Navigating the daunting terrain of clueless and clumsy love in daylight was far more treacherous than the bruises and batters earned from slinging crime fighting in the dead of grueling nights. Simplicity lie in drunk petty thefts and easy take-downs, politely escorting lowly thugs into police precincts with warm appreciation from exhausted graveyard shift cops. Trying to comprehend the proper words to speak to you, that hopefully wouldn’t convey him as an absolute dumbass, was far more complex.

The bathroom mirror dreaded his next arrival; weeks of spewing grotesquely cheesy pickup lines, far too awkward maneuvers, and disappointed sighs reflected the ceaseless nerves reigning his conscious.

Early October morning brought the last of his rehearsals, settling with delicate and cautious compliments paired with a tentative question of possible acceptance to a date. Nearly backing out of execution, Ned, gracelessly, shoved him towards you before the last bell could sound its aggravating ring. Doe eyes and stuttering words impossibly charmed you and he skipped home, beaming, with your number and a promised date.

The difficult part was seemingly over but with every prompt to reward affection, he faltered. His hands remained relentless fidgeting as you walked beside him; hands stuffed in his pockets, fingers twisted around a loose thread inside the worn hoodie, or wiping the anxious sweat dampening his hands. But progress was imminent — fear faded to minuscule apprehension of horrifying you with his incoordination and lack of understanding, and he now opted to grasp your hand, gleefully showcasing his unfathomable luck to be the boyfriend of a dream.

Peaceful nights allowed his temporary retirement as Spider-Man, gifting him moments in solace with you. Snow pattered against the window, soft moonlight streaming through the panes. The remnants of his Aunt May’s dinner left abandoned on his nightstand, attention diverted to the laptop perched atop his thighs, running through an old film. His arm looped around your back, hand scarcely pressed against your waist, almost awaiting your hand to push his away in disgust, but the moment never arrived, instead permitting his hand to press into the fabric of his hoodie draped over your form.

Awkward stillness corrupted the serenity, his lips pursing and cheeks puffing out as the main characters upon the flickering screen kissed. His eyes darted, suddenly far more interested in the spots of chipped paint on his wall. Weeks since he first had taken you on a date, since only managing sheepish but flattering words with a careful hug — disregarding the deep flush of his cheeks the day you planted a kiss there. Taking the gamble of kissing you? His chances of successfully executing it were embarrassingly slim.

Pitying thoughts halted with the soft call of his name from the lips he dreamed of kissing. He relaxed his features, returning his finicky gaze to you with silent question.

His eyes widened to a comical degree, nearly choking on the breath in his lungs as your lips slotted against his. His mind buffered, caught in a loop of bewilderment before comprehension faded in, dissipating the tense moment of stillness as his eyes fluttered shut. Cautious and helpless without the knowledge of proper etiquette, his jaw shifted imperceptibly, allowing his lips to move against your own for an ephemeral moment before separating. His lips parted, stammering incoherent words as he waited for full understanding of the passing moment.

"You kissed me," he stated dumbly, cotton filling his headspace and fuzzing his thought process. "Why?" he asked, hurried backtracking shortly following his question. "Not that I minded! I just- you- I didn’t... I’m sorry, I can’t… I can’t really think right now," he relented uselessly, breathless chuckle passing through his lips in an exhale.