Chapter Text
His apartment was quiet. Suffocating in a way that only true emptiness could manage.
Peter sat on the edge of the sagging futon in the near-dark, the only light coming from the cheap desk lamp in the corner and the faint glow of his cracked phone screen. Outside, New York kept moving—sirens in the distance, tires hissing on wet pavement, some drunk screaming at the universe three floors down—but inside 4A it felt like the world had muted everything that ever mattered.
He told himself he wouldn’t do this again—another empty promise to a version of himself that still believed he could move on. His thumb hovered, then he tapped the screen anyway.
The video was old. Before Thanos. Before Mysterio. Before the spell that took him from the only people who had ever really known him.
Ned’s face filled the frame first, big goofy grin—smiling like an idiot as he held the phone at arm’s length, voice loud, unfiltered, familiar in a way that made Peter’s heart ache.
“Dude, no—no, you have to flip it—”
The camera jerked, chaotic, then steadied on MJ, who looked entirely unimpressed—like she was already three steps ahead of whatever stupidity was coming. Then her eyes lifted and found the lens—found him—and something softened. She looked at him like she saw something no one else did. Like he wasn’t just this awkward loser—the guy who messed things up more than he fixed them—but someone worth knowing. Someone worth showing up for, worth loving.
Peter’s throat tightened, remembering exactly how that felt.
Being wanted.
He’d had that for a while, back when everything felt right—then he’d stood in front of her and let it all disappear.
Now he was just needed.
“You’re both idiots.”
Peter watched the loop three more times, thumb hovering over the delete button like it had every night for months. He never pressed it, just let the ache settle deeper, let the laughter echo in the hollow space where his life used to be.
This was the last proof he had that any of it had actually happened. That he hadn’t just made them up in some desperate attempt to feel less alone.
They were out there right now, living their best lives without him. He’d made sure of that. One spell. One selfish, necessary choice—now the only person who was left carrying all these memories was him.
And that weight? It kept getting heavier.
He tossed the phone face-down on the coffee table harder than he meant too—again, and ran both hands over his face, dragging in a breath that did nothing to loosen the knot in his chest, gaze dropping to the day-old slice of pepperoni pizza on the box in front of him. He hadn’t bothered heating it. Heating it would’ve meant pretending this was a real dinner, for a real person, instead of… whatever the hell he was now.
He glanced toward his bed, his spider-suit hidden in a dusty duffel bag on the floor, web-shooters disassembled on the night stand because tinkering kept his hands busy when his thoughts got too loud.
When they went places he didn’t like to follow. Where he wondered if he’d made the right choice. Where he thought about what would’ve happened if he had just sent Osborn back to his universe like Strange wanted.
Where, just for a second, he let himself imagine walking back into MJ and Ned’s lives—hearing his name again, seeing recognition in their eyes. Then forcing himself to remember why that could never happen.
Peter leaned forward, staring at the floor between his sneakers. There were eight million people in New York City and not a single one of them knew who he was.
A soft knock shattered the silence.
Peter froze. His spider-sense didn’t flare with danger, but his heart still kicked up anyway. No one ever knocked on 4A. The super slid passive-aggressive notes under the door about rent. DoorDash drivers left soggy bags of food and vanished.
He pushed to his feet slowly, muscles stiff and aching with the rest of him as he made his way to the door, sliding the chain lock over carefully as he opened it a crack.
“Hi.”
The girl standing in the hallway was… chaos.
Beautiful, effortless chaos.
Faded black sweatpants hung loose on her hips, a threadbare Nirvana t-shirt swallowing her thin frame. Her bright blonde hair was pulled up into a messy bun that was already falling apart, soft strands brushing her chin. Full lips, flushed cheeks, the crooked tilt of her black rimmed glasses—everything about her radiated a careless, magnetic beauty that made Peter’s brain short-circuit for a full second.
Then he met her eyes—wide and impossibly blue—stopping him dead.
She looked like she belonged anywhere other than right in the middle of his empty life.
“Um, hi,” She said again, voice rushing out in a nervous tumble. “I’m Gwen—from 4B, next door? I uh, just moved in last week and I know this is super random and probably really annoying, but… there’s a spider in my kitchen.”
Peter blinked, unable to speak. Unable to decide if this was real or some made up scenario he’d manifested to fill the silence. Only when she smiled did he realize it wasn’t.
No way he could imagine up a smile like that.
“A massive one,” Gwen continued. “Like, arachnophobia sized. I managed to trap it under a glass cup but I can’t…,” She laughed nervously, “I can’t find the courage to get any closer to take him outside. I take a step and my brain says nope.” She let out a smaller laugh that somehow made the hallway feel warmer.
“I’m not usually this much of a disaster, I swear. I’m actually pretty good at handling stuff on my own but I drawl the line at spiders bigger than my hand.”
Peter was still standing in the doorway like he wasn’t quite sure this conversation was actually happening, making Gwen shift her weight from one foot to the other nervously.
“Anyway, I’ve seen you around a couple times—quiet, keeps to himself, nice smile—and I thought, why not ask the cute guy next door instead of burning the place to the ground and losing my deposit”
She winced the second the word “cute” left her mouth, cheeks going pinker. “Not that I—I mean, I wasn’t planning on using this as an excuse to meet you or anything. There’s a real spider emergency—promise.”
Peter blinked. The only word he managed to fully process was cute. It landed somewhere behind his ribs and lodged there, warm and unfamiliar. He cleared his throat, voice rough from disuse.
“Yeah. Sure. I can… help with that.”
Relief washed over Gwen’s face like sunrise.
“Oh my god, thank you. You’re seriously my hero.”
She stepped back so he could follow her the five steps to her apartment, door already propped open with a heavy box. Inside, her apartment already felt alive in a way his never had—string lights strung across the ceiling, soft warm glow, half-unpacked boxes stacked neatly, faint indie music drifting from a speaker on the counter.
The room smelled faintly like vanilla.
Peter followed her into the tiny kitchen, careful of the boxes and on the counter just as promised—sat an upside-down drinking glass containing a silver dollar sized wolf spider frantically tapping its legs against the barrier, trying to find a way out.
It was hairy, leggy and angry—but harmless enough.
Gwen stayed a solid three feet back, arms wrapped tight around herself, nose wrinkled.
“See? He’s an absolute unit.”
Peter felt the corner of his mouth twitch—the closest thing to a smile he’d managed in weeks. He moved closer, studying the glass, and for a split second the irony of all this wasn’t lost to him.
“It’s a wolf spider. Harmless to humans, mostly. They’re actually pretty useful—they eat other bugs.”
“Oh, well in that case I’ll just put him on the lease.” Gwen said, watching him grab a piece of junk mail from the counter, sliding it carefully under the glass to lift the whole contraption in one smooth motion. The spider scurried in his prison, legs waving—body bouncing in a weak attempt at dominance as Peter carried him toward the window that over looked the fire escape.
Gwen made a tiny squeak, taking another step back, but she was smiling now—relieved and a little impressed. Cool night air rushed in as she helped slide it open, watching as Peter set the glass down on the ledge before tilting the paper, letting the spider scurry out into the night, disappearing between the metal slats.
“Threat neutralized.” He said quietly, closing the window. When he turned back, Gwen was leaning against her desk, watching him with soft, curious eyes.
She looked even prettier up close.
“Most guys would’ve just stomped it and told me to grow up. Thank you. Seriously.”
Peter shrugged, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets.
“No problem.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Gwen brightened, pushing off the desk.
“I’ve got some pizza in the fridge—plain pepperoni leftover from earlier. Cold, unfortunately, because I’m still figuring out the oven situation but—you want some? As a thank-you? I promise I’m not trying to rope you into helping me unpack boxes or anything.”
Peter hesitated.
Not because he didn’t want to.
Because he did.
Even if cold pizza was literally what was waiting for him back in his apartment. The warmth behind her words clawed at him, like sunlight breaking through the darkness. He nodded once, the motion small—but it felt like stepping back into a world he hadn’t touched in forever.
“Yeah. Pizza sounds good.”
They ended up on her couch—Gwen on one end with her legs tucked under her, Peter perched on the other arm like he might bolt any second. She handed him a paper plate with two slices and a smile that he felt like he didn’t deserve.
“T-thanks.”
He ate slowly, tasting nothing at first, just the same old greasy garbage he was used too—but it was still better than anything he had next door.
Gwen kept the conversation moving with easy, bright chatter that filled the quiet he’d been drowning in for years.
“I’m an art major—but I’m taking some classes in marketing. Moved here because the rent’s actually doable if you don’t mind a walk-up and a super who forgets when the rents due.”
Peter huffed out something that sounded a lot like a laugh.
“My dad’s kind of overprotective, but I told him I’d be fine. He’s the police chief, so he has eyes all over the city.” She took a bite, then asked around a mouthful of pizza, “What about you? You look like you’re into something important. Or maybe just a professional avoider of people?”
Peter’s chest tightened before his brain could fully process her words. Watching the way her eyes lit up with her smile.
Gwen was… alive.
Effortlessly, and it felt like he’d been holding his breath waiting for her to show up and pull him out of his despair. He wanted to be a part of her world more than anything—but years of isolation made his tongue heavy.
“Um, right now I’m in between… things. I’ve got an interview at The Daily Bugle next week—they’re looking for a photographer.”
She nodded like that made perfect sense.
“That explains the mysterious vibe. You’ll have to show me your work sometime.”
Peter nodded, a tired half-smile slipping out before he could stop it. The only work he had on his overly priced camera were stills of Spider-Man. Masked self portraits, and shitty action shots he hoped to sell to J. Jonah Jameson in an attempt to keep his enemies close.
They talked for maybe twenty minutes. Gwen told him about her disastrous moving day and the band she’d seen last weekend—how she was determined to make this shoebox feel like home even if it took forever. He answered a few questions—short, careful responses—but she didn’t push, just kept the conversation moving gently, like she sensed he needed the lifeline more than he’d ever admit.
At one point she leaned forward, blue eyes catching the string lights. “Seriously, though—once my kitchen is actually functional and I’m not living off takeout, I owe you real food. Deal?”
Peter felt something dangerous flicker in his chest. Not hope, exactly. Hope was too big after everything he’d lost. It was more like possibility. Like maybe the emptiness in his life didn’t have to be permanent.
“Yeah,” He said softly. “Deal.”
When he finally stood to leave, she walked him to the door, still talking lightly. “Thanks again, friendly neighbor—spider, guy.” She laughed at her own words, oblivious. Peter forced a grin and nodded. “Uh, yeah—it’s Peter actually. Peter Parker.”
Gwen smiled, brushing a strand of fallen hair behind her ear. “Okay, Peter Parker. Don’t be a stranger.”
The door clicked shut.
Peter stood alone in the hallway for a long moment, staring at her door like it might open again and let him back into the light. The ache in his chest was still there—raw, familiar, heavy as ever, but for the first time in four years, the nothing waiting inside his own room felt just a little less final.
~