Aunt May's flowerpots sat snow-dusted on the porch, and Uncle Ben's old pickup rested under a tarp, a quiet anchor to his normal life.
That was a hell of a night, he thought to himself, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. The equipment's ready—everything's hooked up, and those samples are waiting. Now I just need some sleep before school hits.
Inside, the house smelled of cinnamon and coffee, Aunt May's late-night baking lingered in the air. The living room glowed soft under a single lamp, the TV muttering a rerun of some old sitcom Uncle Ben loved. Peter slipped upstairs, boots quiet on the creaky steps, and peeled off the Shadow suit in his room, stashing it under the floorboards with his spare Spider-Man suit. He crashed into bed, the mattress sagging under him, and drifted off fast, dreaming of new powers he could get from the spiderman DNA's.
Morning broke cold and gray, cold grip tight on Queens as Peter trudged to Midtown High, snow crunching under his sneakers. The school loomed ahead, a brick sprawl dusted white, its windows fogged with the breath of hundreds of kids shaking off the weekend. He pushed through the double doors, the halls alive with chatter and locker slams, the air thick with the scent of wet coats and cheap cologne.
This feels normal, he thought as he wove through the crowd to his locker. After last night's setup, it's good to just be Peter Parker for a bit. The school's my breather.
First period was chemistry with Mr. Delaney, a wiry guy with thinning hair and a penchant for pacing. The classroom smelled of chalk dust and faint sulfur, yesterday's experiment lingered on the tables, scarred wood lined with beakers and burners. Peter slid into his seat near the window, snow streaking the glass as Delaney scribbled equations on the board, something about reaction rates. "Parker," Delaney called, turning with a marker in hand, "tell me what speeds up a catalyst in this setup."
Peter leaned forward, mind flicking to the lab's centrifuge. "Temperature," he said, voice steady. "Heat kicks the molecules harder, makes them collide more."
Delaney nodded, eyebrows up. "Good. keep that brain sharp," he said, moving on. That was easy, Peter thought with a small grin. Chemistry's my thing, it helps with the lair stuff, too.
Next was English with Mrs. Harper, a stern woman with gray curls and glasses perched low on her nose. The room felt stuffy, radiators clanked, books thumped desks. Shakespeare's Macbeth the day's grind. She paced, reading Lady Macbeth's lines, then stopped by Peter's desk, peering down. "Peter, what's driving Macbeth here, ambition or guilt?" she asked, voice crisp.
He tapped his pencil, thoughts drifting to Kingpin's rage. "Ambition," he said. "He wants power and the guilt's just the mess he makes chasing it."
She tilted her head, considering. "Solid take, also dig deeper next time," she said, moving off. Power's what I get, Peter thought. Macbeth's a killer and Shadow's not far off, but I'm smarter about it.
Classes rolled on, history droned with dates, math clicked with equations, until lunch hit. The cafeteria buzzed loud, trays clattered, voices bounced off tiled walls, the air thick with pizza grease and chatter. Peter grabbed a tray pizza slice, milk carton, fries—and found a corner table, dropping his backpack beside him.
School's alive today, he thought as he bit into the pizza, warm and doughy. Feels good and keeps me grounded after the harbor mess.
Liz slid in first, her blonde hair loose, a stack of books thumping down as she sat across from him. "Hey," she said, grinning bright, her voice cutting through the noise. "Group project's in and I'm finally free."
Peter swallowed, grinning back. "Knew you'd nail it," he said. "How'd it go?"
She rolled her eyes, sipping her soda. "Barely. those guys dragged it out," she said. "But it's done and it will be a perfect score, I bet. You?"
"Normal day," Peter said, shrugging. "Classes were fine." She's buzzing, he thought. Love that energy, keeps me steady.
Harry dropped in next with the tray clattered, soda fizzed as he sat beside Peter. "Hey, Pete, Liz," he said, hair mussed, grin crooked. " Just survived history, barely. Dad's still gone and I think Oscorp's eating him."
Peter nodded, grabbing a fry. "He'll show up eventually," he said. "How's the house holding?"
"Empty," Harry said, biting his pizza. "Just me and the echoes, keeps it quiet. You two good?"
"Yeah," Liz said, leaning in. "Coffee yesterday was nice. Peter's keeping me happy."
"Always," Peter said, his grin widening. "You're the tough one. Your group's lucky." She's the best part of this, he thought. Harry's solid too, I guess.
Harry smirked, popping a fry. "You're too smooth, Pete," he said. "Liz, keep him in line. he's a trouble maker."
She laughed, nudging Peter. "Oh, I do," she said. "He's tame, mostly." Cafeteria roared as kids shouted, trays banged, but here it felt tight, easy.
"Mostly?" Peter said, faking offense. "I'm golden and a perfect boyfriend." This is what I need, he thought. Normal day, normal friends, but this holds me together.
They talked about school gripes, dumb assignments, Oscorp rumors. until the bell cut it short. Peter grabbed his tray, mood high. the day's solid, he thought as he stood. Classes, Liz, Harry keeps the other stuff's balanced. Gotta ride this while it lasts.