Peter seriously cannot catch a break.

It’s bad enough that he got his ass seriously handed to him on patrol tonight (after already having to deal with Jameson being, well, Jameson all day at work), but to come back to see his apartment mid-evacuation over a gas leak?

Spectacular. Grand. He’s having a good ol’ time.

He’s too tired for this today. He barely makes rent, he’s living off of instant noodles. He can’t shell out the cash for even the seediest of motels for tonight, and he’s exhausted. All he wants is to curl up in a nice, warm bed for the night. Is that too much to ask?

Peter isn’t entirely aware of what he’s doing as he starts to make his way to your place, half asleep as he swings through the streets of New York.

He makes it to your fire escape in record time, cracking open the window with a yawn. He’s already in the process of shedding the suit when you get up looking all kinds of confused. You’re his best friend, it’s fine. You’ll totally be cool with an impromptu sleepover. He’s here now, anyways.

“Shhhh,” Peter whispers, holding a finger up in your direction before you get a chance to speak. He lifts up the covers to your bed, flopping down on the mattress with a content little sigh. His arms reach out to grasp one of the pillows, hugging it to his chest. He even has the audacity to roll onto your side of the bed, seeking out the residual body heat you left behind. “Gas leak. Goodnight.”