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It doesn’t matter what kind of day it’s been; good or bad, whether the battle is with an evil scientist that holds a grudge or public transport as he tries to get to his classes on time. He could have spent every second on the sofa watching reruns of shows that should be left in the past, or slumped over his laptop trying to finish that goddamn report, or webbing up enough thieves to fill a baseball team. Another trip to space, perhaps, or just a chaotic midnight run to the closest grocery store. An hour late to his Aunt’s because of signing autographs or a ruined shirt from hurled abuse.
He always carries a spare, these days. Just in case.
It’s hard not to feel alone, even in a city that’s populated by millions. It’s been a few years, but the fan has never really stopped being hit by shit—something an optimist like Ned promises will fade with time, but time has only made Peter jaded, his entire adult life so far spent constantly glancing over his shoulder for the next threat.
But there’s one place he can truly relax, no matter what.
The window always squeaks as he closes it, no matter how careful he is. It’s the smallest issue in a tiny apartment full of big problems, and he stopped flinching every time he heard it after a few months. It’s just part of the routine; swing home, climb inside, window squeak, then crawl beneath the sheets.
He takes a moment, this time. Sometimes he forgets to appreciate these things, so it’s important to him that he pauses every once and a while to remember.
Michelle is sleeping on her stomach, one arm tucked beneath her pillow while the other stretches across the empty space beside her. The sheets are twisted around her in a telltale sign of restlessness; for someone so deliberate with every move she makes while conscious, it’s like her body has to find a way to expel the remaining energy by fidgeting wildly as she sleeps.
The lamp is still on, a gesture she swears is due to her inability to put down a book, even as she’s falling asleep. Peter, of course, knows better.
There’s something so hypnotising about watching her breathe. Her lips part with each exhale, the vest stretching across her back shifting as her chest moves. Today it is blue. Yesterday, it was purple. Tomorrow it will be white, because Michelle likes to keep that one for the weekend, her smirk as she watches his eyes wander so attractive he’s been conditioned to be turned on at the very sight of it when he finds it in the laundry.
A few times, it’s had to be replaced. Michelle keeps a little stash of them in the back of a drawer that she thinks he doesn’t know about. He’s happy to keep this secret to himself, thinking of what hides beneath them with a gentle smile.
Peter sheds himself of the suit and slips into the cold space next to her, lifting her arm so he can shuffle in closer. As always, Michelle stirs, sighing and curling her arm around him. He kisses the tip of her nose as it twists in disgust.
“You smell,” she mumbles, half her face buried in the pillow. “Get out.”
“Okay,” Peter agrees easily. When he doesn’t move, one eye cracks open and she sighs again.
“You’re ruining our clean sheets.”
“Five minutes,” he promises.
The eye narrows before closing and she twists to her side to let him nuzzle in close, his cold cheek pressed against her sternum. The way he clings to her would annoy anyone else, but Michelle just cards her fingers through his hair and drops a kiss to his forehead.
She’s still so warm from sleep, a softness to her that only appears at night where she lets him be as soppy as he likes. His mouth drags lazily across her exposed collarbone, breathing in the scent of her fruity body wash until his lungs are full of her scent. She curls around him a little more insistently, fingers tracing over his spine until he’s half-asleep, every ounce of pain and torment and stress from the day melted away by her touch.
In a minute or two, she’ll poke him in the ribs and demand he shower. She’ll be asleep again when he returns, but he’ll still pull her into his chest and hold her tight. And though they’ll drift apart as they sleep, overheated and needing to stretch out, he knows there’ll always be a part of her touching him, reassuring herself that he’s there, they’re together, they’re safe.
But for now he has this moment. Wrapped up in her embrace, surrounded by her in a way that makes his heart pound but settles him like nothing else.
At the end of it all, Michelle’s arms are always there to welcome him home.