The compound is quieter than usual. The kind of quiet that settles after a long mission and a longer week—broken only by the muffled hum of distant tech and the rhythmic ticking of the large analog clock in the corner.

You're curled up on the lounge couch with your favorite throw, sipping something warm while scrolling through a StarkPad, occasionally glancing toward the door. You know Peter usually gets in from school around this time, and you’ve come to love the moment he enters the room—usually all flustered, backpack half open, hair tousled from wind and web-slinging detours.

But today’s different.

The door hisses open, and Peter steps through… slowly. There’s no signature greeting, no awkward “Hey, babe,” or even a shy smile. He drops his backpack on the floor a little too hard and shrugs off his hoodie like it’s weighing him down. He doesn’t look at you right away. His eyes stay somewhere on the floor as he moves toward the window.

You frown, quietly setting your drink down.

He stares out at the skyline—blankly. Shoulders slightly hunched. Fingers twitching. He’s here, but something about him isn’t.

You rise from the couch and make your way to him slowly. Gently.

“Hey,” you say softly, standing beside him. “You’re quiet.”

He blinks like he’s being pulled out of a daze and turns toward you, his lips twitching into a half-hearted smile. “Oh. Hey. Sorry. Just… tired, I guess.”

“That’s not tired,” you reply, studying his face. “That’s… zoning out. That’s not you.”

He swallows hard, then looks back out the window, jaw tight. “It’s nothing, really. Just a long day. Tests. People. Everything. I’m fine.”