chest, looking out at the river.
Gwen: When I was little, I was obsessed with space. I saved up my allowance for months and bought this kit of glow-in-the-dark stars. Not the cheap stickers. The kind you have to stick up with putty. I spent a whole weekend on my step-stool, putting them all over my ceiling. But I didn't copy the real constellations. I made up my own. 'Gwen's Galaxy.' It had a nebula shaped like a cat and a big dipper that poured into a little dipper. It was so dorky.
Peter: That's not dorky. That's celestial cartography. An original mind mapping the heavens. Where are they now?
Gwen: Packed away in a box in my closet. Along with my old violin and about a hundred notebooks full of truly terrible poetry.
Peter: We should put them back up sometime. Somewhere with a real view. No light pollution.
She turned her head to look at me, her smile softening.
Gwen: Yeah. We'd need to find a better spot than Queens for that. But… with you? I think any ceiling would work.
Her hand found mine on the blanket. Her fingers laced through mine, slow and deliberate.
Gwen: Pete… thank you. For this. For seeing me. Not the spider-girl. Not the asset or the ally. Just… Gwen.
I squeezed her hand. The words felt too big for my throat for a second.
Peter: You're the easiest thing to see, Gwen. In all this chaos… you're the part that makes sense.
The sun finally dipped below the distant horizon, leaving the sky in a breathtaking wash of lavender, deep orange, and bruised blue. We talked as the world darkened. Easy, rambling talk. She complained about Flash Thompson's latest idiotic bet in gym class. I told her about the surreal moment I saw Candy Smash hit fifty million downloads. We talked about half-formed dreams—the violin she hadn't touched in years, the sci-fi novel I'd started and abandoned on a hard drive. We laughed until our sides hurt, her foot nudging mine under the blanket, my arm eventually finding its way around her shoulders as the first real stars began to prick through the velvet overhead.
When it was fully dark, I brought out the ice cream. We shared the pint, passing it back and forth with two spoons, our hands and faces lit by the faint glow of the city miles away.
Gwen: Told you it would get everywhere.
She laughed, licking a drip of sticky caramel from her thumb.
Peter: Sticky fingers are proof of a good time. It's a scientific fact.
I leaned in to kiss a tiny spot of ice cream from the corner of her mouth. She went still for a second, then her eyes met mine. The playful light in them had deepened into something warmer, more intense. The air between us seemed to change, charged with a sweetness that had nothing to do with dessert.
She set her spoon down on the lid of the cooler with a soft clink. She turned her body fully toward me, her knee pressing against my thigh.
Gwen: Just shut up and kiss me, Parker.
So I did.
It started slow. A soft, lingering press of lips that tasted like salt and caramel and Gwen. Her hands came up, sliding over my chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of my shirt. I pulled her closer, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other splayed on her waist. The blanket rustled beneath us as we shifted.
The kiss deepened, naturally, inevitably. Her lips parted, and the world narrowed to the heat of her mouth, the soft sigh she breathed into me, the feel of her body aligning with mine as we slowly sank back onto the blanket. The city was a distant, silent hum. The wind rustled the trees behind us. But here, on this rock overlooking everything, there was only this: the weight of her, the scent of her hair, the slow, sweet exploration that felt less like a first kiss and more like a homecoming.
We kissed until we were breathless, until the ice cream was surely melting in its carton, until the stars above us wheeled in their silent arcs. We kissed, and for a long, perfect stretch of time, there was no past to atone for and no uncertain future to fear. There was just now. And it was more than enough.
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