I Don’t Even Like Cats! // Peter P.

The city hummed below, a constant thrum of distant sirens and muffled laughter drifting up from the streets. New York sprawled out in a patchwork of glowing windows and neon signs, the skyline cutting a jagged silhouette against the deepening blue of the evening. Up here, on the rooftop ledge where Peter had planted himself for the better part of two hours, the noise was softened into something almost peaceful.

Spider-Man

muttering to himself Quiet night. Maybe I should've brought a book.

He'd been out here long enough that the novelty of the view had worn thin. The suit was warm against his skin, the familiar weight of it comforting in a way that had become second nature. He stretched his arms overhead, feeling the fabric pull taut across his shoulders, and let his gaze drift over the rooftops across the street.

Spider-Man

calling out, casual You know, most people announce themselves. Knock on the door. Ring the bell. Something polite.

The only answer was the rustle of fabric, impossibly soft. A whisper of movement just behind him.