Chapter Text
Heat of the Moment, Part 1 - The First Day of the Rest of Your Life
TUESDAY, 7:00 am
Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.
“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT
Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant
The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…
Showed in your EYEEEES…”
You slapped a hand on your face and groggily dragged it down with a tired groan. Your eyes just barely began to adjust to the sunlight. In a zombie-like state, you turned to your side and glared at your boyfriend’s rather retro alarm clock radio, set to a local station that boasted the greatest hits of the 80s. “Greatest” was certainly subjective.
Why couldn’t the man just use his phone like every other human alive right now, that cocky, hipster son of a bi—
“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, Peter Parker’s head poked around the corner. Despite being half dead, your heart fluttered at the sight of him—a glowing freckled face, his sparkling amber eyes, a beautifully mischievous smile, and a messy crown of brunette hair. To add to the stunning sight, you were pleased to find him shirtless and wearing a towel low around his waist, his hipbones peeking out and accenting his perfectly-sculpted V.
By contrast, you looked like ass.
But the way he looked at you, you were as captivating as the Milky Way.
“How’d you sleep, bug?” he beamed, wiping any residual toothpaste away with a hand towel.
“Great,” you sighed, exhaustion evident in your voice. You yawned, gazing up at the ceiling, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “I was having a wonderful dream. And then I was assaulted.”
“Oh,” he replied, sauntering over to the bed. “Like in a sexy way? By me, I hope.” He teased as he leaned over you, wiggling his eyebrows salaciously, one hand on either side of your head
“No,” you pouted, rolling your eyes, “by Asia.”
He tilted his head, considering. “That got weird, fast.” He smirked as he eyed you suspiciously, “You been readin’ fanfiction again?”
You barked with laughter. “I mean my ears, dumbass!” Grinning like a fool, he kissed you and you nuzzled his cheek. You felt the dampness of the towel sink into you through the bedsheets. You didn’t mind. “Could you please just use your phone alarm like everybody else?” you whiningly pleaded.
“But bug, this is the perfect soundtrack for today!” Peter replied, pressing more kisses on the side of your neck beneath your ear and down to your shoulder. He smiled against your flesh. “It’s going to be a wonderful day.” You wriggled beneath him, his light stubble and soft lips tickling your sensitive skin. “Patrol kinda kicked my ass yesterday, so I was thinking about taking a day off. Spending it with my girl.” He pushed up and gazed down at you with eyes that could force you to agree to anything. “So how ‘bout it, huh?”
“Mmm, I’d love to,” you hummed, rubbing your hands over the firm breadth of his chest and arms, admiring him the way one would admire a Michelangelo. “But I can’t,” you lamented.
“What?” he whimpered in protest. “Noo, c’mon… We live together and I feel like I haven’t seen you since last week.” His lips were back on you, leading you toward temptation.
“And whose fault is that, Spider-Man?” you teased. He sulked like a toddler. “I can’t,” you frowned, exaggerating the disappointment in your voice in solidarity with his own. “Today’s super important. If I don’t finish drafting those plans by 4, I’m screwed.”
“Look at it this way,” Peter replied, with a wolfish twinkle, “you stay in bed with me, you’re still screwed either way.” He dipped down for a slower kiss, more lustful than before. “This method is a lot more fun, I promise.”
You smiled against his lips, unable to contain the way your stomach fluttered. “You are such a perv, Parker,” you chided him with a half-smirk on your face. “But seriously, I can’t.” His head rolled back with an anguished sigh as his defeat sunk in. “But hey, walk me to work? I’ll skip the train today.”
He peered down at you with an unsatisfied pout. “Okay,” he muttered. He pushed himself up, still straddling you. “But can we at least stop for coffee and a bagel on the way?”
“Absolutely,” you agreed. “I’m starving.”
“What a surprise,” Peter answered, tilting his head. “So am I.” He suddenly lifted the bedsheets up and disappeared beneath them.
“Peter!” you squirmed and giggled, scandalized, as you felt his fingertips scurry for the waist of your panties. “You’re absolutely awf—ahhhh!”
You felt a buzz in your pocket and retrieved your phone to glance at the caller ID: Mom.
You flicked your eyes upward in a reflexive eye roll, then declined the call and pocketed the device.
“Who was that?” Peter asked, trying not to sound suspicious.
“Just an old boyfriend of mine:” you teased with a demure smile that gave you away, “I call ‘em ‘Potential Spam.’”
“Hmm, too clingy?”
“Yeah, but not in the way I prefer,” you flirted as you reached again for his palm. He smirked and planted a kiss on your knuckles.
Hand-in-hand, you stepped down the broken concrete of the sidewalk, deftly avoiding oncoming pedestrians. The heels of your boots scuffed the ground at a hurried pace. You didn’t ever slow down, not even to sip coffee from the disposable cup warming your free fingers.
Peter looked over at you and the way your tiny legs carried you a nose ahead of his pace. “Bug, why’ya walkin’ so fast?” he asked, sidestepping to let a woman with an overenthusiastic corgi on a leash rush past you.
You scoffed with an amused side-eye, “Well, if somebody hadn’t made me late for work—”
“What?” he shrugged incredulously as he gazed off innocently, taking a sip from his cup. “And miss the most important meal of the day?”
You slapped him on the shoulder with a blushing gasp, “Peter!” He cracked a devious grin.
Your eyes scanned his face and the gait of his walk. You’d always considered your boyfriend to be good-looking—beautiful, even, but there was something particularly dashing about him this morning. Perhaps it was how the golden rays of sunlight illuminated his face added a glow to his whiskey irises, or how the crisp air tinted his fair cheeks. The sight of him reeled you in like a gravitational pull.
“What’s gotten into you today?” you eyed him curiously.
He glanced at you innocently, failing to hide a smile behind tight lips. “What?” he said with a light laugh. His mood was infectious, and the longer you stared into his warm eyes, the more you felt like you were going back in time. Years were falling away from you, and soon you’d be chasing him around like a young child free of the shackles and pomp of adulthood.
You couldn’t help but return the smile. “I’m serious! You seem… lighter.”
Peter glanced around at the busy street around you, shrugging his shoulders as if it was obvious. “I mean—look around,” he gestured with his coffee in hand. “The sun is shining. Birds are chirping. It’s not too cold, not too humid and gross. It’s like, a perfect day.”
You followed his gaze and scanned the area. A thick haze of smog invaded the air. Horns blared over the roar of the engines of traffic speeding past. Mechanical whirs and rattles of new construction echoed off the buildings around you. The faint smell of sewage and roasting hot dogs filled your nostrils as you walked by a food vendor cart.
“Yep,” you agreed, with a not-so-subtle hint that you actually disagreed. “A splendor to behold, for sure.”
With your next step, a nearby pigeon took flight right in front of you. Startled, you stumbled for a moment on an uneven slab of sidewalk. Peter gripped your arm to steady you, but your other arm sloshed your cup of coffee. You felt the hot, sticky substance coat your chest, soaking your blouse.
“Shit!” you hissed under your breath, feeling the hot liquid drip down your skin.
“Babe! Are you okay?” Peter flinched, brows furrowed with concern. “You didn’t burn yourself, did you?”
“No,” you groaned, biting back your irritation, “but this shirt is ruined.” You searched around for something in your bag to wipe off the mess, finding nothing.
“I can run home and bring you some clothes,” Peter offered, a sour look on his face as if this was somehow his fault. “Or, you know. Swing.”
You huffed, curtly, “Nah, don’t waste your time.”
“I feel bad,” he replied. “Didn’t think you’d be wet again this soon.” You glared at him, unamused. “Sorry,” he immediately added, holding his hands up to placate your annoyance. “Last one, sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me,” you glowered sarcastically, landing eyes on a convenience store nearby. “I’m going in for napkins.” You looked both ways before crossing the street, tossing your nearly empty cup in the garbage. Peter followed closely behind you into the shop.
The environment inside the store was much more subdued. You stopped in the doorway to survey the inside: A bored, pepper-haired, pitted-faced man with bushy brows slumped over the cash register, not bothering to end his side of the conversation on a Bluetooth earpiece. A thin, chalky young woman with flaxen stringy hair and clothes that hung off her bones stood listlessly, gazing at a display of cleaning supplies. A birdlike, blemished teenage boy with a broad forehead and copper curls lugged a cardboard box of snacks towards a shelf for restocking.
You felt Peter’s warmth at your back as he entered the store, the bell above the door chiming as it swung open. He gently placed a hand on your forearm, letting his eyes rove around the aisles, tuning his senses to anything amiss. Even out of the costume, he was never not Spider-Man. He was never fully at rest, and never not diligent about the safety of a situation, especially if you were involved. While it may have annoyed you early-on in the relationship, especially before you knew about his alter ego and his history, his instinctually guarded nature was predictable now.
Your eyes found the coffee bar right as Peter’s phone began to ring. He glanced down at the cracked screen and looked up at you apologetically. “Uh, it’s May,” he explained, pointing a thumb outside the door. “I gotta take this.”
“Go ahead,” you shrugged, already making your way toward the coffee bar. “Meet you outside.” He turned and put the phone to his ear as he left. As the door swung back, two chatty uniformed police officers sauntered in with reusable coffee tumblers in hand.
You scanned over the bar until you found a container of napkins, grabbing a handful and dabbing at your chest. Standing on your toes, you looked around for a restroom, hoping to get a better handle on the mess with some tap water. As you considered having Peter go back for a new shirt after all, a hand grasped your shoulder.
Your body went rigid as you were pulled back and up against a warm body. You felt a sharp point at your neck.
“Don’t move,” a soft, timid voice ordered. You could barely hear the feminine voice over the pounding of your heart. Your eyes went wide as you spotted your reflection in the glass door of a refrigerator case. The lanky young woman who looked barely strong enough to withstand the wind had her thin arms wrapped around your shoulders and a box cutter pressing against your throat. Suddenly, you counted every breath as a laborious, death-defying stunt, especially with the blade held so tightly.
“Don’t try anything,” she threatened. There was a darkness that weighed down her vocal cords, pulling them a little too taut. You held eye contact with her, opening your palms gently, holding them away from your body. Even through the glass, the girl looked tired. Her eyes were bloodshot, with deep bags underneath. There was a tremor in her hands, one that shook all the way down her spine.
You were having trouble forming words. Your eyes darted quickly in front of you, but there was nothing within your reach, except for crumpled-up balls of paper towels. Your eyes began to sting with building tears; your body was flooded with adrenaline and a wave of emotions: confusion, anger, terror.
“Hey!” a male voice rang out. Both you and your captor flinched, the blade drawing a drop of blood from your neck.
Your eyes glanced to the side, careful not to move your neck too much, to spot the two police officers squaring off. You could tell one of the two men was older, while the other was younger, but all of their features were a blur. Everything else froze. The cashier stopped talking. The stocking boy came to an abrupt stand, dropping his armful of bagged peanuts on the ground. He spotted the box cutter in the girl’s hand, then glanced around frantically for his own, realizing that she had taken it while his back was turned.
“Put the knife down!” one of the two officers ordered. It was the younger of the two.
“Just take it easy, kid,” the more subdued voice coming from the older officer said.
The girl sniffed, and from her proximity, you could feel her lip quivering. “Nobody move!” she shrieked. It was a feral, heart-wrenching cry from deep in her chest. You felt the heat of the blade and of your own blood trickle down your neck. You squeezed your eyes closed and attempted to steady your breathing, if only to lessen the chance of being injured further.
“Shhh, it… s’okay,” you stuttered, barely able to comprehend what was happening. “Do-don’t… do—”
“Shut up!” she screamed, her voice shattering like glass. You could feel the convulsions move through her body, the heat of her lungs wafting across your cheek. “I-I swear to-to god, I’ll kill her!” Your breath caught in your throat, your fists clenching tightly. She was no longer the only one trembling.
“Pl-please…” you whimpered.
“Drop the weapon!” the young officer shouted.
The bell of the shop door rang again. Your eyes landed on Peter as he stared, wide-eyed and jaw agape, at the awful scene. The color drained from his face. His expression destroyed you. Hot tears began to stream down your cheeks as you watched him balk at the horror of all of his nightmares becoming a reality. He was stunned, ghost-like and motionless.
You silently mouthed his name, a helpless apology. You didn’t even know what you were apologizing for.
The unstable young woman must have sensed Peter as a threat. “Take another step and I’ll kill her!” she screeched, yanking your body closer to her chest.
“Stop—!”
A shot rang out. The box cutter fell from the girl’s limp fingertips. Her heat was behind you, then suddenly gone. Her entire being—gone, crumpling to the ground. You felt a hot sticky substance spray across your face. You gasped at the feeling of her blood dripping from your chin.
In front of you, the younger officer stood with his weapon drawn, the gun still billowing smoke. His partner was frozen beside him, arm raised out towards you. They looked like statues—wax figures, or the mummified remains encased in ash beneath Pompeii. Expressions of terror forever cemented on their faces.
By far, the most nightmarish of visions was the dread you saw in Peter’s eyes. You watched as the light of them was swallowed up by fear and drowned in anguish, like black holes ripping galaxies apart. The cold darkness left behind would be void of life for all eternity.
You were getting warmer. And colder. You followed his line of sight down and gaped at a whirlpool of crimson torn through your chest. You watched your life force drain out of you, spilling onto your feet and across the floor.
You don’t know how long you were holding your breath, but the next inhale feels like a flaming sword through the heart. You stare at the red—an ocean of red—as it crests and floods the ground below. You’re falling. Maybe through space, maybe through reality, dropping straight into hell. It must be perdition with all the pain you’re in.
And then you stop before you hit the ground. Your eyes open. Labored breaths. Peter’s face above you, fat tears spill from his eyes. Beautiful doe eyes. Tragic, betrayed. He looked like a little boy to you. You wonder what his boy will look like.
The fear grips your heart as you realize you’re not going to find out.
The sounds are rushing to your ears, and reverberating off of the cavern of your body left behind by a fleeting soul. You’re struggling to hear the sounds. You don’t want the quiet. You don’t want the darkness.
Peter’s screaming, you think. He clutches you tightly. He feels so warm and you feel so cold. You remember how he held you. Tightly wrapped in the stark white safety of your bright room and silk bed sheets. You want to go back to bed.
Your eyes are wide and terrified as you fight the darkness. Your lips are moving, but no sounds will come out. You’re trying to scream that you want to go back to bed. You’re begging Peter with all of your heart.
Please take me home. I want to go home.
Peter’s lips are moving and you think you can hear his voice from the bottom of the well. He’s begging you not to go. You’re begging him to take you home. You’re not ready to go.
It’s getting dark. The love of your life is begging you to stay. You’re fighting to keep your eyes open. You want to remember every freckle on his face, even as they’re drenched in tears. Darkness settles in anyway. It’s hard to see how beautiful he is in the dark.
It was beautiful today. And now, darkness. This is how it ends, you think. But you’re wrong.
It’s just the beginning. You hear Peter call out your name.
TUESDAY, 7:00 am
Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.
“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT
Tellin’ me. what. my. HEART meant
The HEEEAT of the MOMENT…
Showed in your EYEEEES…”
You gasped suddenly, shooting straight up out of bed. Your eyes were wild, shooting around your clean, peaceful bedroom. You remembered where you’d been and realized you weren’t where you were—the jarring discrepancy confusing and overwhelming you.
You were dead. You were bleeding out on the floor of a convenience store, breathing your last breath.
But now you’re alive, so blessedly alive that you could feel every goosebump on your skin.
Sitting up in your bed, brought your hand to your chest where the entrance wound of the fatal gunshot had been. Nothing. No pain. No blood. No death.
But you were dead… it was so real. The sticky warmth of your blood was real. The smell of gunpowder and singed flesh. The terrified look on the faces around you. You shuddered at the thought. That cruel, horrible, gut-wrenching look of anguish on Peter’s face.
“Mornin’, Sunflower!” the devil in question rang out from your en suite bathroom. A moment later, his head poked around the corner. His expression serenely naive of the gory last moments spent with you in his arms.
His smile was beautiful. Today had been beautiful… and it—somehow—was once again? So… it was a nightmare, then. A surreal, too-real nightmare. And this is how it ends, with you waking up safely in bed.
Or so you think. But you’re wrong. It’s just the beginning.
Today is the first day of the end of your life.
