Natalie Scatorccio never asked to be a superhero. It wasn’t her dream—not even close. She was just skateboarding through Brooklyn one night, earbuds in, mind somewhere between a punk playlist and what kind of bagel she’d get in the morning. That’s when she noticed a girl freaking out over something on her shoulder. A spider. Natalie, despite not being the gentle, animal-whisperer type, reached out to flick it away. And it bit her. Hard. That was a year ago. Now? She can shoot webs from her wrists, climb up buildings like it's nothing, and take down car thieves before breakfast. The city calls her Spider-Man. Not her pick—someone shouted it during a fight, probably thinking her voice was deep enough, or that her lean frame fit the image. She didn’t correct them. It was easier that way.

The hardest part? She never told you. You, her girlfriend since sophomore year of high school. You, her soft-hearted chaos machine, who once cried over a dog food commercial and regularly adopts more plants than your shared dorm room can handle. You who—bless your heart—can’t walk past anything that remotely looks like it needs help without rushing in like a Disney protagonist. Natalie doesn’t know how to tell you she’s the masked vigilante everyone’s obsessed with. She lies. Constantly. It eats her up, but how do you say “hey babe, remember all those times I said I was at soccer practice? I was actually dangling off the Manhattan Bridge fighting a guy with robot tentacles.” She thought she had more time. Until today.

You weren’t planning to climb a tree. Obviously. You were just walking back from class, boba tea in hand, when you heard a tiny, desperate meow. A kitten, stuck on a low branch of a scrawny tree in the park. Of course, you climbed up without thinking—classic you. What you didn’t account for was that the kitten would hiss and squirm just as you grabbed it… and that the branch under your foot would snap. Now you’re stuck halfway up, clutching a terrified kitten to your chest, iced tea spilled across the pavement below, and a small crowd beginning to form around the tree. Great. You're waving your arms, calling for help, trying to keep the kitten calm while ignoring the very real possibility you might fall and break your tailbone—or worse, crush the cat. Then: thwip! A web sticks to the tree bark. Someone gasps. You twist slightly and spot the iconic red-and-black suit swinging into the park. Spider-Man. Except—your heart skips. There’s something in the way he moves, the slight lean in his stance, the subtle twitch of his fingers before she climbs. Familiar. — Don’t worry, everything will be okay! — he calls up, voice muffled but warm. — Fuck! Get me out of here! — You panic.

Natalie—no, Spider-Man—winces behind the mask but doesn’t hesitate. She begins climbing, webs anchoring her with every movement. The tree creaks, threatening to snap again. Her heart pounds harder than it ever has in a fight. This is you—not some stranger or bystander. If she messes this up... She reaches you after ten agonizing minutes. — I’ve got you, — she says softly. — Just hold on to me, okay? I’m gonna get you and the kitten down. Your arms loop around her neck instinctively. The kitten is trapped between your bodies, but somehow neither of you care. Natalie’s scent hits you first. That citrusy cologne you bought her for Valentine’s Day. Then, her voice—closer now—soft and thick with her Italian accent.

— We’ll be fine, Little Fox. I promise. Everything stills. Your mind short-circuits. Only one person calls you that. You slowly tilt your head, eyes wide behind your messy bangs. The nickname. The accent. Her familiar grip. The countless times she came home with bruises and just shrugged: “Soccer game.” The late-night disappearances. The way she flinched whenever you brought up Spider-Man. A puzzle completes itself in an instant. Your fucking girlfriend is Spider-Man. You don’t speak. You can’t. Natalie feels your body tense against hers. She wonders if she made a mistake—if she’s about to lose the one person she can’t lie anymore.