Chapter 3: Crossed Heartbeats and Breakfast with Gwen

The phone screen glowed in the darkness of my room. "Gwen Stacy." The name blinked like an alert— not of danger, but of something far more complicated: feelings.

I took a deep breath before answering."Hello?" My voice came out rougher than I expected."Peter!" Gwen exclaimed on the other end, relieved. "God, finally! I tried calling a bunch of times but thought maybe you were asleep or… I don't know, worse."

There was genuine concern in her voice. It caught me off guard. The old Peter felt something for her. And now, with his memories fused with mine, it was like her voice stirred something familiar in me—emotionally familiar, but not yet fully mine.

"Sorry," I said, leaning back. "I was… just resting a bit. I'm feeling better now.""Are you sure? You left so quickly yesterday… Ned and I thought you were going to pass out at any moment. And today you didn't even show up.""I know. It was weird, but it's over. I'm fine. I promise."

She hesitated, then answered with soft determination:"Still… I want to see you tomorrow. I want to check for myself. Is that okay?"I stayed quiet for a second. That line wasn't just concern. There was something more there, and we both knew it. Something I didn't yet understand, but the original Peter did."Sure. Where?""My place. Around eleven. I'll text you the address.""Perfect. See you tomorrow, Gwen.""Goodnight, Peter."

The call ended, but the echo of her voice kept vibrating in my ear.

Gwen's POV – 11:40 PM, Saturday

Gwen set the phone on her bed and dropped back with a long sigh."Oh no. What did I just do?" she mumbled into her hands.

Did she really just invite Peter Parker to her house? To study? On a Sunday?

"It's not a date," she told herself for the third time that minute. "Just physics. I'm just worried about him. That's all."

But the truth was, she had sensed something different about Peter since yesterday. Not his face or his voice. It was like… something had changed deep down. And even if she didn't know what it was, she didn't dislike it. Quite the opposite. The mystery made her nervous. And excited.

She rolled over in bed, hugging a pillow, trying not to imagine what it would be like to have him sitting across from her. Just to study. Just that.

Sunday, 8:00 AM – Peter's Room

I woke up early. Not out of habit, but out of necessity.

Ever since Gwen's call, something in me hadn't stopped spinning. Not just because I was going to see her. It was more complex. As if by saying yes, I'd also agreed to an invisible responsibility: to be who she remembered.

And for that, I needed to review. Literally.

I opened the original Peter's notebook. Or at least, what was left of him in my mind and in the notes stored around his room. Hours of observations scribbled in the margins of homework, random memory fragments… and names.

Gwen Stacy showed up multiple times. Sometimes with hearts, sometimes with question marks. One particular note froze me:

"What if one day she finds out I'm just a joke with a good memory?"

I swallowed hard. I got it. Too well.

I spent the next hour memorizing gestures, phrases from shared memories, musical tastes, inside jokes that could pop out naturally. If I was going to face someone who knew this Peter from before… I had to be ready.

Not just to fool them. But to understand. And decide if that connection could be mine too.

Sunday, 10:58 AM

Gwen's neighborhood, Midtown Manhattan, had a quiet elegance—one of those places where buildings towered over everything.

'Perfect Spider-Man territory,' I thought, looking around the concrete jungle. In both lives, I had always lived in the suburbs.

I took a deep breath before ringing the bell. On my back was a backpack filled with books for our study session.

The door opened. Gwen.

Loose t-shirt, jeans, casual ponytail. And a smile that made all my morning prep vanish.

"You're alive!" she joked."Almost good as new," I replied, relaxing a little."Come in. My dad's at the station and my mom took my siblings to visit a cousin, so we won't be interrupted. Coffee?""Coffee sounds good."

The kitchen was cozy. Family memories adorned every corner. She moved comfortably, as if having me there wasn't anything out of the ordinary. But in her eyes, I caught a spark of… curiosity?

"Here," she said, handing me a cup. "And before you give me a physics lesson, I want to make sure with my own eyes that you're not about to drop dead on my floor.""How do I look?"She considered it."Fine… just that…" she frowned a little. "I don't know. You look the same. But something feels different. I can't explain it."

I held my breath for a second."Different bad or different good?""Different like 'Peter with less of that world-is-about-to-swallow-me face,'" she finally said, shrugging with a smile. "But it's okay. I like it."

I smiled. I didn't say anything else. I was grateful she couldn't see beyond that. Not yet.

We sat down to study— or at least pretended to. And between equations and jokes, time slipped by. Slowly. Quietly. As if the world, for a few hours, had forgotten I was no longer who everyone thought I was.

Sunday, 2:15 PM – Stacy Apartment

"Okay, let me see if I got this right," I said, resting my pencil on my lower lip while reviewing the formulas Gwen had written on her portable whiteboard. "So, if the static friction coefficient is greater than the kinetic one, that explains why it's harder to start moving something than to keep it moving.""Exactly," Gwen replied, notebook on her lap. "Most people just assume it, but understanding the difference is key when you're modeling real systems. Did you know that same principle applies when buildings are designed to resist earthquakes?""Really?" I sat up straighter, genuinely intrigued."Sure. In structures with seismic isolators, there's a whole study on how friction changes in the first milliseconds of movement.""Interesting. I guess if you can model the energy of an impact accurately, you could design something that better absorbs the initial shock."

Gwen glanced at me with a playful smile."You're not as hopeless as you said.""I didn't say I was hopeless. I said I lacked context." I grinned back, half-joking.

She chuckled softly and looked down at her notebook. For a moment, silence fell— the comfortable kind. Pencils moved. Pages turned. And though the topic was physics, the atmosphere felt like something else. A soft rhythm, as if we were sharing more than equations.

"By the way," I said, pointing at her note on oscillations, "is this related to the simple pendulum model?""Yes, but it goes further. This is about coupled systems. Meaning…""…the movement of one affects the other," I finished, seeing her amused surprise.

"I can see why you won that science fair in eighth grade.""Did you research my record?" I asked, feigning outrage."Just the basics," she said with a shrug. "Didn't want to study with a total stranger."

We both laughed. Sunlight filtered through the window, painting the room in golden hues. At some point, studying turned more relaxed. Gwen showed me videos from her tablet: magnetic field models with iron filings, airflow simulations over airplane wings, even a clip of her testing a homemade cloud chamber.

"You made that?" I asked, watching particles leave trails through vapor."Yeah. It was to demonstrate alpha particle trajectories.""And how are you not already in an MIT lab?""And how do you know so much about all this if you 'fell asleep' during the trip?" she shot back, raising a brow."Let's just say I had a very reflective afternoon," I said, without going into detail.

5:45 PM

Sunset light bathed the room. We had gone through two more topics and shared a few ideas for our upcoming group project. Gwen stretched, closing her notebook with a small sigh.

"I don't know about you, but I feel like we actually got somewhere today.""More than I expected, honestly. Thanks for inviting me.""Of course," she said, a little softer. Then, after a brief silence, added, "I'm glad to see you're okay, Peter."

I met her gaze and nodded."Thanks for worrying."

She lingered for a few more seconds, then stood with a faint, nervous smile."Well… I guess I'll see you tomorrow.""Yeah. See you tomorrow."

I grabbed my backpack, and as I left, I felt something settle within me. Like that afternoon had been a small island of normalcy.

Sunday, 7:28 PM – Parker Apartment

The door closed softly behind me, and the smell of microwave lasagna welcomed me home. I dropped my backpack by the door, hearing Uncle Ben's low laugh from the kitchen. I tensed up instantly.

I froze for a second. The scene felt dangerously familiar. Them waiting for me. The light on. Like a premonition.

But when I turned toward the kitchen and saw their faces… their warm smiles, the familiar laugh lines… the tension melted away. No scolding. No tragedy. Perks of knowing the future.

"Peter!" May said, poking her head out with that smile that always made me feel at home."Kid, we were just talking about you," Ben added, still in a joking tone. "So… how was your intense study session with Gwen Stacy?"

I froze for half a second. Then narrowed my eyes."It was physics. Just physics," I said, though I knew I'd already lost the battle."Quantum physics or… emotional physics?" he asked, sipping from his mug with a barely-hidden grin."Ben," May scolded, but she was laughing too.

I brought a hand to my face, silently cursing. I'd forgotten Uncle Ben never wasted a chance to embarrass me. It was in his DNA.

But that kind of embarrassment… was a luxury I intended to treasure.

After dinner, I took a shower. The hot water helped ease the tension in my muscles from yesterday's training, but it didn't calm my mind. Each drop felt like a second slipping through my personal countdown to 2018. To the Snap.

I tried to sleep. I swear I did. I lay down. Closed my eyes. Counted heartbeats, breaths, even recited mental formulas to distract myself.

Nothing worked.

And then I made the decision.

A stupid one, maybe. Impulsive, definitely. But I couldn't stay still.

I got up. Dressed in dark clothes: old pants, a black hoodie. Put on thin gloves and a ski mask I'd used once for Halloween.

I opened my window and slipped out onto the rooftop, silent as a shadow in the Queens night.

Sunday, 11:04 PM – Rooftop in Queens

The night air was colder at this height. The wind cut through my breath, and the city roared below, indifferent to everything.

I stood at the edge of a four-story building, looking down like I could read chaos in the neon lights.

And there, for the first time, I felt… part of something bigger.

It wasn't just adrenaline.

It was the certainty that, even if I was alone, even if no one knew what I was doing… this was the first step toward what I was meant to be.

I saw a man on a corner selling something clearly illegal. Another trying to pick a bike lock. A group slipping into a store with nervous glances.

And I felt it—my spider-sense. Subtle tingles at the base of my skull, like a radar tuned to malice.

I decided to drop down.

Not just to stop them.

But for another reason.

Because a Spider-Man suit doesn't build itself. And I had no money. No sponsors. No Stark Industries.

But criminals? Criminals carry cash.

Sometimes, a lot of it.

I leapt off the building with feline precision, landing silently behind the first one.

This city was rotten. But if I was going to protect it… I was going to get something out of it, too.

A punch flew in the dark.

That night. That was the night the journey truly began.