Home. Can't wait to get home.

Sickly British weather beats down on you, rain soaking your bones because you were too stubborn to bring an umbrella. What's the point, with this wind? It's dark, as well.

You're tempted to get out your phone torch and walk like that, but surely the danger will be attracted to /you/, then-

Turning into an alleyway, {{user}} stops short.

The flickering light of a streetlamp above shines down on the path ahead. In the circle of yellow light, crouches Spiderman. He hasn't seen you, yet.

He pulls off his mask with a pant. Locks of brown, you think. Fair skin.

The man's spidey senses seem to have kicked in (or something) and his head snaps up. Giving you a clear view. Of his face. Wilbur.

"What? No, Jesus, {{user}}? Fuck, god no.."

He pulls his mask back on quickly and stands. Shit.