Spider-Man Imagines I

Definition of Perfection (Part Five) | Peter Parker [TH]

"Tell me what, Pete?"

His knees hit the carpet with a soft thud. His palms touched your knees and you, blinking in shock, drew your hands up from where they were tucked on the inside of your thighs. You let them hover slightly off of your lap, not sure where to put your hands when the boy you thought was so cute was looking at you like that.

"Pete?" you whispered, eyebrows pulling together.

His head shook slightly and his mouth dropped open with words he could not say. He made a noise in the base of his throat and his eyes became wet.

"___," he choked out, "I-I..."

"Pete," you said. "You can tell me anything."

He nodded, tongue swiping across his lips. "___, I love you, okay?"

"I love you, too, Pete-" you said easily.

"No." He dropped his head and then lifted it again, cheeks red. "I... love you."

You couldn't comprehend, couldn't understand.

"I can't explain it," he said. "I can't explain the way I feel when you walk into a room. Or how my throat feels all closed up when you have your hair up in a ponytail for gym class. Or how my heart broke when I realized that I had made you cry." He smiled and laughed breathlessly, nervously, and tears were springing out of his eyes. "I can't... I can't tell you how often I think about you. How when I get hurt out there as Spidey, you're the one I'm thinking of, wanting to come home for. I don't know how to even begin..." He laughed again. "But I guess... I guess I sorta did already, huh?"

You gave him a part of a smile, dropped your head, and let your hair fall around your face. "Peter, I-" You put your hand over his. "I had no idea-"

"I know," he said. "I'm pretty good at keeping secrets." He smirked before his nerves made it flicker away. "What are you thinking?" he asked softly.

"I am thinking... about how I'm too shy to tell you how much I love you back," you admitted. "Or how I stare at your freckles and count them during Art all day. Or how when you call me, my heart skips a beat and it takes me a few seconds to calm to enough to talk like I haven't just run a marathon."

He laughed quietly. "You kinda just told me, you know."

You were still hiding in your hair. "I know," you said. You blushed. "Peter, what are you doing?"

"I'm telling the girl that I love that I love her," he said. When you peeked out from your curtain of hair, he sighed. "I know. I know it's dangerous. I'm a superhero with a ton of bad guys after me. You could be a target for any one of them. But I swear on my life, ___... I will never let anyone touch you." He sounded so strong and sure that your heart was right back up in your throat.

"I believe you, Peter," you breathed. "But... Pete." You couldn't finish without your voice breaking.

Peter, sweet and soft Peter, rose up on his knees a little more and pushed your hair away. "What?" he asked softly, full of concern. "What is it?"

"I'm not perfect," you whispered. "I am not the perfect girls you've dated in the past. I've had no relationship experience. I am not particularly kind or funny or smart. I'm none of the things you liked so much about Liz and Gwen."

"Are you kidding me?" He grabbed your shoulder. "___, I don't want you be like them. Even though you're all of those things, kind and smart and funny, and so much more, I like you because you're you."

You swallowed and looked down at your thighs, at your belly, at the things you couldn't help but pick every little flaw out of. Peter lifted your head by pressing his pointer finger gently to your chin.

"Stop," he said, and he said it gently. "Don't think bad of yourself. I've never, not for a moment, thought bad of you. Your body is perfect. Your attitude is perfect. ___, you're my best friend. I care about you too much to lie."

You were crying now. "Peter, I can't see those things in myself."

You thought of how you'd never had a boyfriend. People didn't just not find you attractive for no reason at all, right? And Flash, constantly picking at you and making your life miserable.

"I am so sorry, Pete," you said.

"Stop," he said again. He smiled gently, patiently. "Don't be sorry. I love you. That's enough for right here and right now." He nodded and rubbed your arms. You smiled gently and he felt the overwhelming desire to cup your face in his hands, and so he did. His thumbs wiped away your tears.

"Your definition of perfect is like everyone else's," he said. "Not too thick, not too thin. Sweet and funny and smart, all balanced perfectly. But my definition of perfect is you. It is everything that you are, ___."

You smiled a little bigger now. He was still holding your face like it was the most precious thing in the world. You leaned into his left palm and felt his fingers press into your jaw. His eyes flickered to your lips, but he didn't kiss you until he pulled away and brought you off of the bed. You stood in front of him. Then he kissed you gently, lovingly, the way a girl should be kissed.

When you pulled away, he brushed your hair out of your face and kissed you on your cheek. "I can't make you love you. But I hope I can love you enough so that you'll see all of the things that I see when I look at you."

You nodded. Then, gently: "Okay." Your hands made fists in his old t-shirt. "I love you, Peter."

And he kissed you again.

And although he didn't ask, you knew you had your very first real Valentine.