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[what sudden and loud through yonder window outside of gwen's room thumps? it is to the east, and peter has lost his footing, tripping onto a ledge in the process.

it is also, unfortunately, loud enough to get him discovered, after days of hanging out here in silence. does he have time to move? should he move?

he kind of doesn't know, and his ankle kind of hurts, like he'd rolled it or something? enough for a stream of owowowowow out of his mouth. so, yeah, he doesn't really have a choice; he stays.]

[ Gwen’s hangover lasts a good 36 hours. She spends a chunk of that time in Silco’s office, her phone in his desk, trying not to check the aftermath of her drunk post every 5 minutes; she comes and goes from her room to freshen up, and eventually decides she shouldn’t test the limits of Silco’s hospitality.

It’s worse to be alone. There are people she knows would come sit with her, if she only asked, but Gwen’s focused on one who hasn’t said anything since the other night. Who’s been avoiding her, like he does. It hurts, and she sits in that hurt for a while the way she sits in the dizzying hurt of not feeling quite real.

She’s journaling in bed when she hears that thump. She knows that thump—there’s only a millisecond of surprise before she knows exactly what she’ll find when she opens her curtains and unlatches the door to her balcony. ]

Peter. [ Gwen pulls her robe tight around her, the outside air cold. Her eyes are red, puffy, because she’s spent most of the week crying off and on; she bites her lip before it can quiver. ]

How long have you been out here?

[he doesn't have a choice, honestly, except to rehearse something in his head. right? like, he's really not getting away on this ankle, and maybe someone should look at it tomorrow. not that house guy, he thinks — that guy kind of gives him the creeps — but some other doctor person. are there other doctor people?

no, he's getting off track. the latch to gwen's window is opening, and he's got —

there isn't anything that would've prepared peter for seeing her face, straight on. sure, he's been keeping tabs on her, like this, just to make sure she's as okay as anyone could be after hearing something like that, but her red, puffy eyes are sort of close, looking into his.

his mind goes blank.]

Uh — [it's just static in there now, to be honest. his foot, the one attached to the ankle that really hurts, feels like it's about to slip, so his hands grip onto the bricks a little (a lot) more tightly. combined with the fact that he can barely feel his face and the fact that his teeth are chattering, his nose is probably really red, and, yeah, it's going to be obvious that what he's about to say is not believable at all.] Not — not that long. Just a few minutes.

[still, he says it.]

[ Gwen sees Peter wince, heard him going ow and knows before she asks this question that she’s not going to leave him out there, injured in the cold. But with her arms tight across her chest, eyes burning hot with fresh tears, she asks, anyway: ]

Will you say more than two words to me if I let you in?

[of course she didn't buy that, and of course she's mad at him. who wouldn't be? he's mad at him, and he's wondering, again, if it wouldn't be better for him to just disappear somewhere.

as far as he knows, though, he's not capable of that, he's not the invisible spider-man, just spider-man, so this is what they have. this second, this conversation.]

Yeah.

[it's so cold that his breath clouds in front of him with the word. peter nods, furiously.]

Yeah, promise.

[ Gwen gives a jerky nod, then opens the window wide enough for Peter to come through. Like he used to, back home, but she’ll never get to go home again.

She steps back, shivering, and wipes the backs of her hands across her eyes. Stays quiet, biting the inside of her lip, her eyes on him. She is going to wait for him to say something first. ]

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action — in the days after gwen's birthday

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