When I opened the door and saw Cindy Moon standing on my porch, the first thought that hit me was this isn't real.
For a second my brain refused to compute it, like reality had glitched and spat out something impossible. Cindy wasn't someone who came knocking on doors—at least, not mine. I knew who she was, of course. Everybody at Midtown High did. She wasn't loud or flashy, she didn't need to be. Sixteen, Korean, sharp as a razor beneath the quiet exterior. She moved through school like a ghost who still somehow left an impression, keeping her head down but making people pay attention to the rare times she spoke.
Her long dark hair fell straight around her shoulders, glinting in the afternoon light, framing almond-shaped eyes that darted nervously between me and the street behind her. She wore jeans, sneakers, a plain T-shirt under a half-zipped hoodie—nothing remarkable, nothing that screamed for attention. And yet, standing there in my doorway, Cindy looked like the only person in the world who mattered.
She looked… nervous. No, terrified.
And maybe I would've been calm—confused, sure, but calm—if not for what happened the instant my eyes landed on her.
My body reacted.
Not in the awkward teenage, "oh god she's cute don't stare don't be weird" kind of way. This was primal. Immediate. A shockwave that surged through every nerve like an electric current. My chest constricted, heat crawled up my neck, my heartbeat doubled, and suddenly the air between us felt charged, humming with something alive and wild. The world blurred, everything around me faded until there was only her. My instincts screamed: step closer, close the space, claim.
It was raw, animal, and terrifying.
And then my mind caught up to what my body already knew.
Oh no. Oh hell no.
The pheromones.
Every scrap of comic lore I had ever read about Cindy Moon flickered through my head in a dizzy blur. The same spider. The same bite. Some twisted biological tether linking us together like magnets with no off switch. A bond that was less about choice and more about inevitability.
Which meant that if she was here—standing in my doorway, looking like she was barely holding herself together—then everything I feared was true.
"You were bitten by the spider too," I blurted. It wasn't even a question, more like a puzzle piece snapping into place with a sound only I could hear.
Cindy flinched. Her eyes had been distant, glazed over like mine must have been, but my words snapped her out of it. She blinked, drew in a shaky breath, and then—hesitantly, reluctantly—nodded.
"Y-yeah," she whispered. "I was."
Her voice was soft, trembling, and carried that same current I felt in my bones. Not just fear. Relief, too. Like saying it out loud made her feel less alone, but more exposed at the same time.
My throat was dry. My hands curled against the doorframe. My instincts screamed at me to do the opposite of what I forced myself to do. I stepped back, creating distance, and motioned for her to come inside before the neighbors got curious about why I was staring at this girl like I'd forgotten how to be human.
"Come in," I said, my voice rougher than I meant.
She hesitated for only a heartbeat, then stepped past me into the house. Her shoulder brushed mine as she passed, light as a feather, but it hit me like a shock. Her scent clung to the air—subtle, warm, uniquely her—and my chest ached with a need I didn't want to name. I gritted my teeth and slammed the door behind us before I did something reckless.
The silence between us stretched like a tightrope as we climbed the stairs. I tried not to look. I really did. I ran math equations in my head, recited science trivia, anything to keep my brain tethered. But my eyes betrayed me, flicking to the sway of her hips, the way her jeans hugged her frame, and for one horrifying second, I imagined what would happen if I lost control.
By the time we reached my room, I felt like I'd sprinted a mile. My palms were slick with sweat, my pulse hammering in my ears. I pulled out my desk chair and dropped into it, forcing myself to act casual, to look casual. She perched on the edge of my bed instead, fidgeting with the cuffs of her hoodie, shoulders tight with unease.
The air between us was heavy. Not just awkward, not just teenage nerves. Something thicker. Something deeper.
Something dangerous.
And neither of us dared to speak first.
I drummed my fingers against the desk, the steady tap-tap-tap loud in the quiet of my room. The silence between us had started to feel like it was pressing in from all sides, thick and heavy. Finally, I asked, "Why'd you come here, Cindy?"
She let out a shaky breath, her shoulders slumping as if she'd been holding the air in her chest since she walked through my door. "I don't know. I just…" Her voice wavered. "I woke up yesterday and everything was different. My body—" She gestured at herself awkwardly, fingers twisting in the hem of her hoodie. "—it changed. Stronger. Faster. I can stick to walls, ceilings. Shoot webs from my fingertips." She laughed once, hollow and scared. "It freaked me out. I panicked. I ran out of my house and just… wandered."
Her eyes flicked up to mine then, a flicker of hope flashing beneath the fear. "Then today, I saw you. At that building. Saw what you could do. And I thought maybe—maybe I wasn't alone."
Her voice cracked on the last word. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, trembling before spilling over.
I sat back, the weight of her words settling in. This was the first real conversation we'd ever had. Not about homework, not about teachers or Flash Thompson being a jerk. This was about the kind of thing you can't put into words—the moment your life stops being normal and becomes something else entirely. Something bigger. Something scarier.
I nodded slowly. "You're right. You're not alone. I've got… similar powers."
To prove it, I flicked my wrist. A web shot out with a sharp thwip and smacked against the wall with a wet slap.
Cindy's mouth dropped open. "Oh my god."
Her hands flew to her face, but the tears broke free anyway, spilling down her cheeks. "I don't know what to do. My parents—if they found out—they'd freak. They'd probably disown me."
I froze. Her words cut through me like a blade. That kind of fear—of being cast out by your own family—was something I couldn't even wrap my head around. May and Ben weren't perfect, but I knew they'd never abandon me. Hearing Cindy say it so casually, like she'd already accepted it as inevitable, made my stomach knot.
I leaned forward, my voice softer. "Hey. Listen. You're not me, and I'm not you. But… you're not alone in this, okay?"
She gave a brittle laugh, wiping her eyes with the back of her sleeve. "Easy for you to say."
"No." I shook my head. "Not easy. I know it's scary. But… I made a choice."
Her brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
I hesitated, then exhaled. "I told them."
She blinked. "Told who?"
"My Aunt May and Uncle Ben," I said. "I told them everything. About the spider. The powers. Everything I could do. I sat them down at the kitchen table and… I just told them. And then I showed them."
Her eyes widened. "You—you told them?"
"Yeah." My voice steadied as I spoke. "I showed them the wall-crawling. The webs. The whole deal. They freaked out at first—May was pale as a sheet. Ben didn't say anything for like, five minutes. But then they… they listened. And they stayed. And now they know. They know what I am, and what I can do."
I rubbed the back of my neck, remembering. "It was my idea. I figured if I'm gonna live like this, hiding it from them would just make it worse. And if anyone tries to hurt them because of me…" My jaw tightened. "They don't have to be afraid. I can protect them."
Cindy stared at me, silent.
I leaned forward a little more, meeting her eyes. "I'm not saying you have to do what I did. I'm not saying it'll be easy. But you don't have to go through this like you're cursed. You're not a monster. You're not broken. You're just… changed."
She blinked rapidly, as if trying to process the words.
"You've been running since this started," I said quietly. "But you came here. You found me. You're not running anymore. That means something."
Her lips trembled. "I don't know if I can tell them. My parents."
"You don't have to," I said gently. "Not yet. Maybe not ever. But you're not alone now."
For a long moment, neither of us spoke. The tension in the room wasn't gone, but it had shifted—less like panic, more like possibility.
Finally, she whispered, "You're lucky."
I gave a small, sad smile. "Yeah. I am."
Cindy looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers as if testing her strength. "So what now?"
I leaned back in my chair, letting the silence stretch just long enough to feel deliberate. "Now," I said, "we figure out what we're gonna do with this. Together."
Her head snapped up, a flicker of hope in her eyes.
I smiled faintly. "Two spiders are better than one, right?"
Cindy's lips curved into the smallest of smiles, the tears still glinting on her cheeks but her eyes brighter than before. "Right."
The room felt lighter for the first time all afternoon. That crushing, suffocating fear that had followed her into my house was starting to peel away, replaced by something… better. It wasn't calm, exactly, but it was a step in the right direction.
I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. "So, first things first. I'm finishing this school year at home—figured it'd be better to focus on… y'know, not dying while getting used to all this." I gestured vaguely at the wall where my web still hung, sagging slightly. "But next year? I'm going back. Back to class, back to pretending I'm just Peter Parker again."
Cindy raised an eyebrow. "Pretending?"
"Yeah. Pretending. Because between you and me—" I lowered my voice, mock conspiratorial, "—I think being normal is officially off the table."
That got the faintest laugh out of her, soft and quick. But it was real.
I grinned, encouraged. "Also, I've been working on something." I opened the bottom drawer of my desk and pulled out a battered sketchbook. Flipping through a few pages of scribbles, equations, and notes, I landed on one sheet in particular. I held it up, trying not to sound too proud. "Behold: the first-ever prototype design for the Amazing Spider-Man suit."
Cindy tilted her head, squinting at it. For a heartbeat she said nothing. Then she snorted.
"Is that supposed to be… spandex? With… knee pads? And are those googly eyes on the mask?"
My face burned. "They're not googly eyes! They're expressive lenses!"
She burst out laughing, clutching her stomach as if she couldn't breathe. "Peter—that's—oh my god, that's horrible. You look like a rejected mascot for a cereal box."
I groaned, dragging a hand down my face. "I told you I wasn't an artist…"
"You weren't kidding." She grinned, swiping at her eyes. "Don't worry, though. You're in luck. I'm doing graphic design. I can make something way cooler than this… whatever this is supposed to be."
I stared at her, feigning betrayal. "Are you saying my dream of fighting crime dressed like an off-brand Halloween costume isn't going to fly?"
"Not unless you want criminals to surrender from laughter," she teased, still grinning.
I slumped back in my chair, defeated. "Fine. You design the outfits. I'll figure out how to pay for the materials we'll need."
She tilted her head. "And how are you going to do that, Mr. Broke High Schooler?"
I grinned. "You do not have to worry about that, I have several ideas that will make us more than enough money to get us started. Soon the world will be introduced to Spider-Man and..."
"Spider-Man and… Silk," Cindy mused, looking thoughtful. "Team budget edition."
We both cracked up at that, laughter spilling into the air until the tension between us didn't feel like a threat anymore—it felt… safe.
The hours slipped by after that. We tossed ideas back and forth about names, training spots, and even how we'd split patrols. Every time I said something too serious, she undercut it with a joke, and every time she started spiraling into doubt, I pulled her back with something steady.
At some point, we weren't talking from across the room anymore. We'd drifted closer, side by side on the bed, the sketchbook abandoned between us.
She was telling me about how she once doodled an entire set of superhero logos during math class when our eyes caught.
It was unintentional. Just a glance that lingered too long.
The laughter died, but not because it wasn't fun anymore. It was because suddenly, the air was thick again—not with fear, but with something else. Something that tugged at my chest and made my throat go dry.
Her smile faded into something softer. Hesitant. Curious.
And for a long, breathless moment, neither of us looked away.
The tension in the room shifted then, lighter but still charged. We started talking about plans. Where we could train—old warehouses, empty rooftops, anywhere we wouldn't break our necks or draw a crowd. How we'd need gear, money, how dangerous all this could get.
But even as we spoke, I kept noticing her eyes flicking to me, lingering longer than normal. And I wasn't innocent either—I caught myself staring at the way her hair framed her face, the way she chewed her lip when she thought. Every time she shifted on the bed, my pulse spiked.
It was the pheromones. I knew it.
I forced myself to look away, to stare at the desk, the floor, anywhere but her. My fingers drummed hard against the wood, a steady rhythm to drown out the heat crawling up my spine.
"Okay, uh—" My voice cracked and I cleared my throat. "We need to deal with this. Whatever this is. The… pheromones."
Her head tilted. "Pheromones?"
I nodded quickly. "Yeah. I think because we were bitten by the same spider, our bodies are releasing something—like a chemical signal. It makes us…" I hesitated, forcing the word out. "…want things we shouldn't. Makes it hard to think straight. If we don't figure it out, we're gonna lose control."
Her cheeks went pink. She glanced away, tucking her hair behind her ear. "Oh."
"Yeah. Oh."
She coughed lightly, still red. "So… what do we do?"
"I'll need to experiment. With our blood," I said, shifting into science-mode because it was safer than thinking about the way she was looking at me. "Figure out how the pheromones work and see if I can suppress them. Maybe even remove them completely. If not, at least weaken them enough so we can actually focus around each other."
Relief flickered across her face, though I didn't miss the way her gaze drifted back to me, softer now. Like she wasn't sure if she even wanted it gone.
I forced a short laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. "Trust me, it's for the best. Otherwise one of us is gonna do something stupid."
She smiled faintly, the corner of her mouth quaking up, but the pull between us didn't vanish. It stayed there, a weight on the air, claws of instinct scraping against reason.
And in that moment, sitting across from Cindy Moon in my bedroom, I realized something terrifying.
If we didn't figure this out soon… pheromones or not, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep resisting.
I shifted in my chair, trying to shake it off. "Look," I said quietly. "I'm serious about this. I'm gonna be Spider-Man. People are gonna need us. This city's gonna need us. And if you're willing… I'd like you to be part of that. Not because of… whatever this is. But because you're strong. You're smart. And I don't want to do it alone."
Cindy stared at me, her eyes wide and unreadable. Then she nodded, once. "Okay," she whispered. "I'm in."
Something loosened in my chest. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding. "Good."
For a few seconds we just sat there, looking at each other. The room was too quiet. Her scent was still everywhere. My hands trembled faintly on the armrests.
Her voice broke the silence. "We're gonna be okay, right?"
I swallowed hard. "Yeah. We will." I hoped it was true.
Her smile returned, shy but real, and she reached out, almost without thinking. Her fingers brushed the back of my hand. Light. Brief. Enough to send a jolt through me like a live wire.
I pulled back instinctively, heart hammering. "We… uh. We'll figure it out."
And then the door creaked downstairs.
A voice called up from the kitchen—Aunt May's voice. "Peter? Is everything okay?"
I jumped up, almost knocking the chair over, my pulse still racing from Cindy's touch. "Y-yeah! Everything's fine!" I called back, maybe a little too loud.
Cindy stood too, her hoodie sleeves still hiding her hands. She met my eyes, and for a second it felt like the whole world shrank down to that one look.