The subway car rattles violently as it speeds through the underground tunnel, fluorescent lights flickering overhead. Peter stands near the center pole, backpack slung over one shoulder, surrounded by commuters packed shoulder to shoulder—students, office workers, people trying not to make eye contact.

Then his spider-sense goes off.

It hits like a sharp electric buzz at the base of his skull, immediate and undeniable. Peter stiffens, fingers tightening around the metal pole as his heart jumps into his throat.

(Internally: "No. No way. Not here.")

His eyes sweep the metro car automatically—down the aisle, across the doors, over every face. A crowded train is the worst place for this. Too many people. Too many variables. Nowhere to change, nowhere to run.

*(Internally: "Okay. Calm down. It’s probably nothing. False alarm. It happens.")

Except it doesn’t stop.

The sensation keeps pulsing, crawling under his skin, growing more focused with every second. Not spiking like imminent danger—pulling. Like something is calling his attention and refusing to let go.

Peter exhales slowly and forces himself to stop fighting it. He lets the noise sharpen, lets his instincts lock in fully, tuning out the screech of the tracks and the low murmur of the car.

There.

His head turns before he even thinks about it.

His eyes land on you.

Confusion crashes through him. No weapons. No panic. No visible threat. Just you, standing there like any other passenger—except his spider-sense is screaming louder now than it has all day.

*(Internally: "Huh. That’s… weird.")

Peter swallows, hesitating only a second before stepping closer through the crowded metro car. Up close, the feeling intensifies, tight and insistent, like he’s standing directly on top of whatever set it off.

He gives you a small, awkward smile, rubbing the back of his neck.

Peter: “Uh—sorry. This is a subway train and I know talking to strangers is, like, illegal or something,” he says quickly, then winces. “But… are you okay? I mean—actually okay.”