**Uncle Ben’s POV**
I waited in the dimly lit hallway outside Peter’s room, the faint sound of his voice filtering through the door. After a moment, he finally responded, his tone muffled but clear.
"Music."
I couldn’t help but chuckle lightly, a hint of relief washing over me. “Are you listening to death metal or something?” I teased, hoping to lighten the mood. Peter’s soft chuckle through the door eased some of my concern.
“What do you want?” I heard him ask, his voice tinged with curiosity. The door creaked open slightly, and I glimpsed him behind it, his face half-hidden. I stepped inside before he could close it, and he clicked the lock into place with a soft click.
“I want music,” he said, a note of frustration in his voice. I nodded in understanding, taking a deep breath.
“Your dad...” I began, watching as he immediately averted his gaze. I continued, gently, “...used to say, ‘If you don’t like how something is, just do it yourself.’” His confusion was palpable as he turned back to me, asking, “What does that mean now?”
With a smile, I approached the floorboard beside his desk. I hooked my fingers around a small nail that was sticking out and pulled, revealing a hidden compartment. Inside was an old, well-preserved guitar case.
“What the hell? That was in there this whole time, and you didn’t tell me?” Peter’s eyes widened in surprise as he stared at the case.
Ignoring his astonishment, I carefully extracted the guitar, my heart lifting at the sight of it in mint condition. The polished wood and gleaming strings spoke of years past.
I settled on the edge of his bed, gently tuning the guitar. “So, you want to sing a song, Petey?” I asked, glancing over at him. His initial reluctance melted away, and after a moment of hesitation, he nodded.
“You can record it,” he said, almost shyly. I raised an eyebrow.
“Why?” I inquired.
“So you can listen to it when I’m not around to play,” I explained. Peter nodded and set up a camera in the corner of the room while I adjusted the guitar strings, getting a feel for them once more.
“You used to play?” Peter asked, taking his seat in front of the camera by the window. I nodded, a nostalgic smile playing on my lips.
“Which song do you want? I’ll give it a try if I know it,” I offered. He pondered for a moment, then asked, “Can we make a new one?”
I agreed, asking him to describe how he wanted the music to sound. As I played a few chords, Peter seemed to relax, gradually finding his rhythm. He lay back, content, and signaled for me to continue.
As I played and he sang, I couldn’t help but admire the quality of his voice. It was clear and resonant, full of emotion. When the song ended, Peter, visibly exhausted, had drifted off to sleep by the window. I gently lifted him and placed him back in bed, covering him with a soft blanket. With a quiet sigh of satisfaction, I headed to my own room to rest.
---
**Peter’s POV**
Sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting warm rays across my face and filling me with a serene sense of relief. The emotional turbulence of yesterday seemed to have dissipated with the melody we created, but I was left with an inexplicable sense of fatigue, a sort of psychological weariness that made me sluggish.
After completing my morning routine and breakfast, I asked Aunt May for a day off. She agreed, recognizing that yesterday had been a challenging day, and she also noted that my academic proficiency made my absence less concerning.
Curious about the footage from last night, I reviewed it on the camera. To my surprise, the visuals were stunning. I had set up the camera in a daze, yet everything came together perfectly, capturing a beautiful, unpolished essence.
I replayed the song repeatedly, appreciating its quality. Deciding to upload it as my second video on the channel, I edited it slightly to enhance its sound and posted it. Since YouTube’s algorithm favors regular content, I was free to post anything, and this felt like a fitting addition.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
With the video uploaded, I left my room and helped Aunt May prepare lunch. Afterward, I grabbed my sneakers and wandered the streets, searching for something to occupy my time. As I walked, I felt a fleeting shadow dart across the pavement. Looking up, I saw a striking blonde leaping effortlessly between buildings, followed by another girl and a boy, all engaged in an impressive display of parkour.
Intrigued, I felt a strong desire to experience that sense of freedom. It was a yearning, a deep pull akin to the thrill of seeing the ocean for the first time and knowing you’ll never have that initial wonder again.
Determined, I dashed into an alley, utilizing my Spidey powers to scale the side of a building swiftly. From the rooftop, I spotted the parkour group, with the blonde demonstrating her skills while guiding her companions from a nearby rooftop.
“HEEYYY!” I shouted, drawing their attention. The blonde, evidently the leader, turned and called back, “WHAT?”
“I’m bored. Can I hang out with you?” I responded.
The blonde conferred with her friends, then shouted, “Not if you can’t jump the gap!” She pointed to the narrow alley between the buildings. I assessed the distance, then declared, “OK” and began my run.
Her panicked shout of “Nooo wait” reached my ears as I launched off the edge with just enough force to land on the opposite side. Rolling to absorb the impact, I continued running, jumping another gap to finally stand before them.
“You asshole! You could have at least warned us!” The blonde scolded, her tone a mix of irritation and admiration. I looked at her, puzzled. “Warned about what?”
“That you actually knew parkour!” She said, exasperated. “Duh!”
“I don’t know parkour,” I countered. “I just saw you do it and tried to replicate it.”
Her disbelief was evident. “So, you saw us once and then did it?” When I nodded, she said, “I don’t believe you.”
Unfazed, I challenged, “What do I have to do to make you believe?”
Her eyes sparkled with a mix of challenge and mischief. “Do a move I created on the first try. If you can do it, I’ll believe you.”
I agreed, watching as she demonstrated a move—jumping from one side of a terrace’s flower beds to the other, a Kong vault. I attempted the move, replicating her actions but missing the landing and rolling to avoid injury.
“Damn,” she said, observing me. “You’re definitely a beginner. I bluffed—everyone knows what a Kong vault is. You almost did it. Why didn’t you continue after the roll?”
“I wanted to replicate it exactly as you did,” I explained. “You didn’t roll, so I thought I failed.”
She snorted in disbelief. “Yeah, right.”
Suddenly, she glanced behind us with alarm, grabbing my hand. “We need to move!” she urged, and we sprinted across rooftops. I looked back to see a group of about five people pursuing us, with her two friends trailing behind.
We leaped from building to building until we reached the edge of our jumping zone. She cursed under her breath, clearly panicked. I quickly scanned the area for an escape route, uncertain of why we were being chased.
Grabbing my shoulder, she said urgently, “When they catch up, I’ll tell them you’re not with us. You should take the kids with you.”
As the two kids caught up, I asked, “Why are they after you?”
She sighed. “Bakeries sometimes pay gangs to get rid of thieves.” I nodded, puzzled, then asked, “Wait, thieves?”
She looked desperate. “They were hungry. Please help them, and I’ll hold them back.” She pointed to the kids.
An idea struck me as I spotted a fire hose near some solar panels. I ran over, yanked the hose to the edge of the building, and made a lasso. I threw it towards a distant crane, securing it. “Get on my back!” I instructed the blonde.
Despite the odd request, she complied. I asked the boy to hold my arm and the girl to cling to my neck. With everyone in position, I used my Spidey powers to secure us with static and leaped off the building.
As we plummeted, our collective shout echoed. Halfway down, the hose went taut, propelling us across New York traffic in a wide arc before swinging back. I released the kids mid-swing, and their parkour skills helped them land safely. Meanwhile, the blonde and I swung back, waiting until we could safely drop.
The kids vanished into the crowd, disappearing into an alley. The blonde and I fell mid-swing, evading a nearby officer. We ran into the alleys, where she pulled me behind some makeshift shelters used by a homeless man.
“Where did the kids go?” I whispered, trying to avoid attracting attention. She replied, “We have a meet-up place.” We waited in silence until the police left. Once they were gone, she leaned back against me, and I became acutely aware of her position.
She was sitting in my lap, her body pressed against mine. The sensation was unmistakable, and teenage hormones did their part.
She glanced
at me, resigned. “Do you have a phone?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Any kind of key?” she asked.
I repeated, “No.”
She gave me an uncomfortable look. “So, I can confirm that what’s pressing against my butt isn’t a hotdog in your pocket?”
I remained silent for a moment before responding flatly, “Affirmative.”
She groaned, leaning back against my chest. “If it’s any consolation, it’s just a natural reaction.” She tried to meet my eyes. “Duh, that’s not the problem. It’s just so cliché to fall ass-first onto the guy who saved me.”
A smirk tugged at my lips. “Is that a pun?”
She whined, “It always happens in those soap-opera romance action movies. It’s way too overused. Not that I’m complaining.”
She shifted slightly, rubbing against me. “So falling on me isn’t the problem?”
“No,” she replied, getting up and leading the way to the meet-up spot.
We reached the kids, and I introduced myself. “Hi, I’m Peter Parker.” The blonde turned to me, “These two are Bang and Susan,” she said, pointing to the boy and girl. “And I’m Billie Eilish.”
What. The. Heck?