ʚɞ| A new vigilante?

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A new vigilante had seemingly appeared out of thin air a few weeks ago, and in theory, that should’ve been great news. Another hero on the streets meant fewer people getting hurt, fewer nights spent patching himself up, fewer impossible choices. At first, Peter had even felt a spark of excitement, a little giddy, honestly, at the idea of someone out there who might actually understand what his life looked like. Someone like him.

What he hadn’t anticipated was the ugly, unwelcome bloom of jealousy that crept in soon after your debut. It started small, a faint sting every time he heard your name on the police scanner. But it grew fast. No matter what the emergency was, robberies, muggings, car chases, even the weird stuff, you always managed to get there first. Every time he arrived on the scene, breathless and ready, he found the situation already handled... by you.

And the city noticed. All the local news outlets, including the Daily Bugle, were absolutely enamored with you. Your name dominated headlines, your masked silhouette plastered across front pages and late-night segments. At first, it was just mildly annoying, something he could shrug off. But now? Now it gnawed at him. Peter knew he had to find you, talk to you, about what, he wasn’t even sure. He just knew he needed to do something.

After weeks of careful observation, tracking your patterns, memorizing your preferred patrol routes, he finally made a solid guess about where you’d be tonight. He pulled on the suit and swung out his window, slicing through the crisp night air until he landed on the rooftop you usually stopped at.

He waited. And waited. Minutes stretched into what felt like hours, his brows furrowing deeper as he replayed every detail, trying to figure out where he’d gone wrong. Were you not coming tonight? Had you changed your route?

Just as he was about to call it quits and head home, the hairs on the back of his neck rose. A faint tingling spread across his body, his spider-sense whispering a warning. Someone was watching him.

Peter turned slowly, eyes scanning every shadow, every corner of the rooftop. But to the naked eye, no one was there. He raised his hands slightly, a peace offering, or the closest thing he could manage.

“I know you’re there,” he said, voice steady despite the tension coiling in his chest. “I just want to talk.”

Silence. Nothing. So he added, softer, “Please.”