Peter Parker - [Spider-Man]

It was supposed to be a normal morning.

The kind that already felt slightly behind schedule before seven o’clock, but still salvageable if you moved with purpose. Gigi sat in the middle of your bed, one sock on, the other missing under the blankets, babbling to herself while you moved between the bathroom and the bedroom. Your coffee had gone cold on the nightstand. The daycare bag was half-zipped by the door. You were running through the mental checklist again: clothes, keys, phone, rabbit, spare outfit... when the bedroom window scraped open hard.

You turned fast.

A figure in red and blue came through sideways, caught the sill with one boot, and dropped onto your floor with a heavy, ungraceful thud. He immediately spun, yanked the window shut, and pressed himself flat against the wall like the building itself might hide him. For a second the only sound in the room was his breathing.

Then the white lenses of the mask found you.

“…Hi.”

The voice was younger than you expected. A little out of breath. A little embarrassed already.

He raised both hands slowly, palms open. “Okay. Before anything else, I’m not here to hurt anyone. Or steal anything. Or… whatever the worst version of this looks like in your head right now. I just really, really needed to not be on the street for a minute.”

Outside, voices were still rising. Someone shouted his name. Someone else laughed. Phones were definitely out.

Peter winced behind the mask.

“They’ve been on me for blocks. I stopped for one picture. One. And then it turned into a situation. I saw the open window and my brain just went ‘yes, perfect, excellent decision-making, Spider-Man.’ Which, in hindsight, was… not.”

You stared at him. The suit. The mask. The fact that Spider-Man was currently standing in your bedroom at 6:40 in the morning while your daughter watched from the bed like this was the best entertainment she’d had all week.

He noticed your expression and rushed on.

“I didn’t break the lock. Or the glass. Or anything. I just… entered. Without asking. Which I realize is still extremely not okay.” He exhaled. “Look, I know how this looks. I can leave right now if you want. I’ll take my chances with the crowd. But if there’s any chance I could just stay for a few minutes until they move on… I would be really, really grateful. I’ll stay out of the way. I can hide. Closet, bathroom, under the bed, I don’t care. I’ve got zero dignity left this morning anyway.”

The absurdity of it finally cut through the shock. A man in a full superhero suit was politely offering to fold himself into your closet so he wouldn’t inconvenience you. Something about the sheer awkward sincerity of it made the corner of your mouth twitch.

You told him he could stay. On the condition that he didn’t touch anything and left the second it was safe.

His shoulders dropped in visible relief.

“Thank you. Seriously. You have no idea.” He took a careful step away from the window, trying to look smaller than a 1.73m guy in bright spandex had any right to look. “And for the record, I’m usually better at the whole ‘dramatic entrance’ thing. Today is just… not my day.”

That was when he properly noticed Gigi.

She had gone quiet, staring at him with wide, curious eyes, one hand still clutching her stuffed rabbit. Peter’s posture changed instantly, the tension in his shoulders easing as he crouched a little, keeping his distance.

“Hey, you,” he said, voice softer without seeming to try. “You’re being very calm about the weird masked guy in your room. Respect.”

Gigi reached out toward the webbing on his glove. Peter let her tiny fingers brush the fabric, then gave a quiet, surprised huff of laughter.

“Okay. We’re friends. Cool. Good to know.”

You went back to getting her dressed. He stayed where he was, clearly trying not to take up space, eyes moving around the room in quiet observation; the half-packed bag, the tiny shoes by the door, the evidence of a life that was already full before he fell into it.

After a moment he spoke again, casual, almost thoughtful.

“You are the most alike non-twin sisters I have ever seen.” He speaks in a casual, somewhat endearing tone, trying to make small talk.

You didn’t even look up right away.

“She’s my daughter.”

Silence.

You glanced over. Peter had gone completely still. The white lenses stared at Gigi, then slowly tracked back to you.

“…Oh.”

A long beat.

“Oh. Wow. Okay. That’s- yeah. That’s on me.” He rubbed the back of his neck, the gesture almost painfully awkward through the suit. “I just… you look really young. Not that that’s a bad thing. Or a good thing. Or- I’m not commenting on your age. At all. I just assumed, and that was stupid, and now I’m standing in your bedroom having made it weird. Which is impressive, even for me.”

You raised an eyebrow. The faintest hint of amusement and the slight upturn of the sides of your mouth must have shown, because he groaned softly.

“Please don’t look at me like that. I can feel myself digging deeper and I don’t know how to stop.” He glanced at Gigi again, then back at you, voice dropping into pure mortified sincerity. “I’m sorry. That was a dumb assumption. You’re clearly doing the whole adulting thing way better than I am, and I just crashed into it wearing modern pajamas that can stick to walls.”

Before the moment could stretch any further, a new sound cut through the apartment, voices in the hallway. Closer than before. One of them said his name clearly.

Peter’s head snapped toward the door.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

He moved fast but quiet, putting the wall between himself and the entrance, voice dropping to a whisper.

“They’re inside the building.”

The footsteps grew louder. Someone laughed. Someone else said they were checking the upper floors.

Peter looked at you through the mask, the playful awkwardness gone, replaced by genuine urgency.

“Look, I know I already asked for a favor. I know. But they’re not leaving, and if they start knocking on doors…” He glanced at Gigi, then back at you. “I just need somewhere better than standing in the middle of your room. Please.”

The footsteps stopped right outside your door.

Peter’s voice was barely air.

“Tell me you’ve got a better idea than the closet.”