Marvel – I am Spiderman

The compass had been at four for two days.

He'd learned the calibration over the weeks since the bite. Three was cold. Five was present. Six was warm. Seven and above meant trouble in the direction you wanted trouble to come from. Four was Cindy angry. The kind of angry that still wanted to know where he was. She hadn't texted since the knife emoji. She hadn't called. The compass sat at four and stayed and the steadiness was worse than if it had moved.

He found her on their rooftop.

The HVAC unit. Same spot where he'd apologized a week ago, where she'd put her head on his shoulder and the compass had crept to six and she'd said "try harder" and he'd said "I will." She was sitting with her knees pulled up, silk suit on, the one she'd woven herself. She wasn't looking at him.

"Hey," he said.

"Sit down."

He sat. Left the usual space between them. The compass ticked to five. The bond pulling them closer whether they wanted it to or not.

"I need to tell you something," he said.

"You slept with someone."

He stared at her. She was looking at the skyline. Her jaw was set, her hands around her knees, and silk threads were forming at her fingertips and dissolving. Forming and dissolving. The involuntary tell she'd never been able to control.

"The bond," she said. "I felt it. Tuesday night." She stopped. Started again. "The compass went to eight while I was doing calc homework. For no reason. Then it dropped to two and something-" She picked at a thread on her knee. "I don't know how to describe it. You opened. Like there was a room I didn't know about and suddenly there was someone in it."

She looked at her hands. The silk was forming faster, thicker threads that stuck to her fingers.

"I sat at my desk and I couldn't breathe for about a minute. Then I finished the problem set because I didn't know what else to do." She wiped her hands on her knees. The silk smeared and dissolved. "I've been sitting with it for two days. I almost came to find you yesterday."

"Why didn't you?"

"Because I wanted to see if you'd come to me first."

"I came."

"Two days late."

"Yeah."

"That part sucked, Peter."

"I know."

He sat with that. The compass had spiked while he was inside Felicia against a wall in Chelsea and Cindy had been at her desk in Queens doing calculus and she'd known. The eidetic memory meant she remembered exactly when. Which problem she'd been working on. The second her breathing stopped.

"Her name is Felicia," he said. "I didn't plan it."

"I know you didn't plan it. You don't plan anything." She pulled a thread from her suit. It dissolved between her fingers. "Is she the leather smell?"

"Yeah."

"The one from the water tower."

"Yeah."

"The one who left cherry lipstick on your mask."

He hadn't known she'd noticed that. "Yeah."

"Peter, I notice everything. I have eidetic memory. I cataloged every time you came home smelling different and every time the compass did something I couldn't explain and every time you had a mark on you that wasn't from a fight." She said it flat. "I didn't say anything because I was waiting for you to."

The HVAC unit hummed. A car alarm started somewhere in Queens, ran for ten seconds, and quit. The November sky was grey and the buildings across the street had their lights on.

"How long?" she asked.

"How long what?"

"Before Tuesday. How long were you doing whatever you were doing with her."

"Months. We were- I don't know what we were. She wouldn't let it be a thing. Then her dad got sick and she called me and it was the first time she'd ever asked for help."

"So you showed up."

"Yeah."

"That's your whole move, isn't it." She said it flat. She wasn't asking.

They sat there. The silk kept forming at her fingertips and dissolving. A pigeon landed on the edge of the roof, walked three steps, and left. Even the pigeons knew when a rooftop was occupied.

"Do you love her?" Cindy asked.

"I don't know yet."

"Do you love me?"

"Yes."

No hesitation. The compass jumped to six and held.

Cindy looked at him. Her eyes were dark and steady and the silk at her fingertips stopped.

"Then why-"

"Because I'm not built for one person." He said it looking at her. At her, not at the skyline. "And I won't lie to you about it."

Her mouth pressed flat. Her eyes went wet and then cleared. Her jaw worked once. She was processing and the eidetic memory was recording every word and they both knew it and nobody could stop it.

"That's a terrible thing to say," she said.

"I know."

"It's the most honest thing you've ever said to me."

"I know that too."

She pulled her knees tighter. The silk was forming again, thick threads running from her fingertips to her knees and sticking. She was quiet long enough that a siren started and finished three blocks over.

"Is she good to you?"

"She headbutts me a lot."

Cindy blinked.

"She what?"

"Headbutts me. With her head. Into my head. To avoid kissing me."

"To avoid-"

"It was a thing she did. Past tense."

"Obviously past tense."

"Obviously."

"Because now she-"

"Now she kisses me and then tells me it didn't happen."

Cindy's mouth pulled to one side. She was fighting it and losing.

"That's insane."

"Little bit."

"I like her already." She said it like the words cost her money. "Don't tell her I said that."

Peter looked at her. She wasn't smiling but her mouth was holding against it and her eyes were still wet but the wet had gone sharp. The compass was climbing. Five to six, six toward seven.

"Peter."

"Yeah."

"Shut up for a second."

He shut up.

She was looking at the skyline. Her hand was on the rooftop between them and the silk from her fingers was sticking to the tar paper in thin lines. Her jaw moved. She breathed. The silk formed and dissolved.

Then she turned and grabbed the front of his hoodie.

Her fist closed on the fabric and pulled. Her other hand went to the back of his neck. She kissed him hard. Her mouth was open and her teeth caught his lower lip and the compass went to eight and kept going. Her hand on his neck pulled him closer and he was tipping forward and she was pulling him down and her back hit the rooftop and he was over her and she was still gripping his hoodie and her other hand was in his hair and the compass hit nine and her hips were against his through the silk suit and his body remembered her. The pheromones weren't driving this time. She was.

She pulled back. An inch. Her breath on his mouth. Her fist still in his hoodie. Her eyes dark and close.

"You're still mine," she said.

"I know."

"Hers too?"

He didn't answer fast enough.

She kissed him again. Harder. Her hand moved from his hair to the back of his head and held him against her mouth and her tongue was in his mouth and her legs came around his hips and she was holding on with everything she had. He could feel her heartbeat through the silk suit. Fast. The compass hit ten. His matched.

She pulled back. Same inch. Her breathing was ragged. Her lips were swollen.

"Mine," she said. "Nae geoya."

"Nae geoya," he said back.

Her right hand came off his hoodie. Her fingers pressed against his left wrist, the inside, where the pulse was. He felt the silk form. Warm. Thin. Winding around his wrist in a single loop. She wrapped it once, twice, a third time. Pressed the end flat against his skin. It stuck and hardened into a thin band.

She let go of him. Lay back on the rooftop. Looked at the sky. Her breathing was slowing but her hand was still on his wrist, on the silk, holding it.

He sat back. Looked at his wrist. The silk was thin and caught the evening light. It would dissolve in a few hours. She knew that. She'd done it anyway.

"Don't take it off," she said.

"I won't."

"And tell her that if she scratches you again, I'll web her to a building."

"I'll pass that along."

"I mean it."

"I believe you."

She was quiet. Her hand found his on the rooftop. Her fingers laced through. The compass settled at seven. Her thumb moved over his knuckle.

"Peter."

"Yeah."

"If you hurt me, I'll web your mouth shut while you're sleeping."

"That's fair."

"I have eidetic memory."

"I know."

"I'll remember everything."

"I know, Cindy."

She squeezed his hand. The compass held at seven.

He sat on the rooftop with Cindy Moon and held her hand. The silk on his wrist was warm and the evening was cold and Queens was below them and the compass was at seven.

He stayed until the silk dissolved. Then he stayed a little longer.