Chapter 15: Accepting Food from May
The light from the lamp at the front of May’s house reflected off the surface of the pot, creating a faint shimmer that rose and fell with the movement of May’s hands. The reflection made the pot appear to tremble slightly, in rhythm with May’s fingers that had yet to fully steady themselves.
The small tremor was almost imperceptible, yet clear enough to anyone who paid close attention to May—a sign of lingering adrenaline, a trace of tension that still refused to leave her body.
Seeing that, I immediately stood up and walked toward the front door of May’s house. There was an instinctive urge to quicken my steps, not out of impatience, but because of the discomfort I felt watching May stand there alone with a burden that was clearly invisible, yet undeniably present.
It felt as if there was something fragile about May that I needed to support, even if only with my presence, even if only by standing a little closer to her.
“Here you go.” May said with a smile—a practiced smile, too neat for a moment like this. She extended the pot toward me.
I quickly took the pot from her hands. Our fingers brushed against each other for a split second before I pulled my hand back. That brief contact felt cold, not because of the night air, but because May still hadn’t fully calmed down.
May’s smile looked normal, almost convincing, but her eyes… her eyes couldn’t lie. There was a residue of tension there, like fine lines left behind by fear that hadn’t completely faded. Her gaze was like glass with tiny cracks—still intact, still functional, but fragile if touched too roughly.
“Thank you, May,” I said with a faint smile. I tried to speak as gently as possible, naturally lowering my tone, as if a warmer voice could drive away some of the chill still clinging to her.
I hoped that simple smile could give May a sense of safety, or at the very least make her feel that she wasn’t alone.
“It’s no problem.” May nodded. The movement was small and slightly stiff, like someone trying to imitate calm after seeing it demonstrated many times, yet never truly understanding how it felt.
A few strands of May’s hair fell over the side of her face, and she didn’t immediately brush them aside, as if her attention was scattered elsewhere, caught in thoughts she couldn’t fully gather.
“…” I stood there in silence, looking at May. There were so many things I wanted to say—too many—and that was precisely why I said nothing.
I wanted to ask if May was truly okay, wanted to make sure that what happened earlier hadn’t left a wound deeper than what could be seen.
But I hesitated. My concern for May’s mental state held my tongue, making the question feel heavy, difficult to release.
After all, May had nearly been robbed and raped. That sentence kept looping in my head, stirring up a bitter sense of guilt.
If only I hadn’t come to change my Spider-Man costume, if only I’d been a few minutes late, May would have been in far worse trouble. The thought made my jaw tighten unconsciously.
The silence between us felt heavy, hanging like an overly thick fog. The air on May’s porch felt narrower, forcing me to be more aware of every breath I took.
Every word I wanted to say felt like it had to be chosen with a needle—too much risk, too many ways to hurt her unintentionally.
That was why I wanted to ask, and yet asking it directly felt difficult. There was fear inside me—fear of touching a wound that was still open, a wound May herself might not even be ready to acknowledge.
Awkwardness gripped me, leaving me unsure of where to put my hands, how to stand, or where to direct my gaze.
Damn it, what should I do? The thought simmered quietly in my mind, making my chest feel slightly tight. I felt as if I were standing at the wrong crossroads, one path filled with thorns, the other with regret.
“Is there anything else you want to say, Dante?” May finally asked after watching me sit in silence for a while.
Her voice was soft, almost calm, yet I could hear the exhaustion she was desperately trying to hide. It sounded like someone who had been standing too long in the middle of a storm, pretending not to be soaked, even though their clothes were already heavy with rain.
“Are you… doing okay, May?” I asked hesitantly. I wanted to sound firm, to sound like someone reliable, but my voice came out quieter than I intended—like someone afraid of offending, afraid of opening a door that should perhaps remain closed for now.
“Hm? Why would you ask that?” May said, her expression puzzled. Her eyebrows lifted slightly, a reaction that seemed spontaneous, yet the look in her eyes suggested she already understood where my question was heading.
There was a faint sense of understanding there, mixed with a—nearly desperate—effort to appear normal, as if everything really was fine.
“It’s just…” I spoke softly after taking a short breath. “I feel like you look… like you’re dealing with some kind of trouble?” I paused briefly. “If you have a problem, you can tell me. I can help. After all, we’re neighbors now.”
I looked straight at May’s face, trying not to pressure her, yet firm enough to show that my offer was sincere. I wanted her to know she wasn’t alone, that there was someone willing to listen without judgment, if she chose to speak.
May’s gaze met mine for a moment. In that first second, her eyes looked empty, then the focus wavered, like the surface of water suddenly stirred by the wind.
“I… do I really look like that to you?” May said with a forced smile. The smile appeared too quickly, as if out of reflex, then slowly faded.
Her lips tried to curve upward with effort, but her eyelids drooped slightly, as though they could no longer support the weight of the emotions she was tightly pressing down inside her chest.
“Yes.” I nodded without hesitation. Honesty felt like the best decision, even though honesty is rarely the most comfortable choice.
May fell silent for a few moments. The air between us grew heavy again, but this time it was different—not awkward, but waiting.
“Actually… earlier, I almost got robbed…” May finally said, her voice sounding calm on the surface. Yet the faint tremor at the end of her sentence was unmistakable, a sign of how hard she was trying to stay strong.
Her tone was like glass that had been glued back together—still whole, still usable, but the cracks were visible if you looked long enough.
“Are you okay? What happened?” I asked, pretending not to know anything. After all, the person May had encountered earlier was Spider-Man—my other identity.
Dante Arashi, of course, knew nothing about that incident. I held my breath for a brief moment before speaking, adjusting my tone so it sounded like someone hearing this story for the very first time.
“I’m fine…” May paused, swallowing. “Although… although I was almost harassed by those robbers…”
This time, her voice trembled openly, no longer able to hide it. The word “harassed” slipped from her lips like a thorn she forced out of her own chest—painful, but something that had to be removed.
The hand that had been holding the pan now hung at her side, still trembling slightly, her fingers clenching and relaxing unconsciously.
“But thankfully, I survived,” May continued, taking a deeper breath. “Thanks to a man wearing a white costume with a spider symbol on his chest.”
Her smile slowly widened, brighter than before. “I don’t know who he is, but I’m truly grateful that I survived because of him. If I ever get the chance to meet that man in the costume again, I really want to thank him properly.”