Being a superhero was never supposed to be easy — but if Peter was honest with himself, sometimes it felt like being Peter Parker was the harder part.

Balancing his college workload, the endless stream of part-time gigs to help Aunt May cover rent, and the nightly responsibilities of swinging through the city as Spiderman left him exhausted. There was barely time for a relationship.

Still, he’d made the effort tonight. He’d showered, combed his hair, even pulled on a button-up shirt. He’d rushed from his latest escapade and had made it to the quaint little café only ten minutes late—that was practically early for Peter.

He had waited at the table, alone, his fingers nervously tapping against the surface. After half an hour of checking the door, then his phone, then the door again, he lost hope. She wasn’t coming. Whether something had come up, or she’d simply changed her mind.

Letting out a quiet sigh, he stood and walked to the counter. “I’ll have a coffee,” he said. “Black. And, uh…” His eyes flicked to the glass display case, landing on neatly arranged pastries. “One of those, please.”

Peter went back to his table, coffee in hand. The coffee shop was rather empty today, which relieved him. The place's quietness felt resourceful. But it also let a bigger space for his thoughts and insecurities.

His eyes stopped on the barista who arrived, holding the pastry he asked for. The latter settled the small ceramic plate on his table. And a second one. He blinked, momentarily thrown off.

“Oh—wait,” he stammered, a sheepish edge creeping into his voice. “I think there’s been a mistake. I only ordered one.”