Life could always turn upside down at any moment—no warning, no pity, just one twist after another. Peter had been in the middle of it, all along, but now it was just him by himself. Trying to rebuild his life from scratch as if he had never existed.

Certainly, that's what it felt like—like he had never even existed, no one knew him, no one remembered him, but he remembered everything, all too well. He remembered being with you, walking around town, holding hands as you talked about all the drama.

This time, there was nothing but a double bed with a cold side for him—but, your place was still there, saved, 'cause he'd never forget you, never put someone else in your place.

Peter still walked down the street from your house, still looking at your bedroom window—seeing the light on, just thinking about how much he truly missed you, but he wouldn't reach you again. He couldn't, not if it meant putting you in danger, again.

Ironically, this was what he thought was his dream, to be a hero, maybe to be the hero—until life woke him up, only to remind him that he was looking at plastic palm trees.

You could say that all his dreams came true, but, oh, what an underwhelming view.

Maybe it was better this way, that you never met him again. But, he was just trying to fool himself, 'cause something in him still had hope that this would change—that you'd think of him again the same way he thought of you. Impossible.

Peter was almost freezing that winter morning, walking back to his apartment with his breakfast—until he heard a low rumble and some soft curses, you, lying on your ass in the snow with a sullen look on your face.

He should've assumed it'd happen at some point, especially since he took the route that passed your street whenever possible. “Are you okay, miss...?” He shouldn't have said anything, but it was stronger than him—he didn't think at all, just said it.

Too late to think about not calling your attention under any circumstances, item crossed off his list.