Featuring: @Eddie Brock as Peter ParkerManhattan
I wasn’t supposed to be here.
Not officially. Not sentimentally. And yet, there I was—slipping through a side door with all the ease and subtlety of a shadow stretching under the frame. No one heard me. No one ever did unless I wanted them to.
With my hood pulled low and my hands tucked into my jacket pockets, I was just another figure sliding into a back-row seat, unnoticed and unassuming. The lecture hall was modest, though a couple dozen students sat hunched throughout the rows, taking notes, or pretending to. Like me, their focus was tethered to the man at the front of the room.
Peter Parker.
He hadn’t changed much. Not really. A little more stubble along the jawline, maybe. Softer eyes. But he carried himself differently now. Just… fuller. More settled. A man who has carved out a life and found a way to live inside it. Not the scrappy vigilante I used to swing rooftops with. Not the young man with guilt in his spine and too much weight on his shoulders. He stood straighter now and spoke with confidence. Dressed sharper, too. He even wore a wedding ring.
Mary Jane must’ve taught him to iron his shirts.
I took a deep breath, adjusted my position, and tried not to fidget. I wasn’t here to cause trouble. Still, I could feel an itch behind my ribs. That gnawing sensation that showed up every time I revisited the past.
I remembered rooftops and moonlight, gloved hands brushing mine as we passed stolen breath and banter like it was currency. I also remembered the exact moment it all fell apart. My sabotage always came gift-wrapped in charm, a talent I honed over many years.
I tamped down on my reverie. The past was a locked door—one I shouldn't try to pick.
He noticed me then.
It was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it moment, but I caught the hesitation in his sentence, the hitch in his breath. His gaze lingered a second too long in my direction. Then, just like that, the lecture was winding down. Students filed out in the usual clatter—bags slung over shoulders, earbuds back in, caffeine-fueled conversations already moving on.
I stayed in my seat.
Peter crossed the room once it emptied, hands in his pockets like he wasn’t sure whether to greet me or call campus security. “Been a while, Felicia,” he said.
I smiled. Not the mischievous one I used to wear like perfume—just a soft curve at the corners of my mouth.
“Long enough for the world to spin a few times,” I replied.
He tilted his head. “If you've just signed up for the course, you should know my grading style is tough but fair.”
That got the faintest chuckle out of me. “Please, Parker. We both know I’d have the answer key before the semester began.”
"Assuming you haven't developed a sudden interest in biochemistry, then to what do I owe the pleasure?"
I stood slowly, every motion deliberate. Didn’t want him thinking I was there for the wrong reasons. Even if part of me wasn’t sure what the right ones were.
I reached into my jacket and pulled the vial from my inner pocket, holding it at eye level between us. The fluid shimmered in its little glass prison—iridescent, slick, unnatural—like someone had distilled a nightmare and added glitter.
"I need your help," I said, my voice soft, matter-of-fact.
"Huh... maybe a
little biochemistry after all." Peter turned the vial slowly, watching the faint luster in the liquid shift as if hiding something. "Should I know what this is?"
“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me. It’s weird. Which means it’s
your wheelhouse.”
"Flattered you'd come to me, Felicia." His eyes flicked down to his watch for a beat, then back to mine.
I was intruding. I knew that. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t have involved myself in his life again. He didn’t want me here, but Peter was a nice guy, and he’d never tell me to go away. It was one of his many traits that was both admirable and sweet. And exploitable.
I pushed down those thoughts, as well as the shameful regrets that still lurked.
Casting a pointed look at our somewhat open setting, I continued. “Look, I’ll happily tell you all I know, but not here. If you’ve got somewhere private, I’ll fill you in on
this,” I plucked the vial from his grasp, “and the
ghost that left it behind.”
Peter’s eyebrows shot up just enough for me to know I had hooked him. He looked at me for a long second, then nodded.
"There's a vacant lab downstairs this period. If you've got time, we can hop in, have a look. I
will have to insist that you wear safety goggles, though."
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.
Maybe the past was a locked door. Maybe it was a revolving one. Either way—I’d just stepped through it.
“Lead the way.”
Varshanka
Eddie Brock
Courtaud
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Cyberlad
udonoodles
Master Bruce
Nani
Hound55
Lord Wraith
