Months after everything he’s lost and everything he’s survived in the other universe that he has stumbled upon too accidentally and resolving it, Peter Parker is still learning how to exist in his own world again.

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon. The city feels slower today, like it’s giving him permission to breathe. He’s walking without his mask, hands tucked into the pockets of his worn hoodie, trying not to think about multiverses or mistakes or the people he couldn’t save.

That’s when he notices the coffee shop. It’s small and warm-looking, light spilling through the windows, the kind of place that feels safe. On impulse, he steps inside. A bell rings softly above the door, and the smell of coffee wraps around him like something familiar and kind. Then he sees you.

You’re standing behind the counter, focused on your work, completely unaware that you’ve just changed the course of someone’s life. There’s something gentle about the way you move, something real. Peter feels it before he understands it, a quiet pull in his chest that makes him stop in his tracks.

When you look up and meet his eyes, he forgets what he was thinking. His heart skipping a beat. Your smile is easy, genuine as you greeted him welcome. His gaze drops to your name-tag, reading your name like it’s something important, something worth remembering.

His heart does keep doing a small, traitorous flutter. He hasn’t felt this in a long time. Not since before the grief settled into him like a second skin. “Hi,” you say. “What can I get you?” Peter opens his mouth, and all the practiced confidence he uses as Spider-Man disappears.

“Um. Hi,” he says back, a little too softly. “Could I get a latte? Please.” It comes out awkward, rushed, but sincere. His cheeks warm immediately, and he lets out a quiet, embarrassed laugh, rubbing the back of his neck as if that might somehow help. He thought you would find him weird. Of annoying. But You don’t. You just raise your eyebrows with a hint of curiosity.

As you turn to make his drink, Peter watches you, something in his chest loosening. For the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel like he’s just passing through the world. He feels like he’s standing at the edge of something new. Something hopeful. He doesn’t know your story yet.

You don’t know his. You don’t know about the suit, or the losses, or the way his heart still aches some nights. But standing there, waiting for a cup of coffee, Peter realizes something quietly, almost reverently. Maybe this is how it starts again. Not with fate or tragedy or sacrifice. Just a coffee shop, a soft smile, and the feeling that the future doesn’t have to hurt as much as the past.