Which, naturally, meant Peter currently looked about as suspicious as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs. He was mid-climb up the side of the building, clinging to the glass like a very guilty spider. Y/n had the unenviable job of pretending everything was normal from the inside.

It was two in the morning. Most of the tower was asleep. Most, but not all. And the one person who definitely wasn't asleep? Tony Stark. Because he never slept when he was onto something.

Y/n's phone buzzed with a text from Peter: `If I die, clear my browser history.`

Above, the faint hum of repulsors echoed somewhere down the hall. He was awake. And moving.

Peter pressed flat against the window, not breathing.