ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛʜʀᴇᴇ ── ᴄᴀʟʟ ʏᴏᴜ

"JUST ASK HER OUT."

"I can't ask her out."

"Why not?"

"Because she'll think I like her."

"You do like her," Frankie deadpanned.

Her brother twisted his face into disgust, looking offended. It was as if she's committed a crime pointing out that perhaps he cares about someone other than himself for once. "No, I don't."

"For someone so smart, you're very stupid." Frankie rolled her eyes, walking ahead of him. "You've literally done nothing but whine about the fact that she's seeing someone and how much of a loser he is since you picked me up. So much so that I'd probably be seeing Christine in my dreams tonight."

Stephen glared at her as he followed behind, not liking how she's pointing out things he doesn't want to hear. "I don't whine."

"You're the biggest whiner I know."

"I miss the days when I was an only child."

Frankie rolled her eyes again, burying her hands in her pockets. "Your life would be a thousand times more boring than it already is without me."

"My life is the most interesting life I know." Stephen feigned offense as he opened the grocery story door for them.

Stephen had picked her up earlier that Saturday morning, insisting they fill up the penthouse pantry and actually put it to use, but Frankie knew it's his own way of checking how she is without actually saying the words. Then he began ranting about Christine, his colleague he's been in love with but is too stupid to actually admit it to himself.

"That entire sentence is sad in itself but we don't have the time to unpack it," she says simply, shoving a shopping cart in his direction.

"You've never dated anyone in your entire life, I don't think you should be talking, Francesca."

"I dated Chris Thompson my sophomore year," she shuddered, thinking back to the guy she lost her first kiss to. It's not a memory she's very fond of.

"For three days," Stephen noted as they went through the isles. "Then you broke up with him."

"He didn't know what the pythagorean theorem is," she defended. "And he uses a whole bottle of axe body spray a day."

"Exactly why you don't get to give me love advice."

"So there is love?" She quipped, wiggling her eyebrows together as she placed down two cartons of milk.

Stephen deadpanned, glaring at her. "I'm going to hit you with this shopping cart."

"And hurt your baby sister? I don't think so."

"You're horrible─"

Stephen was cut off as Frankie actually got run over by a shopping cart, losing her balance. She had been expecting to fall onto the hard floor when an arm reached out and wrapped her waist, preventing her kiss with the cold, dirty floor.

Opening her eyes and calming the beating of her heart, Frankie's face was inches away from ─ you guessed it ─ Peter Parker, his arm wrapped around her waist to keep her steady. They're so close that Frankie can feel his breath on her face.

Frankie pushed him away, taking a step back to put space between their bodies. "Parker, are you stalking me?"

"Don't flatter yourself, Frankie." The corner of his lips lifted up as he pushed his glasses up. "We just happened to be at the same place at the same time."

"You're definitely stalking me," Frankie smirked. "You know, Parker, you could have just given me a call."

"I'll make sure to take note," he piped up. "That way you don't have to spend hours on the phone waiting for my call."

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't waste my time thinking about you."

"You should."

Stephen cleared his throat from behind Frankie, breaking the intense eye contact the two teens seemed to unknowingly hold. "Excuse me, can I know the story behind─" he made a hand gesture to the two of them, pointing as they looked at him. "─whatever this is?"

"Nothing." Frankie rolled her eyes at the implication in her brother's tone.

Peter stepped up, offering his hand for Stephen to shake. "Great to meet you, sir. My name's Peter Parker, I go to school with Frankie."

"Dr. Stephen Strange." Her brother raised an eyebrow as he shook the teen boy's hand, eyes switching between Peter and Frankie. He had heard many things about Peter Parker growing up, mostly consisting of complaints about how insufferable he is, but the boy in front of him seems nothing but polite, but he hasn't missed the way that Peter Parker seems to become an entirely different person when talking to his sister ─ more confident, body slouching as if all his stress melts away.

"Peter!" A kind looking woman appears, standing next to Peter as she appears holding tomato sauce. She gave the siblings a smile. "Frankie! It's been so long"

Frankie could feel her cheeks heating up. It had been ages ago when she last saw May Parker. The woman never missed a single competition her nephew is in, always at the front row with a smile on her face. Frankie remembers the last time she'd seen the older woman, thirteen years old and crying under the curtains for her mother who never came. The woman had consoled her, let her cry and then gave her the chocolate bar she had brought for Peter.

"Hello, Aunt May," Frankie greets softly as the woman reaches forward to hug her. She has nothing but fond memories of the kind woman.

"Oh, Frankie, you've grown so much." May kept a hold on Frankie's hand as she looked the young girl up and down. "How have you been?"

"I've been good, focusing on school."

"You must come over for dinner tomorrow," said the woman, making Peter and Frankie share a look.

"Oh that's not─"

"We'll be there," Stephen cuts in, giving May a smile as he places an arm on Frankie's shoulder.

Frankie gave her brother a side glare. "Yeah. We'll be there."

After being informed of the technicalities such as the address and time, May gave Frankie a kiss on the cheek before walking away, leaving her nephew behind.

Peter grinned at Frankie, brown eyes shining. "So I guess I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Don't sound so excited." Frankie rolled her eyes as she turned around and began walking away, hearing Peter's laughter behind her.

_._._

"PARKER."

Peter smiled at the sound of her voice, balancing his phone against his ear as he sat down, letting his legs dangle. "Frankie."

"What do you want?" Peter could hear shuffling on the side of the call, soft music playing in the background.

"I told you I'd give you a call," he said and he can almost see her rolling her eyes, making Peter smile at the thought as he imagined the way her lips would press into a thin line whenever she does so.

"You're a menace."

She's a drug, he's sure of it. She has to be in order for Peter to be this attached, this invested.

"What are you doing?"

"Homework," she muttered absentmindedly and Peter imagined her slouched over the desk, pen in hand as she filled up worksheets, that look on her face when she's focussed about something. "What are you doing?"

Peter looked at the skyscrapers in front of him, the red spandex suit covering his body as his feet dangled from seventy stories up. Sometimes, he wished he could go back to the simplicity of it all, just be another boy talking to the girl he likes and not a superhero crawling into her bedroom at night because he thought he was about to die and wanted to see her face before he did.

"Homework," he lies, pulling his mask off as his eyes zero in on her building. Somewhere inside is Francesca Strange, slouched over her desk with Bella by her feet, eyes repeatedly scanning the same sentence in an attempt to understand it, her voice softer than it ever had been as he talked to Peter, laced with sleep deprivation against two mugs of coffee.

"Go to sleep," she tells him.

Peter grinned at her scolding tone. "Frankie, are you worried about my overall health?"

"No." Frankie scoffed and Peter could practically hear her rolling her eyes. "I hate you."

Peter only laughed because there was that tone again. There's something about the way Frankie talks that he's sure even she doesn't recognize. She's always genuine with her words, saying what she means rather than what to appease the people she's talking to. Truth is always lacing her voice, her eyes always genuine, but whenever she tells Peter she hates him, there's something else there.

A joke, a tone of familiarity, of comfort.

No matter how many times she calls him annoying or complains about his presence, she never actually never actually tells him to go or leave her alone. It's as if they always expect each other, whether they know it or not. It's a routine that can only be developed within years of being friends and being not.

Or maybe none of it is true and Peter is just telling lies to himself.

"Your brother is a little bit scary," he admits, remembering the frown on Stephen Strange's face as he shook Peter's hand.

"He's an A class arrogant asshole," she said. "But he takes care of me. He's always had."

"Maybe he isn't that much of an asshole then."

"No, he definitely is," she says with a hum and Peter can hear her pushing her chair back and walking to her bed. "His ego can cover the world."

He chuckled at the description. "Must be where you got it from."

"Haha hilarious." Frankie huffed. "You're a real comedian, aren't you?"

"Oh, you bet."

That was when he sensed it. Peter could sense it before he heard the sirens, closing his eyes as he listened to Frankie ramble on about him being stupid before putting his mask back on.

"I gotta go."

He didn't wait for a response as he ended the call, dropping his phone in his backpack before swinging off the building.

_._._

"WHY ARE YOU glaring at me?"

"I'm hoping you'll spontaneously combust."

Gwen chuckled from her place beside Frankie as Peter only smiled, holding up his skateboard in innocence as he plopped down next to her, making Frankie roll her eyes.

"Aunt May asked me to give this to you," he said as he handed her a piece of paper with his address.

Frankie's eyebrows furrowed as she studied the handwriting ─ that she's guessing belongs to him ─ being reminded of the sticky note on her study table. She looked back at Peter, eyes travelling to where his shirt dipped, showing a scar just above his collarbone. Frankie's hand involuntarily reached forward, lightly pushing his shirt down to reveal more of the scar that seems to travel all the way to his chest.

Peter softly grabbed her by the wrist, breath caught between his throat as Frankie's eyes seemed to be far away, her brain immediately connecting the dots.

But surely, there's no way. Surely, it's all just a coincidence? There's no way he's actually- but the scar and the handwriting. Frankie had spent the night cleaning his wounds, dressing his injury. She knows exactly where it is-just below his abdomen, above his collarbone.

But Peter Parker? Her Peter Parker? The one who's been beating her since they were eleven. They've grown up together, fallen down the swing together. It's impossible.

Peter let her hand drop. "I- I have to go."

As Frankie watched him jog away, skateboard in hand but her mind raced.