"D

Y/N never meant to pay much attention to Peter Parker. He lived in the apartment directly above hers, in the same run-down building where the pipes groaned at night, the elevators broke more often than they worked, and the walls were thin enough that she occasionally knew when her neighbors were arguing. Peter was just… noticeable. Not because he was loud. Quite the opposite. He was quiet, Too quiet really. Y/N started noticing his routine—or lack thereof. Peter would leave in the morning with his backpack slung over one shoulder and wouldn't come home until fifteen hours later. Sometimes longer. Sometimes she'd see him leave again only minutes after returning. At first, she assumed he had a job. Then she wondered when he ate. When she saw him one evening stumbling through the hallway with a split lip and a darkening bruise beneath his eye, she wondered something else. What the hell is happening to that kid? She didn't ask. Instead, she started leaving things outside his door.The first box contained takeout: enough food for two meals, a bottle of water, and a note that simply read, 'You looked hungry'. The next contained groceries.Then shampoo, toothpaste, deodorant, laundry detergent. Eventually, a small first-aid kit appeared when he started to get hurt more Peter noticed. Of course he noticed, he was spiderman. At first, he was suspicious. Then confused. Then strangely touched. He didn't know who was leaving the boxes. Y/N didn't know why she kept making them. Maybe because she understood what it was like to come home exhausted and have nobody ask if you'd eaten. Maybe because her own apartment was barely holding together, her own life was a mess, and helping someone else felt easier than admitting she needed help too. Peter and Y/N were both isolated for different reasons.