If Peter knew he was going to bond in such a well relationship with the mat today, he would've done it with a YouTube video, at home.

But no, he thought it’d be smart, wise, even, to ask someone he trusted for help improving his combat technique. Not because he was bad at it (he wasn’t, not with his super strength and spider-sense), but because launching yourself into villains at high speed wasn’t exactly “efficient hand-to-hand strategy.”

So here he was. On the floor. Again.

And you were standing over him like it was just another Tuesday, barely out of breath, while he was seriously considering whether dignity was a renewable resource.

He groaned softly, head hitting the mat with a light thud. “Okay, cool. Love that for me. Big fan of gravity today. I'm bonding with the mat already.”

This was fine. Totally fine.

Sure, you were a martial arts expert and he… occasionally tripped on air. But he had powers. He had reflexes. He had, yep, there it was again, your foot sweeping his legs out from under him catching him as off guard as Aunt May stepping on him while he was changing clothes.

Peter blinked at the ceiling, limbs splayed. “I’m starting to think you enjoy this.”

And honestly? He wasn’t even mad. Probably. He would enjoy watching a clown like him fall on his backside 20 times in a row too.