Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Okay, let’s do this for the first and hopefully last time.

Hi, I’m Pj Parker, and recently I was bit by some kind of weird-ass genetically modified spider. But we’ll get to that in a minute.

I’m a queer teenager who’s way too into music. I know, how fucking unique. Do I also have blue hair and pronouns?

Well, yes to pronouns (they/them to all who respect it) no to blue hair.

My aunt hasn’t allowed me to dye my hair –YET, and I am sure it’s a yet– after the Great Bleaching of Sixth Grade. It’s best not to ask further details, for the honor of my scalp and soul.

I know that listening to my guardian isn’t very “punk of me” as my cousin Ben liked to constantly fucking say -in a tone that was vaguely mocking but I was never confident enough to ask if he was being serious- but sometimes Aunt May actually knows what’s best. Though you wouldn’t catch me saying that shit out loud. Ben would never let me live it down.

Would never have.

Sorry.

Tense can be…confusing sometimes.

I still haven’t bleached or dyed my hair, my aunt May has enough to worry about with me sneaking out all the time and now-

And now with…

Where were we?

Right, sorry.

This story doesn’t start that night Ben took me to see a show. Or the dozens of shows he took me to before that. It starts somewhere in between, which is my preferred place to be.

MCR has just come through the city on their reunion tour that weekend (if you don’t know who they are get da hell out of here) so I was on a bit of a kick for them. I try not to have the volume on my headphones too loud when I’m on the school bus, especially when I’m listening to more emo stuff. But I guess my friend Harry just has to ears off a, like, bird that can hear well or something (Cut me some slack, I’m not a freakin bird expert) cause he leaned over the seat that he was sitting on in front of me, and asked so politely to, “Please turn down your emo shit Pj, I’m about to go into a fucking depression over here”.

He’s a very eloquent guy, takes after my own heart I’d say. What I did say (after pulling off my headphones) was, “One, My Chemical Romance is really more pop-punk than emo-”

“Don’t care,”

“And two, I really don’t think you need my help going into a depression today. Having to see your dad at work today seems to be enough.”

He groaned when I reminded him of this.

“Ughhhhhh, it’s gonna be hell. With my luck, he’ll be leading the tour the whole time, probably commenting on my posture or some shit.”

“Yeah, it must suck to have such a rich ass dad that he owns a whole fucking science corporation. And yeah, he’s leading the tour. The teacher explained the whole thing, like ten minutes ago. Were you too busy doing a sudoku puzzle or something?”

“Oh my goddd,” Harry whined and rolled his eyes, “God forbid I get into a hobby different than your singular one. I wasn’t doing a sudoku, my mind was just distracted by something else. I haven’t done any sudoku in, like, a month.”

Now I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, and before that you carried around a pocket-sized book with puzzles in it all summer. If there would be two seconds of downtime you’d whip it out and start puzzling away. But what were you doing if not sudoku, since you’re soooo past it?”

A smug smile spread over his face. It was a common expression for Harry, but it had no malice behind it, just joy for having something positive about himself to talk about. As much as I may snap back about it, his dad really does put him down a bunch. I didn’t think there was much malice behind Mr. Osborn either, he just wanted what was best for Harry, and tough love was his best way of expressing it. I can’t imagine he just genuinely hates his kid, no matter how much Harry might portray it that way. I know parents who genuinely hate their kids, and they sure as hell don’t feed them fancy dinners and get them the newest iPhones.

“I’m reading, dear Pister-Jister, ever heard of it? Frankenstein by Mary Shelley”

“Well aren’t you feeling academic, I thought that wasn’t required reading till 11th grade. What inspired you to get a year ahead?”

“Saw it on my dad’s bookshelf and just thought,” he shrugged, “It must be a classic for a reason, right? And it’s about science or something, so my dad’ll probably be happy I’m reading it.”

“And since when do you actually care about making him happy? All you ever do is complain about how high his expectations are.”

He shrugged again. “Well, yeah, they definitely are. But, like, I mean it’s actually kinda a good book.”

“Oh, for real? What page are you on?” I inquired.

He went silent.

“Harry?”

He slumped back into his own seat.

“Oh, you’re not getting out of this that easily ya bastard.”

I leaned over the seat, just in time to watch him remove his bookmark from its spot on PAGE THREE.

“Wow, it must be really incredible if you already know its goodness on the THIRD FREAKIN PAGE, HARRY,” I teased him.

“Oh shut up, it's beloved and I’m only slightly bored so far, so it’s good. You say an album is good if there’s, like, one and a half songs you like on it. That big music critic you’re always raving about-”

“J. Janthony Jantano? God, that fucking guy-” I started, but Harry knew to cut me off before I could really start ranting about that freakin cantaloupe, aka the news’ busiest reviewer/pop culture freak.

“Yeah him, doesn’t he have a number score to percent of ‘good songs’ ratio thing for his reviews? Everyone has different systems of scoring stuff. And if I wanna seem smart by liking classics, I think you can permit it, as my friend.”

Now I shrugged, but the gesture was jostled by the sudden stop of the bus. We had arrived at OsCorp. I slid back down into my seat, put my headphones into my bag, slung the messenger strap over my neck and shoulder, and readied myself as the chaperones began a long and boring speech about “student protocol” and “being respectful as befitted our guest status” and all that jazz. Maybe I had put my headphones away too soon.

But after an eternity so long you could’ve read two entire emo song titles, the chaperones finished yapping and we all stood up and began to exit the bus. Since Harry had been sitting in the seat right in front of me, we were waiting to exit back to back and got off at the same time.

We stayed together as the teachers sorted us into groups by last name. That’s something really nice about having a best friend with a last name that starts with the alphabetical neighbor to yours (Osborn and Parker), getting sorted together in classroom seating arrangements, picture day lines, and –like then– field trip groups. Once we were sorted I looked around at the kids who had been on the other two buses (the ones for eleventh and twelfth graders). A lot of the people in various Advanced Science classes had come but… But I played it super cool and asked Harry a very insignificant question.

“Hey, have you, uh, seen Gwen around? Or do you know if she, like, mentioned coming while in science club or something? Just out of curiosity.”

I think I was very subtle, but Harry gave me a look that started as a bit confused but then gained a smug awareness that I would’ve quite liked to wipe off. “Gwen Stacy? The one with the blonde hair and blue highlights? The one with the eyebrow piercing? The one you never shut the fuck up about? That Gwen, Pj?”

“Yes, that one,” I said in a tone I tried to make sound sarcastic but came out more sheepishly grumbled. Harry was one of the few people I had told about my crush on Gwen, aka the only other trans person at our school and by far the hottest. It doesn’t take a lot to outrank me, but still. She’s like the riot grrrl to my folk punk. She’s always carrying around a sketchbook that I’ve glimpsed the innards of a couple times. It’s filled with anatomical diagrams of various creatures and some kind of scientific notations that I could never comprehend. I’m in the advanced science classes cause I’m technically good enough at it, but she’s got an actual passion for the subject even more than raised-from-birth-in-a-test-tube Harry. They’d probably be a perfect couple if he wasn’t aro-ace, so instead she’s available to me.

That was phrased kinda weird, I don’t mean I just want her for her looks. Like, I was once next to her at an assembly and saw Mitski playing on her phone. We had a fan-fucking-tatsic conversation about her work and our favorite albums (Gwen’s is Bury Me at Makeout Creek, mine is Be the Cowboy) before it started. It may or may not have been one of, like, two full conversations I’ve had with her that are more than me just complimenting her outfit. But I was hoping this trip might be an in to get closer, maybe get her number or something like that idk.

“We did actually discuss it in science club, and no, she won’t be on the trip,” Harry told me, and I felt my hopes fall. “She has an internship here on Fridays. So maybe if you’re lucky we’ll see her running around.” And like a balloon, my hopes were back up floating!

“An internship? In eleventh grade?” I said kinda baffled and impressed.

“It’s some kind of special choice elective thing. My dad said I should try it next year –of course he did– but I don’t think I’d enjoy spending so much of the day around him.”

“I don’t think I’d enjoy having to hear you complain about it either.”

Harry lightly punched me in the shoulder for that, but before I could fight back, the chaperones started guiding us into OsCorp. I’d been in the uber-minimalist style lobby a few times while waiting on Harry, but never beyond it. Being handed a visitors lanyard after going through the spinny door felt like being granted access to some super-secret shit. Finally, I could see what was going on in this monolith, stories taller than anything else on the surrounding blocks. And also maybe get Gwen’s number I’M A ONE-TRACK PERSON ALRIGHT?!?!??

Once everyone was through the doors –as if on cue– the elevator on the back wall pinged open, and out walked Mr. Osborn, Harry’s dear old dad, dressed in a solid color button-up and gray pants, muffled under a white lab coat that went down to his knees. I wondered if the elevator actually had some kind of mechanism that could keep it from opening. This place was pretty high-tech, why not? It certainly made for aura-filled entrances. Beside me, I could practically feel Harry’s soul slump away, as his back straightened up.

Mr. Osborn walked toward our group, each step perfectly precise and leaving a small clack of shoes echoing through the space. “Welcome, advanced science students of Midtown High School. OsCorp is delighted to have you as visitors to our facilities,” He imparted. “Our laboratories are top of the line relating to scientific research and I am so happy to have the next generation of scientists,” His eyes briefly fell on Harry before returning to the group, and I could feel the air next to me go thick with a need for an eye roll that could not be. “Here to see it.

“Unfortunately, though I was initially intended to lead you all on the tour, a recent development has come up in a study that could be quite impactful, so I must go observe it. My apologies dear students. Instead, some of our other scientists and volunteers will be leading your groups. I sincerely hope this doesn't diminish your experience. Perhaps seeing our volunteers in action will inspire some of the tenth and eleventh graders among you to apply for our internship next spring!” Another unrequited eye roll moment from Harry. “Happy touring to you all!”

With his last words, the elevator again pinged open, this time filled with a group of people in lab coats that only went to their mid-thighs. I wondered if that was a power move on Mr. Osborn’s part. I was also definitely sure that the elevator had some way to time openings. The various other scientists walked out and Mr. Osborn re-entered the elevator as soon as it was emptied. He gave a curt bow and the doors closed. The moment gave me a feeling of seeing a play, like this act was closing and another would soon start, where the stakes would be ramped up and emotions intensified. The intro leading into the verse.

The thoughts made me dizzy, like I’d had a vision from god my body was not able to handle. Or I was severely dehydrated. I am terrible about remembering to drink water. My chest started heaving, straining against my binder.

I hardly noticed Harry’s posture relax and his eyes get their rolls out. Once his eyes were done doing loops, they landed on me. “Woah, Pj, you good bro? Do you need some water?”

I made some inarticulate noises that came across as “Yes” enough that Harry took the water bottle he always keeps in his bag (the well-hydrated dork) and handed it to me. After a few massive gulps, I managed out a raspy “thanks” and handed it back over.

“You should really try to remember to drink at more regular intervals Pister-Jist”

“Me and remembering don’t really go together.”

He looked at me skeptically. “Uh-huh. Say, what’s that one song on that one album, uhhhh, SELF-iSH?”

“Mr. Capgras encounters a secondhand vanity: tulpamancers prosopagnosia/pareidolia (as direct result of trauma to the fusiform gyrus) or The Song with Five Names, a​.​k​.​a. Soapbox Tao, a​.​k​.​a. Checkmate Atheists! a​.​k​.​a. Neospace Government, a​.​k​.​a. You Can Never Know?” He gave me a pointed look, and I scoffed. “But that proves nothing except that I enjoy Will Wood. Any real fan could list off the whole name of Big Fat Bitchie’s.”

Harry got another eye roll in at this (going for a personal record I supposed) but relented.

Two people in coats walked up to our group. One was a 30-something man with long dark hair and the other was a slightly-taller-than-average young lady with a bit past shoulder length blonde hair and blue highlights, with a piercing on her left eyebrow. My brain may have fuzzed out for a few moments.

When I came to, Harry had put his water bottle back in my hand. “I’d advise small sips right now buddy.”

I didn’t argue.

The older man began speaking, “Hello students, we’re so sorry for the change in schedule, but hopefully your tour can still be as good as you were hoping. I’m Dr. Johnathan Ohnn, a researcher in microbiotics and this is-”

“Gwen Stacy, I’m an intern here and actually go to Midtown. I help out largely in the biology sect and especially with insects and arachnids. I don’t think we’ll be seeing my favorite labs today, but trust me that there’s a bunch of cool stuff going on in there.” She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and rocks a bit on her feet. God, she’s making me actually interested in science, maybe Harry’s right and I am down bad.

Nah, I’m fine.

Dr. Ohnn picks the conversation back up. “Yes, thank you for introducing yourself, Gwen. We unfortunately won’t be going into most of the more specialized labs today, but trust that there are still plenty of fascinating sights ahead. Come, first, we’ll be visiting one of the chemistry laboratories in which blah blahblah blah blah”

Okay, so I maybe don’t have the best recollection of the tour, alright? It was interesting enough, with the occasional tidbit of information worth remembering. The tour itself isn’t the important part, but god do I wish it was. What I would give for seeing some kinda cool science stuff to have been the most important thing that day. God, what I’d give.

Like any tragedy, it started off good. Great, even. Around 1 our group was brought to the cafeteria for lunch, and since it was early afternoon still and I have a responsibility as a Jewish person, I got a bagel with cream cheese –pretty middling if I remember, but I’ve had worse–. But on my way from the food serving area to the seating, I saw that Harry was sitting at a table with Gwen. I had a decision to make, either eat lunch somewhere far away or bite the bullet and go sit with her. I bit the bullet. It tasted a lot worse than the bagel.

“Hey, there you are!” Harry called out to me as I got close. “You’ve met Gwen, right? She’s in the grade above us but I think you two have met before.” I was this close to murdering him.

“Yep!” I said through what I was trying not to be clenched teeth. “So cool to see you here!”

“Yeah, it’s a great place to be,” Gwen replied easily. “It’s Pj, right? Out of curiosity, does that stand for anything?”

Harry said, “I call them Pister-Jister, but I don’t think that’s canon.”

I relaxed slightly at the kind of banter I’m used to with Harry. “Nah, it’s just Pj. Is Gwen short for something? Gwenyth or Guinevere?”

She snorted. “What century do you think I chose from, the 1100s? It’s also just Gwen. And I am absolutely calling you Pister-Jister.”

“Fine, then I get to call you Guinevere.”

“Deal.”

Harry excused himself to go get some coffee, joining the end of a very long line. I felt emboldened by this point, jesting was a familiar ground to me; it’s basically the main way me and Harry communicate. I was in a more comfortable state. So I managed to say something non-sarcastic.

“So, is Makeout Creek still your favorite Mitski album?“

“Excuse you, it’s the best Mitski album!” She smirked.

“Well, I don’t know if one can make such harsh Mitski takes as that-”

“I do! What, are you gonna argue with Francis Forever? First Love/Late Spring? Last Words of a Shooting Star? Your favorite is Be The Cowboy, right? That’s a great album-”

“With some of her most popular songs for a reason!” I tried to cut in but I couldn’t stop Gwen once she was rolling.

“But nothing can really compare to Bury Me at Makeout Creek.” When I raised an eyebrow at that and refused to concede, she added, “In my opinion! It’s all my opinion! Not trying to say you can’t enjoy Be The Cowboy! Christ man, who do you think I am, J. Janthony Jantano?”

“Oh my god, I fucking hate that guy!”

“Same!”

We both got excited at having someone to rant about him to.

“I’m more tuned into his novel reviews than music stuff,” Gwen jumped into, “but his takes are so ass!”

“For real!” I replied, and meant with my whole chest.

There was a lull for a moment after that. We both glanced over at the still huge line for coffee. Harry would be in there for a while.

“So you work with insects and…” I trailed off not remembering the other species she had said earlier.

“Arachnids,” Gwen supplied. “Like spiders and scorpions and stuff. Mostly spiders. There’s a bunch of sick stuff going on with our spiders.” A huge grin spread across her face. At school, she usually kept her head down in her sketchbook, and it was weird seeing her in an environment she seemed to feel natural in. I liked it, seeing her so happy.

“What kind of stuff? Like giving them even more legs? Eight seemed pretty excessive to me but,” I shrugged, “Y’all are the scientists I guess.”

Gwen laughed and gently shook her head. “Nah, even sicker shit than that.” she bit her bottom lip like she was contemplating something. Then, she said, in a low whisper, “Do you wanna come see it?”

And I said, “Yes.”

Chapter Text

A devious grin spread across Gwen’s face.

“Alright,” she whispered, “But we have to be quick about it. I’m not gonna be with y’all for the tour after lunch anyway cause of some duties I have to fulfill, but the chaperone for your group will probably notice if you’re missing.”

“Eh, I can be good about blending into a crowd”

She looked at me skeptically. “Ignoring your septum piercing and bright purple “The Cure” shirt, they’ll probably do a head count, then what?” I shrugged. “That’s what I thought. Now c’mon, we’re burning time.”

“All right, all right, I’m coming.”

We both got up and I sent Harry a quick text saying Gwen and I were heading out for a few minutes. I tried not to imagine his reaction to the vague message, but I didn’t want to divulge more info. This felt personal, something for just me and Gwen to experience. When we reached a chaperone at the doors (a teacher from Midtown) Gwen said she was showing me the way to the bathroom, and it worked. As we were on our way to the arachnid labs through staircases and many winding corridors two floors above, our conversation picked back up.

“So do they actually have any gender-neutral bathrooms here? Ms. Enler probably just assumed I was going to the female one since that’s what I use at school, but I’m curious.” I’d have liked to think I had a solid “nonbinary” vibe to my appearance with the septum piercing, choppy haircut, and other such features, but basically everyone in my grade knows I’m AFAB. My binder is solid but it wasn’t enough of a miracle worker to hide D-cups.

Gwen supplied, “I think somewhere? Maybe in the lobby or on a conference floor. I just hold it most of the day and then go to the Wawa down the block that has one on my lunch break.”

“Oh, do people, like, give you shit for being,” I tried to shape the concept with my hands but failed, so just said, “Trans?”

“Depends,” she says nonchalantly but there was a very chalant fire behind her eyes, “Some people are assholes who will argue over ‘natural sex’ and ‘xy chromosomes’ anytime they see me and others are pretty chill. One of the department leaders in Biotech is also a trans girl actually. I don’t see her a lot but she always waves and smiles at me whenever we pass each other. Liv’s her name, short for Oliva.”

“Not Livinia or Liviticus? Boring.”

She chuckles. “ I know, it’s crazy. Some trans people have nicknames that are normal and full names that are normal.”

“That’s hard to believe Guinevere”

“I know, Pister-Jister, I know.”

We were both reduced to giggles by then, but soon after reached a door labeled “Arachnids; Spider Laboratories. Specialized Access Required”. Gwen scanned her lanyard underneath the lock on the door, and there was a click. When I hesitated for a moment to go in after her, Gwen said, “C'mon in Pj, they won’t bite. Well they can bite, a bunch of these guys are venomous, but they won’t unless you let them out of their enclosures.”

With that rock-solid reassurance, I entered the lab.

It was a large-ish space, seemingly rectangular, though it was hard to tell with all the stuff in it. Down the middle was a long lab counter scattered with papers and scientific utensils and cabinets hanging above them. All three walls that weren’t the one with the door on it were lined with terrariums. The room was entirely empty of people, probably because everyone was at lunch.

“So what are you doing to these guys?”

“Oh, ya know. Some biohacking to enhance webbing strength here, some injection of traits from other species there. I think we have a new guy that can camouflage, but I’m usually the last one to get details as just a ‘lowly intern’.”

I said, “To quote what my cousin Ben would probably say, ‘Fuck unpaid internship, it’s a capitalist invention to keep workers down and vying to get up instead of bonding together and forming a union’.” while thinking holy shit a camouflaging spider sounds terrifying please let that not be real.

“Heh, yeah, he’s probably right. Sounds like a cool guy.”

“He is, takes me to concerts and local shows a lot. Very classic punk guy. He’s 25 but still lives with my aunt and I due to rent being fucking insane. I don’t mind though, he was chill enough to take the tiny former office when I moved in to let me have the bedroom.”

I could see the question come into her eyes that I’m used to when I mention I don’t live with my parents. I gave her a look that signaled to just ask it.

“So, why do you live with your aunt? Did your parents-”

“Kick me out? No, but they probably would’ve one day. They, uh, died, a couple years back. Car crash.” There was dip in the room’s atmosphere the way there always is.

“Oh, I’m sorry about that Pj.” Gwen dropped her head demurely.

“It, it’s fine really. They were assholes. The kinda people always kvetching about how trans people weren’t real and queer folks were just going through a phase. They passed when I was 13, and I had already known I wasn’t cis and straight for a while by then. I tried to bring it up with my mom once and she told me to ‘not talk like that again’ and ‘just wait until I was older and knew better’. Living with Aunt May is way better. She took Ben in when his parents kicked him out for being gay, so she was super accepting of me. I got to change my name just before high school started and began at a new district where no one even knew me pre-transition. And luckily enough Harry went there.”

“You two already knew each other?”

“Yeah, our parents are, sorry, were, old friends from college and my dad used to work from home for Oscorp, so me and Harry met when we were really little and just kept hanging out through the years. He was the first person I told about being nonbinary.”

“He’s got good vibes for a cis guy with an interest in science.”

We both laughed at that, and the tension in the air lessened.

“Sorry for rambling, I’m wasting valuable spider-time.” I apologized.

Her hands started fluttering as she spoke, “No, no, it’s all good. C’mon, I wanna show you one of my favorites.”

She took me over to a terrarium with a bunch of webbing in it, but besides one, not in the usual spiderweb shapes. Just lines of string

“Are y’all doing stuff with different web formations?” I tried to guess

She shook her head. “No, there’s already a bunch of research facilities working on that kinda thing. This guy is way cooler. So, you know how, like, parrots can repeat sounds they’ve heard others make?” I nodded. “There’s this super rare species of spider that lives somewhere in the Amazon rainforest that can replicate sounds with its webbing, by, like, shooting out different widths and strumming them. Well, all the webs are the same width, but the spiders will go over the same strand a buncha times to make it thicker.”

“Like string instruments? There are guitar-playing spiders?!?” Guitar-playing spiders would make a great band name was my second-most thought at that moment, right behind THERE ARE GUITAR PLAYING SPIDERS.

Gwen chuckled but nodded. “Basically. In nature, it’s only pretty simple melodies like bird calls or the buzzing of insects, but it's pretty sick.”

“How can a spider eat a bird?” It wasn’t that big of a spider.

“The bird would get caught in the spider’s typical web –oh yeah these guys produce thicker webbing than most spiders but not by a massive amount– and then the bird would stay stuck there till it starved and the spider could easily eat it one piece at a time.”

“Damn, that’s metal.”

“And not a very reliable food source since any other creature could come along and eat the bird before it died, so they mostly just stick to bugs.”

“And bugs mostly stick to them, eh? Or, their webs I guess” Horrible jokes are a passion of mine, and it got a snort out of her.

“Hah, yeah. But we’ve been working on enhancing its abilities. It's already pretty musically gifted, it’s got what’s basically a spider version of perfect pitch, and if it hears a melody once it can perfectly replicate it.”

“This spider is more musically gifted than me, I’m jealous.” I said jokingly. Looking back, I am not jealous.

“I doubt that’s a high bar, most people with accurate Mitski opinions are more musically gifted than you, Pj.” She smirked.

“Oh, we are not getting back on this when there is a musical prodigy spider right here!”

“All right, we’ll get back to it later,” I huffed discordantly as she continued, “About what actual science is going down, they’re bioengineering its abilities to see if it’s possible to use music to increase emotions. Like, more than just a sad song making you sad cause it’s sad music theory wise,”

“Being in a minor key and stuff?”

“Yeah, they’re seeing if sadness can also be caused by a mix of your memories with being familiar with the song and the spider's intent to stir up those memories, so not only do you definitely feel sad, but more intensely, and maybe even emotions corresponding to the lyrics of a song. I think it involves physical contact with the webs, but sadly the specifics haven’t trickled down to me yet.”

She pouted and started heading toward a cabinet. “That’s all I know so far but I am INCREDIBLY excited to eventually learn how the experiments are going. In the meantime, I get to feed him.” There was a little perk at the end of her sentence, like this task was getting one up on the scientists.

This was all so incredibly sick that my brain was having a hard time processing it. Gwen opened a cabinet, reached inside, and pulled out some gloves that she then put on.

“Should I…”

Gwen looked back at me. “Huh? Oh, no, you won’t be getting your grimy hands anywhere near these guys. That would probably cost me this internship and endanger you and/or the spiders.” Once the gloves were on, she reached back into the cabinet and grabbed a small opaque lidded container, then started walking back towards me. “Jukebox –that’s what I call our music-making bud– is one of our only guys that needs nutrition morning, mid-day, and night.”

“All those extra skills work up an appetite?”

“I guess so, maybe it has something to do with needing more nutrition to produce more webs. Someone else handles the morning and night-time feedings due to when I get here and when I leave, but I have the great honor of feeding Jukebox his lunch.” She had arrived back at the spider’s enclosure (and right next to me) by then and pressed a button on a panel next to the enclosure’s glass wall that lowered a small square of glass in the top left corner and seemed to lead into a small sort of antechamber.

Gwen explained, “I release the bugs, well usually, bug, into here, close up this opening, then press another button that pulls their floor out so Jukebox can catch and eat his lunch.”

“Clean system,” I noted.

“Yeah, it works well for being so simple. Something something Occam’s razor.”

She put her hands inside the antechamber, took the lid off the container, and quickly turned over the container. Before she could press the button to close the opening, we both noticed something. The small bug that had been in the container was on its back from being dropped upside down, but wasn’t moving to flip itself back over.

Gwen inspected the container and exclaimed not very loudly but with great annoyance, “Fucking helllllll. They didn’t put it in a container WITH HOLES.”

“The bug suffocated?” I guessed.

“Ughhhhhh, yep. And I’ve gotta go get another.” She let out a groan. “Just, stay here a minute while I go get a live one. There probably won’t be anyone here for another few minutes but if there is just say you got lost or something.”

“Copy sergeant.”

She playfully rolled her eyes at me, then scooped up the dead bug, put it back in the container, and placed the box on the counter running the room. As Gwen started to walk away, she pressed the button to close the opening. But she wasn’t really looking, and instead pressed the button that opened the other hatch, leaving the antechamber wide open to the tank and outside world. She left the room soon after that, and I myself wasn’t looking at the terrarium. My mind was too busy thinking of the smoothest way to ask for Gwen’s number.

I didn’t look back at the Jukebox’s enclosure until I felt something lightly hit the back of my left hand that pulled me from my thoughts. I looked back to the terrarium, noticed it was wide open, then looked down at my hand. Jukebox had landed it.

If I were there now, I would’ve smashed that spider flat. But that’s not how the story goes.

I hardly had time to freak out, before…

I felt, on my hand…

A small…

pinch.

And then Jukebox hopped back off and scurried into his enclosure. I panickedly pressed both buttons and was breathing heavily by the time Gwen walked back in.

“Sorry about that, sometimes the folks at food prep can be freakin stupid, have–” She took in my current state and assessed something had happened. “Pj, hey, are you okay?”

My breathing slowed a bit, but my dizzy spell from earlier returned, feeling different and way stronger. I mumbled out “I feel a, a little lightheaded…” while my body was screaming at me that something, something was happening, something it wasn’t expecting or ready for. It wasn’t just anxiety from Jukebox briefly getting out and landing on me. He was back in his terrarium now and there was nothing to fear. But still, waves of nausea were rolling over me, like my body was having a panic attack without including my brain, and my left hand was starting to ache. I looked down at it and saw what might’ve been two tiny red dots before my vision started to blur, and I passed out.

The overture ends and the curtains rise
The intro leads into the verse
The common refrain gives out its cry
The hope this time won’t be worse

This story has been told before
But that does not make it a curse
It follows the path of many a lore
As the intro leads into the verse

Chapter Text

While I was unconscious, I had a dream where I heard some kind of strumming in the distance, music that sounded vaguely familiar but I couldn’t place where. The lyrics to it floated around in my head in a soup, but whenever I tried to think of one directly it slipped away like I was scooping it up with a fork. I decided to just make up my own lyrics, and was about to start singing them, but I never got the chance. I heard a voice, and it broke through the dream and roused me slightly.

Pj, hey, Pj, can you hear me?

The sound was fuzzy, like I was hearing the echo of a voice from down a tunnel, or underwater.

I didn’t remember the dream when I woke up. I do now. I’ve been thinking about it a lot.

Shit, shit, shit…Can you hear me Pj? It’s Gwen.

I came to.

My lungs breathed in a gasp like I’d been drowning and just brought back to air, but when I looked around I was in…a lab? Right, I had been in a lab—the spider laboratories in Oscorp. Gwen had brought me to it. Gwen was holding me. Her head was hanging over mine and her eyes were filled with panic.

“Wh-wha…” was all I managed out.

“Oh thank god, you’re awake. Are you okay? I came back into the lab and you seemed sick, and then you passed out for about a minute. I, um, caught you while you were falling.” She seemed to realize the intimacy of it when she said it. Gwen was holding me in something like a tango dip, both her arms wrapped around my back stomach. “Uh, can you stand or should I, um…”

“I-I can stand I think.”

She propped me against the counter that ran along the center of the room, and I was able to support myself on it while I got my bearings. I could remember Gwen going to get food for one of the spiders, but accidentally leaving a terrarium open, and the spider in there hopping onto me, then…

I looked down at my left hand, and saw those two tiny red dots, right next to each other. I first thought, The fucking spider bit me. Then I thought, Shit, a fucking spider bit me. I remembered Gwen saying that some of the spiders were venomous. Or was it poisonous? Which one was for it biting you? (I’ve googled it since, venomous is it-bites-you-and-that's-bad, poisonous is you-bite-it-and-that's-bad). Could the spider that bit me –Jukebox, I remembered the name Gwen had called it– have been one of them?

I stuffed my left hand into my pocket and decided to figure it out later.

In an attempt to move forward, I asked, “Do you have any water? I think I was just really dehydrated.” When she looked questioningly at me at that, I added, “And blood loss from my period probably. It can make me a little loopy.” It had actually ended over a week before, but it’s not like she knew. I’d also never had a quasi-panic attack and then passed out from my period, but she didn’t need to know that either.

“Sure, we should have some bottled stuff in the mini-fridge in here”

I followed after her and was about to ask You guys have a mini-fridge in your science lab? when I was struck with a horrible ache in my torso and general upper body. I folded over and probably made an involuntary groan, as Gwen looked back and panic re-entered her face.

“What’s happening? Do you think you’re going to throw up? Do you still want water?”

I really did feel kinda dehydrated then, as I so often do, so I nodded and wheezed out, “J-just cramps. They can get really bad sometimes, just gotta wait for the wave to pass.”, which was true enough, though I was feeling like shit for lying so much to her. But a part of me didn’t want to tell Gwen about being bit. I was worried she would be angry at me for it, and blame me for endangering the spider by having it make contact with my skin or something. Another part of me didn’t want to admit it had happened. If it hadn’t happened, I didn’t have to worry about it and could pretend I would wake up tomorrow and everything would be fine. Maybe I was just dehydrated, wouldn’t be the first time that day. Maybe I was developing seasonal allergies for Fall. Who knows?

Well, I know. I know now. I know running from the problem doesn’t solve shit, nor pretending like it’s not happening and everything will be fine. God, I should’ve just told Gwen right there. She could’ve known what to do, she could have helped, she-

Oh, Ben…

Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba-

No. Not yet. We aren’t there yet. I don’t have to accept it until we get there. And we aren’t there yet.

Okay. Okay…

After that, Gwen did get the water for me. I took a few massive gulps as the pain started to fade out. More a dull ache all about, with a concentrated sting in my hand. I really hoped that it wouldn’t start swelling, I didn’t think I could hide that.

“Right, how about we get back to the cafeteria? If you don’t feel well enough to walk the rest of the tour maybe you can ask a chaperone to sit it out.”

I nodded at that, sitting out seemed like a nice idea. “We can say I was gone for so long cause of,” I waved my right hand about, “Ya know, monthly stuff.” Gwen agreed.

As we were on our way down the hallway to the steps, we saw Mr. Osborn who seemed like he was in quite a hurry in the direction of the Arachnid labs. He paused when he saw us, a look of surprise on his face like we’d caught him sneaking out at night to a party. Me and Gwen likely had a similar expression on our own faces.

“D-dr. Osborn!” Gwen greeted, “How, uh, lovely to see you! I thought you were observing some new developments today?”

Mr. Osborn cleared his throat. “Ah, indeed. I am simply returning after taking my lunch.” He seemed to want to ask what we were doing here, but understood we would probably ask back about specifics with the “developments” so held his tongue. “Well, it was lovely running into you Miss Stacy and-” There was a moment of panic in his eyes where he had no idea what honorific applied to nonbinary people (Mx. , btw, pronounced like mix) and he eventually settled on, “Pj. But I must be going; discovery waits for none and fate is a fickle creature.” With that wisdom imparted, he continued on his way towards the labs.

For his faults, Mr. Osborn is a pretty trans-inclusive guy. I don’t think he entirely understands nonbinary people; when I came out to him he basically asked why I wasn’t just becoming a boy. Maybe it’s a scientist thing, getting stuck in binary thinking. But he tries his best to use my pronouns and chosen name, at least when around me. I’ve certainly come out to worse people.

With a curious look at one another, Gwen and I continued to the stairs. While on the stairs though, I skipped a step and hopped onto a landing between floors, which caused another swell of aching throughout my whole body. I was able to stay standing by supporting myself on the railing as Gwen tried to get a feel for my current state.

“Do- do you think you can keep walking on your own? I can help support you if-”

“No, no,” I quickly replied, “I’m fine. Th-this isn’t even the worst I’ve ever felt. One time my cramps were so bad I literally couldn’t sit up.” I wheezed out a laugh. “It was terrible.” That was true, those cramps went beyond the I wanna kill myself level into I wish I and all of humanity had never been born. Never forget.

I (slowly) started down the rest of the stairs, and we eventually made it to the cafeteria floor. When we were almost to the doors, a group of a few women came out talking about something or other, maybe related to the food that day. Gwen seemed to perk up when she saw them. One of the women, one with wild brown curls and slightly crooked glasses with beaded chains hanging off them, noticed us and said, “Stacey, hey! How are you?”

Something in Gwen seemed to loosen, and a little bit of stress faded away. “Um, hi Liv! I’m, ya know, fine. Actually, do any of you guys have some medication on you? Like aspirin or ibuprofen?” Gwen nodded her head towards me.

All the ladies seemed to get the gist of what she was trying to get across, and my nearly doubled-over body certainly helped. A scientist with a black bob reached into her purse. “All I’ve got right now is some pamprin, is that okay?”

I wasn’t sure cramp medication would help whatever I was going through, but arguing with a bunch of adult women going into parental protection mode probably wasn’t the best, so I just nodded and took the two pills she handed me and gulped them down with water from my bottle that Gwen had been holding onto.

After that, we walked through the door and Gwen explained my situation to Ms. Enler for me, then suggested that I could go to the facility’s library until regroup time in the lobby. She agreed, smiling sympathetically at my presumed cramps, and Gwen led me only a floor down to the library. It was mostly scientific texts, not my preferred reading material, but there was one really comfy chair that I gladly collapsed into.

“Okay, I’ve gotta head back to the spider lab,” Gwen said once I was settled, “Still have to feed Jukebox and all that. But do you want my number in case anything happens?” I nodded and unlocked then handed over my phone to her. When she handed it back to me, I noticed she had put in her name for me, and next to it she’d typed a single red heart.

My own red heart sped up, though that might’ve been another side effect of whatever DEFINITELY NOT SPIDER BITE SYMPTOMS I was experiencing. She wished me well and then headed out with a worried expression knit deeply into her brows.

The next hour or so passed in a bored blur with me just waiting for the pain to pass, which it didn’t, even with the pamprin. I’d left my bag and headphones in the cafeteria, and I didn’t have the wifi password for Oscorp, so all I could do was sit and worry. The pain itself was actually kinda similar to having cramps, an ache that you just desperately wait out, knowing eventually the wave will recede. But this one just kept going. Eventually, Harry poked his head in and called out, “Pj? You in here?”

“Yuhhhhh” I garbled out, the pain in my torso having gotten especially worse a few minutes before. I was stuck in the state where you feel like you’re about to throw up, but never actually throwing up.

“C’mon dork, the teacher sent me to grab you. We’re heading back to school.”

“Ughhhh”

He walked in and tossed my messenger bag onto my lap. I let out another groan, but managed to move the strap over my shoulder. I held out my right hand (my left one still shoved vehemently in my pocket) and with a groan of his own, Harry pulled me up. I coughed a few times, but then managed to start trudging toward the door.

“Jesus bro,” Harry said, “What did you come down with while on a secret rendezvous with your girlfriend?”

I grumbled in response, “She’s not my girlfriend jackass, despite your unrequested match-making.”

Harry shrugged. “Not your girlfriend yet, don’t be so negative, Pister-Jist. Unless the date went super bad. Ohhhh, is that what made you sick? It went so bad your body is rejecting the whole experience?”

I was not in the mood to correct Harry on any of that, so I just made my way to the door and said back to him, “C’mon, let’s just get back to the buses.”

“Alright frowny-pants. But will you give me the deets on the way back to school?”

“Sure, as soon as you tell me what you thought of that band I recommended last month.” A guilty look came onto his face. “You have listened to them by now, right Harry?” Silence. “Thought so. I’m not in the mood to do a lot of talking anyways.”

He quickly hurried up to me and we headed to the nearest elevator. While waiting for it to arrive, he asked, “So, you really feel that shitty you’re not even gonna tell me how it went?”

“I feel like I'm recovering from a surgery without any painkillers.”

“Yeesh”

“Yeesh indeed”

The quite-spacious elevator dinged open, and we fell into a semi-awkward silence after that. We were twenty-something floors up, so it took a little while to reach the bottom. I didn’t see any buttons labeled “press this to open doors at a dramatically appropriate moment” but there were many unlabeled ones that needed keys to access, so one of those might’ve been it.

Our purgatory eventually ended and the doors dinged open into the lobby. The chaperone who’d been with our group noticed our arrival and motioned us over. After that was a haze of head counts, re-head counts, thanking our tour guides, and eventually being ushered out to the waiting school buses. There may have been a third head count somewhere in there, but I was too busy trying to not be in my body to notice. Harry tried to help and offered support when we headed up the steps of the bus, but there wasn’t really anything he could do. The pamprin hadn’t taken effect from what I could feel, though I hadn’t really expected it to. I was staying upright purely on the motivation of getting home and taking a nap.

The bus pulled into school with half an hour of the day still remaining, so all us science nerds were corralled into the auditorium and told to “discuss the day’s learnings amongst ourselves”, aka stay busy until we’re legally allowed to let you go. I spent the time with my headphones planted firmly on and listening to Black Parade era MCR. I wasn’t usually an angster (No matter what Harry might tell you) but sometimes when you’re miserable you just gotta soak in those feelings.

FINALLY, the horrible school day ended and I began my usually painless walk home. Emphasis on usually. I didn’t even take my common one-block detour to stop by my favorite deli. I just trudged back to my apartment and up the three flights of stairs (the elevator was broken again) as quickly as my aching body would allow.

I opened the door to the regular Friday cacophony of smells and sounds of Aunt May baking. We’re not super practicing when it comes to most stuff, but May always makes challah on Shabbat and it’s always delicious. But at the moment I was not in the mood for any kind of food and tried to not gag at the thought of eating. She didn’t notice my arrival until I slammed the door with all the force I could muster.

May turned her head around and greeted me, “Pj! Hey kiddo, welcome home! How was the science trip? See any crazy experiments?”

I shrugged and mumbled out “It was fine,” while beelining to my room.

“You feeling okay sweetie?” I wasn’t usually this groggy, especially on Fridays, and May immediately picked this up.

I shrugged again. “Tired and stuff. Long week. Gonna take a nap.”

“Okay… Just call out if you need anything. Ben’s working late tonight, so are you okay having dinner a little later?” I nodded then opened and promptly closed my bedroom door. I even more promptly dropped my bag to the ground and collapsed into bed. I fought against my binder and managed to take it off after a mighty battle, then put on a loose, comfy shirt.

I didn’t immediately fall asleep, I remember lying in pain for a bit, but I must’ve eventually because I was awoken by a knocking on my door.

“Who?” I called out, partially muffled by my pillow.

“The tooth fairy,” a voice behind the door spoke. “I heard you got some real chompers in there and I wanna collect a few.”

I rolled my eyes and managed to sit up. I thought I was feeling slightly better. “Haha, real funny. Come in, Ben.”

It was a long-running inside joke between us. A little bit after I first moved in with May, I finally lost my last straggler baby tooth. By then I’d known for years that the tooth fairy wasn’t real (I was 13 for god's sake) but I still made a show of telling Aunt May and Ben about how I was gonna leave my tooth under my pillow in hopes I might get some money out of it. Well, that night I was having trouble falling asleep –a problem I’d had a lot after my parent’s death, but I didn’t want to tell anyone about it– and around 11 pm a loud CREAAAAAK came from my door that probably would’ve woken me even if I had been asleep. I kept my eyes shut, but once a figure came right next to me, I heard “Heard this one’s got a real chomper” and burst out laughing.

Ben’s cover was blown, but he still gave me four very shiny quarters for my troubles. And since then, whenever he knocked on my door he’d call himself the tooth fairy and claim he was coming for my chompers. Sometimes it made me laugh, by then it mostly annoyed me, but I really miss it. It’s always the small, stupid things you miss.

But that night, he just came in with no intent to steal my teeth nor with any quarters. Disappointing. Once I granted permission, he opened the door and looked at me and the sorry state I was in.

“You kinda look like shit, Pj.” Despite his nonchalant attitude, I could see worry on his face.

“Yeah, well, I kinda feel like shit.”

He frowned. “Think you’re sick with anything? I think flu season’s started by now.”

“I dunno,” I grumbled out, “I think this is just one of those things I gotta wait out.”

“Like cramps?”

I was getting really tired of having to talk about my cramps that day, but I weakly pointed at him in assent. “Exactly like cramps. It’ll pass. Besides, I’m already feeling a bit better.”

“Well, that's good, ‘cause May spent a lot of time on dinner and I would hate to have to eat it all on my own.”

I rolled my eyes, though I felt a spark behind them alight. “You wish asshole. I haven’t eaten anything since a miniscule lunch, and I am so getting the biggest piece of challah.”

“We’ll see,” he replied, a devilish grin on his face, then headed back into the hallway.

Once he was gone, I pulled my left hand out from under the covers and got a good look at it. It didn’t seem like it was swelling at all, so that was good. Those tiny red dots (bite marks, I admitted to myself) were now covered by tiny scabs. I had thought earlier to maybe put a bandaid on my hand to cover them up, but at that moment I decided they were ignorable enough that May and Ben probably wouldn’t notice them more than a sudden bandaid. Other than that, I still felt pretty shitty, but also pretty hungry, and I slowly got out of bed and went down the hall to dinner.

Ben was laying out the plates on our small, round table in our small, square excuse for a dining room. He laid three plates out around the four-chaired table. May insisted on always having the fourth chair out. “You never know when someone might ask to come over or needs a place to eat”. I suppose taking in two children orphaned from their families (Ben societal and myself literally) makes one want to be prepared. For what, I don’t know. I’m related to May through my dad’s side, who’s only siblings are Aunt May and Ben’s dad. Ben and I were both only children, as well as my Mom, and May never had any kids. Except for any second cousins or such, there weren’t really any more abandoned children for her to adopt. But she probably was just ready to pull one off the streets one day.

It wasn't that much of a bother, the extra seat never made the table feel empty and we weren't

too cramped.

It feels much emptier now, the newly vacant seat seems haunted. Half the table standing

taunting in its lack of plates. May and I try to avoid sitting at it. We've been eating meals on the

couch the past week, watching old reruns. We've seen a lot of Friends. Too much probably. It's-

it's too much.

It’s-

God, I need to stop. I just have to keep going.

“Ah, you made it out of your bed after all. A pity, to be sure." Ben sighed.

I rolled my eyes at him. “Stop talking like a cartoon villain, Benjamin. No small matter of sudden-onset sickness was gonna stop me from eating dinner tonight.”

“A man can dream, Pj.”

“And I’ll gladly wake you up.”

“Pff, dork.” He scoffed. May leaned into the room and motioned for us to sit down.

I kept the extremely important debate going. “You’re the dork!”

“You like Weezer!”

“I don’t like Weezer! I just acknowledge they have good songs!”

“By any normal person’s metric, that would count as liking them!”

We both paused our argument as May placed down a loaf of challah at the center of the table. We both rushed to wash our hands in the kitchen sink, joined May back at the table in a quick Hamotzi, and then I suffered an embarrassing loss as Ben grabbed the first piece. She rolled her eyes and Ben reluctantly broke off another piece and handed it to me. May grabbed a piece of her own, and the three of us stood back up and headed to the kitchen to fill our plates with the lasagna and green beans May had cooked.

It was a nice relief when I moved in with May, she’s so much chiller when it comes to Shabbat stuff. My parents were more on the conservative side (politically and the branch of Judaism) and were a lot more formal about it. We don’t even do the candle blessings now. May’s more on the reform branch, but still kinda traditional with some stuff. Like doing things for Shabbat at all. Ben was an atheist and I’d describe myself as semi-agnostic (No, I will not be giving further details) but we all came together to do this small thing every Friday night.

Ben used to say it felt grounding, a small, special routine thing he could appreciate even separated from belief in religion. May says much the same, that it reconnects her to herself, but also that the small ritual of the challah and prayer reconnects her to her experience with G-d, a way to remember her place in the universe outside the hustle and bustle of the rest of life. I liked it cause it was a thing I could do with my family that made me feel connected to them. Sometimes that’s what I think G-d is, connections with other people; love and friendship and stuff. And then when I feel like shit I think He’s either nonexistent or a vindictive asshole. So we all pretty much thought the same about our little Shabbat prayer and food.

“So Ben,” May began, “Did anything interesting happen at work today? Is Danny still sick?”

Ben shrugged. He worked as a bartender a little ways across town. “Yeah, but Marnie came in today to cover, so thank god for her. Oh, and a woman who I served left her number for me on the napkin she put her tip on.”

May raised her eyebrows. “Oh, what did you do with it?”

He made a sheepish expression. “I felt bad, but I decided to just toss it. Maybe she’ll think I just missed it and threw it out accidentally. I just felt like texting her just to say I wasn’t interested would’ve been…”

“Even more upsetting than just never contacting her in the first place?” I said.

He pointed his fork at me. “Yeah, exactly. But yeah, normal shift otherwise. Pj, you had a school trip today, right? To that place where your friend’s dad works?”

“Yep, Oscorp, Harry’s dad basically runs the place,” I replied, trying not to groan at having to think about the place some more.

“Well, was it cool?” He asked. “Anything explode?”

“I don’t think explosions are actually that common at science labs. Or at least they certainly weren’t going to take us to the places where there might’ve been any.”

“Sounds lame then,” Ben huffed.

“A little. And then during lunch, my body just started hurting, and I had to sit out the last hour in the building’s library.” That explanation cut out any suspect stuff, and also teed them up for an explanation.

And May hit it right on the dot. “Did you eat something bad, sweetie?”

I put on an unsure expression. “Maybe? Or maybe I just picked something up while in a big group of people. I’m feeling a bit better already, so there’s probably nothing to worry about.”

“Okay Pj, but if you start to feel worse, tell me or Ben right away, alright?”

“Alright.”

And we ate the rest of dinner pretty uneventfully. May talked about some clients she’d had at the hair salon that day, me and Ben probably made some comments, and soon the meal was finished. Ben and I both declined any dessert, and I headed back to my room to get ready for bed.

I brushed my teeth, got into pajamas, and was just about to turn off my desk lamp when Ben knocked on the door.

“What’s up?” I asked.

He fidgeted with his hands as he talked to me. “You weren’t feeling great when I got home so I didn’t want to bring it up, but if you’re feeling better now then…”

“Spit it out already Ben. I can’t fill your silences for you for the rest of your life.”

“Real funny kid. But, uh, basically there’s a show tomorrow night not too far from here. All local bands, and I know some of the guys in one so we could probably get in free; if you wanna go and think you’ll be up to it.”

I perked up. “Hell yeah man, sounds sick! I’m sure I’ll be fine by tomorrow night. And I feel like it’s been forever since you took me to a show.”

“It’s been a little over a month Pj, and you’ve been busy with the new school year.”

“Not my fault all of the shows have been on Sundays and you won’t let me stay out that late on school nights!”

“You know the rules, can’t stay out past 9 on nights when you gotta be asleep by 10.”

“I really gotta talk to May about that.”

Ben shrugged and put a smirk on his face. “Can’t say I’m super against it. You’re a smart kid and you shouldn’t put your grades at risk just to go see a show.”

“Says the guy who dropped out after spending most of college going to shows,” I sniped back in a huff. I always felt uncomfortable when people complimented me.

“Speaking from experience,” He said, and came in to kiss my head.

I gave him a brief hug back and wished him good night.

“G’night to you too. I’ll probably have left for my shift by the time you wake up, but I’ll be back around 7, alright? Doors open at 8 and I think it’ll start at 8:30.”

“Sounds good. See ya then.” I put my glasses on my bedside table and reached to turn off the light on it as he reached my doorway.

“Love you, Pj.”

I rolled my eyes and turned off my lamp. “Love you too Ben.”

—

I woke up the next morning feeling very, very, different.

That’s the best way I can describe what it felt like when I woke up. Everything felt different, like the world had shifted slightly over while I was asleep. Or maybe it was my comprehension of the world that had changed. Everything felt like it was in sharper focus, and I was aware of every small noise around me. And then when I turned over from my back onto my side, I noticed something that I was usually very aware of was not there anymore.

You have to understand, and this may sound inelegant or weird or some shit, but my chest was big enough that when I was on my side, I could always feel it pooling up against various parts of my skin. But when I shifted over that morning, I didn’t feel that usual cuppage. There was nothing. And that’s what really woke me up. I immediately sat up straight and looked down, and saw my sleep shirt lying almost flat against me.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the–

Calm down, Pj. It’s probably just a trick of the light or something.

I slowly brought my hand to my chest, feeling the area. Only a small bump, like how I imagined pecs felt like.

WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK WHAT–

Dreaming! You’re still dreaming stupid. Just pinch yourself or something and you’ll see you're just dreaming. Like that time you were naked onstage but had censor bars covering you. God that was an odd one. Or that one when you passed out yesterday and heard some weird song.

I tried to bring my other hand up to pinch my arm, but it wouldn’t budge. I looked over at the palm splayed flat on my bed. I wasn’t accidentally sitting on it or anything, it was just stuck. I tried lifting it a little harder, and it did rise slightly, but so did my sheet, the loose space made from it not being made perfectly making some give room. But the hand itself was stuck to my sheet, firmly.

WHAT THE–

Okay, you’re definitely dreaming. Just calm down, calm down, it’s all fine. It's all fine…

Managing to temper myself, I relaxed and felt my stuck hand start to come loose with a sensation similar to peeling apart two fingers after sticking them together with glue. Once it was fully free, I brought it over to pinch my other arm. I closed my finger hard between the skin and…

“Ow!”

Shit.

It hurt a lot. This...was all real. I looked around, hoping to find a sign that it somehow wasn’t, and as I glanced across my room, I realized something else different.

Why is everything so clear?

My severe nearsightedness had vanished. The Bowie poster I’d hung up on the far wall that I’d never been able to read the text on without my glasses was crystal clear. I grabbed my glasses from my bedside table, shoved them on, and the room went blurry. I took them off, everything was clear again. Even the smallest details in the farthest corners.

Trying not to freak out too hard, I went through all the possibilities in my head. Maybe I’d hit my head really hard before falling asleep, and that had somehow fixed my eyesight. I’d heard somewhere that hitting your head in the wrong spot could cause you to go blind, so maybe the opposite was true? And maybe I’d also gotten some glue on my hands last night. Why I didn’t remember any of this happening was a bit of a conundrum, but then I thought that maybe I’d had too much mouthwash, and got blackout drunk. It was probably possible, right? And the drunkenness just took a bit to kick in. The last thing I remembered was saying goodnight to Ben. After that, the mouthwash must’ve kicked in, and I got glue on my hands and slammed my head into something. There! Everything solved, nice and clean!

I was strictly avoiding thinking about my chest, but once the other…oddities so to speak were neatly resolved, I knew I had to come back to it.

You’re just still groggy, half-awake, that’s all. If you just looked, you’d see that obviously your chest hasn’t suddenly and massively shrunk overnight!

I put my now-useless glasses back onto my bedside table, took in a deep breath, and pulled my shirt off.

It took a lot of effort to not release that breath as a scream when I saw that, yup, my chest had reconfigured in my sleep into something similar to male pecs.

Somehow, I wasn’t able to come up with an explanation for this. No alcoholic mouthwash or sudden blunt force traumas were gonna solve away this. I was so focused on looking down that I hadn’t noticed I’d stopped gripping my shirt, but it was still in my hand. My hand was wide open, palm facing downward, but the shirt was gravity defyingly still connected. This was stretching my glue theory slightly. Honestly, I was starting to think maybe it wasn’t glue. Maybe something was very wrong with me.

But another, very small, part of me was a little excited. Ignoring the sticky hands, waking up with fixed vision and a double mastectomy-ed chest was kind of my dream, right? I’d never have to worry about binding or back pain again! I could pass androgynously so much better! This was a good thing! The universe had answered my prayers. I mean, whenever I’d prayed to magically wake up with a flat chest I hadn’t really excepted it happen, but, but–

But I should probably just put my shirt back on and pretend none of this is happening.

That seemed like as good a plan as any. If I just pretended all this wasn’t happening, maybe it would go away. That strategy had worked for the spider-bite hadn’t it? I had put that out of mind, and now it was definitely and entirely in the past.

I have never been very good at inductive reasoning. Or reasoning period.

I tried to pull my shirt off of my hand with little luck; the shirt and palm were stuck together tight. I thought about what had undone the stickiness a moment before, and tried to relax. It certainly wasn’t easy, but I managed to calm my nerves enough that the shirt disconnected. I shuffled it back on with much annoyance and decided I couldn't do much but start my day. And I was doing so bright and early at around…10:40 am. So my typical time for a Saturday; at least whatever transformation that had befallen me hadn’t changed my being a chronic sleeper-inner.

The apartment was silent and empty as I staggered towards the kitchen, still shaking off the last of my sleep. My muscle memory kept expecting my glasses to be there, and each time, my hands were shocked at not having to go under them everytime I wanted to rub at my eyes. I’d been wearing them full time since about fifth grade, so quitting cold turkey was extremely strange. May had left a note on the kitchen counter next to some muffins about how we were low on milk and bananas, that she’d try to be back from work by 6, and also wishing me a good day. Taped to the underside of the note was a ten dollar bill for the groceries.

I doubted that we really needed more milk and especially bananas, but May usually tried to leave me some errands to run on weekends, knowing that if she didn’t I’d probably spend the whole day inside in my pajamas, likely bedrotting. So, she would leave notes like these to get me to go outside the apartment; breath fresh air, absorb some sunlight, disgusting shit like that.

I sighed while reading the note, really not feeling like interacting with people that day. And then I remembered the concert Ben had mentioned the night before. How I should only go with him if I was feeling “up to it”. I definitely wanted to go to the show that night, and while a bunch of very strange shit was going on right then, one thing that definitely wasn’t was the pain from yesterday. Honestly, I was actually feeling pretty good, like I’d just had a good stretch. So if I could just play off my lack of boobs and glasses and pretend the sticking thing wasn’t happening, I was golden! Totally fine! It would all be fine! And I remembered that I actually did have a solution to the glasses thing. About five or six months before, I had had an eye checkup and had gotten a new prescription, which meant new glasses. I picked out this pair I really liked, and when I was showing them to the optometrist, she’d said they had accidentally ordered a bunch of the store try-on versions on that frame, and asked if I’d like to take home the instore version to get used to wearing while the prescription lenses were being made. I’d agreed, and somewhere in one of my jewelry drawers those glasses were still there. They were the exact same frame as my usual pair, just with plain glass in the frames instead of whatever scientific techno-stuff glass had made me see things clearer.

Feeling at least a little relieved of this one problem as I ate my muffin, I tried to put my mind off thinking of the other issues at hand. I looked out the large living room window while sitting on the couch, marveling at all the small details I could see clear as day, including the day itself; all the little shadows the sun cast onto cracks in buildings and roads. It was beautiful, and a bit calming.

Once all that remained of my muffin was a few scant crumbs, I pulled myself off the couch, threw out the wrapper, and headed back towards my room. In there, I found the non-prescription glasses and placed the working ones into a dresser drawer under some shirts. I grabbed one of the shirts from that drawer (a plain black tee) and then a pair of dark blue jeans. I threw the clothing items onto my bed and closed my room’s door, so I was staring at my reflection in the mirror that was hanging on the back of the door.

Taking slow breaths, I removed the oversized shirt I’d worn the night before and gazed at the dazzled expression staring back at me. It really did seem I’d had some midnight top surgery, though no scars were in sight. A huff came out, and then a laugh, and then a hysterical bunch of giggles that wouldn’t stop. But they did stop eventually, and I was left mostly thinking not how, but, why. Maybe G-d was real, and once a year he went to trans kids with poor eyesight and granted them their hearts desire or some shit. Being unable to understand any of this for sure though, I kept doing what I’d done that whole morning; just kept trucking.

I got dressed, feeling strange at not having to put on my binder. I gazed at where it lay, slightly crumpled, on the floor in a pile of clothes. For some reason I felt the need to explain myself to it.

“Listen, I- I don’t really get what’s going on, but, I mean, I don’t really need you right now. Don’t think I’m not grateful,” I crouched down and scooped it up, “You’ve gotten me through a lot of shit. I just…don’t….know what to do now.”

Standing back up, I reopened the dresser drawer my folded glasses were being hidden in.

“I love you, but I think I just gotta do what I’m doing with all the weird shit this morning and bury you.”

I stuffed it down next to the glasses and covered them both back up, slowly closing the drawer like I was bringing down the lid on a casket. I have no idea why I felt so serious and guilty about not needing my binder anymore; maybe I was having some kind of episode and expressing it however I could. A psychotic break was actually a probable cause for all the happenings that morning, but it never occurred to me until after I figured out what was actually going on.

I grabbed my wallet and keys and resolutely headed out the door, trying to remember if this was what being in a body usually felt like. I was in the hallway and about to lock the door when I heard a loud rattling and frustrated grunts coming from down the hall. Turning my head, I saw a familiar sight standing at her door. Her weaved red braids were swinging as she tried to pry open her locked door by sheer force of will, movement limited by the giant shopping bags on both arms. My Aunt May’s (and mine since a few years ago) neighbor since we were both babies, Mary-Jane Watson.

“Hey MJ, forget your key again?”

MJ’s struggle paused, her apparently having just noticed she was not alone in the hall. She tossed her head slightly to get one of the braids off her face, then put on a smile. “Pj! Hey! So glad to see you!”

“Uh-huh…” I replied, waiting for the inevitable ask for assistance.

She spoke all in one breath, “You see, it’s not that I forgot my key. I was just in a rush this morning and half asleep, and I stayed out longer than I thought I would so both my parents left and how was I supposed to know they’d lock the door, and honestly it might just be jammed, it’s always getting jammed, seriously the landlord really needs to fix this damn thing–”

“I’ll go grab you our spare.” I said, and reopened my door and leaned back inside far enough to reach the key dish that was sitting on the table in the entryway, nabbing the custom printed red and pink one.

“Thank you!” I heard, coming through slightly muffled.

I’d first met MJ when we both must’ve been only 3 or 4 years old; her family had recently moved into the apartment next to May’s, and I was spending the weekend while my parents were on a work trip, so I helped her bake some brownies to deliver. When we dropped them off, we learned that the Watson’s had a daughter the same age as me, and we started having playdates every time I visited May, that then eventually morphed into hangouts when we felt too old to call them playdates (around 11). She’d been a pretty good friend of mine, and was really great to have so close when my parents passed away, though we didn’t talk that much by then. She went to an online school as opposed to Midtown, so our paths didn’t cross much, except when she forgot her key and we had to lend her the spare.

Once I had remerged fully into the hall, I tossed the key to the next door down, where MJ fumbled trying to catch it with the bags weighing her down, managing to just barely grip it. After a brief moment of reshuffling the bags, she got her door open and breathed a sigh of relief.

“God you Parkers are total life savers I swear. My mom would’ve killed me if I got stuck outside again this month.”

I chuckled. “I wonder why.” She placed down the bags into her apartment, and as she walked over to return the key, I asked, “So, do I get to know why you were out so early on a Saturday? I’m guessing it’s related to your ungodly amount of bags?”

A spark came into her eyes as she stood before me. “Well, there’s this great record place across town that had a release party today for some limited edition vinyl for Florence and the Machine AND Marina and The Diamonds that I had to leave at like 5:30 am to catch my train there if I wanted a good spot in line. And then once I was there I saw they had a some of Lana Del Ray’s early stuff that I just HAD to buy and after that I spent like an hour going through the clearance bins and then I realized it was almost 11 and I hadn’t eaten since like 6 in the morning and was super starving so I felt I should probably head home.”

I think MJ had at some point in her life learned circular breathing, though to my knowledge she had never played a horn instrument. That was my best guess as to how the hell she talked so much, so fast without stopping. MJ is the kind of person who speaks almost entirely in run-on sentences, with hardly a comma to give a break. “Did you find anything good in clearance?” I asked hesitantly, worrying a bit that the longer we talked that might find out something was wrong with me somehow.

Her smile somehow got even wider. “DID I! I got–”

“Please summarize shortly. I need to uh, get some groceries” I said, remembering what I had initially left my apartment for. MJ had a way of making you forget what you’d been doing before being sucked into the vortex of a conversation with her.

She let out a breath and nodded in self reference. “Oh yeah, sorry, I know I can ramble. I, um, mostly found some musicals. They had a bunch of Rodgers and Hammerstein stuff, so I nabbed a few of those and two Sondheim shows.” I nodded along like I understood any of the names she said. “My shelf is probably going to be bursting after all the stuff I got today.”

“Right well, just don’t lock yourself into your room and you’ll probably be fine.” I held out my hand in front of me, palm open.

She rolled her eyes and dropped the key into it. “Real funny Pj. I wouldn’t laugh at you if you got locked out.”

“If I did it multiple times a month I think you’d be justified.” She blew a raspberry and I blew one back, an old holdover from our early days where fights would be ended by the wet trumpeting.

“Well, thanks for the help, see ya around!” MJ said, and headed back to her apartment.

“See ya!” I called back, as I leaned back into my own and put the key back onto the dish, before locking up and heading to get some groceries.

The trip was relatively uneventful, I went to the closest market to our apartment –only a couple blocks– and purchased the milk and bananas all while managing to come across as a normal human who had had only normal human things happen to them. I had almost managed to convince myself that everything that morning had been normal (I was vehemently avoiding looking down at my chest), until I was about halfway through the slog back up my apartment building’s stairs. My hand holding the full gallon of milk was getting tired, and I had the thought that switching the hand holding it and the one holding the bushel might be a good idea. Before I could enact this plan though, my body apparently decided that it was done holding the eight pounds of milk, and my fingers slipped open around the handle; the stickiness my hands had had that morning was apparently nowhere to be found.

I panicked, watching the milk begin to fall through midair down a flight of steps, and I reached out the now free hand in what was (what should have been) a plainly fruitless effort. But as my hand shot out to try and grab the milk, something shot out of my hand. Coming from my wrist, a thick, white, rope-like material that attached onto the milk and stopped its decent midair.

I sat on the couch for a very long time after. At some point I left the staircase and put the milk in the fridge, but I have no recollection. I must have managed to get the string-stuff off the milk carton somehow, and also get it to detach from my wrist. I’m pretty sure I flushed the whole strand down the toilet. It’s a godsend the thing didn’t clog. But overall, my brain was entirely preoccupied with desperately trying to come up with any explanation. There weren’t any gaping holes in my skin that I could see, the stuff had just erupted from the underside of my wrist, like a fast growing hair. The tv was off, and I did not feel like getting up to turn it on or grab a book or some shit, so I just sat, on the couch, for a long while. It felt like I was frozen in time, a weighty fog pushing in on me, similar to the feeling from the day before. Like there was a “before” and an “after” in my life, and I was now in the after, but I didn’t know after what.

Eventually, I knew time had passed, because Aunt May got home. She opened the unlocked door, and I recognized the signature loud claterring of her keychain. May always gets off work pretty early on Fridays, but most other days she’s working till 5 or 6. That day it was 6, which meant she got home around 6:20-something. May saw me sitting contemplatively on the couch and tried talking.

“Hey sweetie, how were you today? Did you get the groceries?”

At the sound of her voice I was fully snapped out of my thoughts, not just passively aware of her entrance to the apartment. “I, uh– what?”

“The groceries, did you get them?”

“Y–yeah. Should be in the fridge and stuff..”

“You put bananas in the fridge?” May said, trying to put a joking tone in her voice.

I was too worried that maybe she was going to notice something wrong with me though to play along, so I just stumbled out, “No, I mean, I don’t think–” and I got up to try and find where I had put the bananas, not being able to remember. I found them pretty quickly, by the toaster oven, and pointed them to May saying “See, they’re, like, right here, you know?”

She hesitated a moment before speaking. “Yes, I see Pj. Are you feeling alright, you have this look on your face.”

“I’m fine, just,” Don’t say tired, then she won’t let you go to the show tonight, I thought. Because going out and listening to live music ranked above my body going haywire in my priorities. “Bored. I haven’t been able to focus on anything all day, being so excited for the concert Ben’s taking me too tonight!” It was half true, and I was speaking in half truths with increasing frequenty.

“You sure you’re feeling up to that?”

“Yes, definitely, I’m feeling loads better than I did yesterday, I promise.”

She sighed, but believed me enough to drop it. “Okay, if you say so. Have you eaten dinner yet or do you want me to whip something up?”

I hadn’t even eaten lunch that day, and my hunger set it on me all at once. “Some dinner would be great! I’ll be in my room, call me out when it’s ready.”

I retreated into my bedroom, thinking my yesterday self naive for being worried about some stupid spider bite, when actual crazy shit was happening right now. Again, not great inductive reasoning skills. But unsure what else could be done, I took up my usual pre-show ritual of picking out a sick outfit. Not having to worry about whether something would be baggy enough to damper my chest was really nice. First I grabbed my Dickies that had white stitching. Then I put on an AJJ muscle tee that had been kinda tight on me before but now fit just right. I added some chains, a spiked choker and matching bracelets, a battle jacket Ben had been helping me work on that had only a few patches and a good handful of pins, and just a bit of black eyeshadow, before deciding against it and wiping it off. I’ll be damned before I let an existential and biological crisis keep from putting together a fit.

After spending multiple minutes just looking at myself in the mirror, wondering if I was crazy or if my arms maybe looked a bit more muscular than they had the day before, May called out that dinner was ready. I gathered myself and headed back out of my room, determined to not think about any of the weird shit for the rest of the night. I was going to have a good time tonight if it killed me.

To my surprise, Ben was there, setting the table.

“Hey sleepyhead!” He called over his shoulder, a smirking tone in his voice, “Hope you got your beauty rest today cause you’re gonna need all the energy you can get for the show tonight.”

I tried to play along, getting past the minor surprise of Ben actually getting home earlier than promised. “Heh, you bet. Better watch out for me in the pit later!”

May chimed in with an explanation, “Apparently, Danny managed to come in part way into the shift, so with three people working the bar, Ben was able to leave a few minutes early!”

“I’m sure this is a difficult situation to comprehend, take all the time you need to adjust Pj.”

I chuckled, "You have no idea.”

Dinner was good, spaghetti and meatballs with corn off the cob and mashed potatoes. We ate in the inconsistent noise of chit-chat between bites, a pleasant and familiar chatter. Around 7:30 we were all finishing up, Ben putting his dish in the sink and going to grab his jacket, telling me to get ready to go. The walk to the venue was a little over twenty minutes, so he wanted us to get on our way so he’d have time to talk his way in via his friends. I gladly obliged, and went to start the slow process of putting on my favorite shoes, the Doc Martens I’d ladder-laced with purple shoelaces. Ben had thrifted them for me, and he always insisted that side-zippers on combat boots were for weaklings who didn’t have the “true spirit” in them; I thought he was just engaging with the old punk tradition of proving how cool you are by going through the most pain. But Docs are Docs, and I wasn’t complaining.

“You good to go Pj? I will leave without you if you take too longggg,” Ben teased from the doorway. I patted down my pockets, making sure I had the necessities: phone, wallet, wired earbuds, back-up safety pins in case something broke, and phone again.

“Ready!” I said.

“Alright, let’s get going then.”

We called out a “Bye!” and “Love you!” to Aunt May in unison, her call back of “Have a good night!” getting half muffled as we walked out into the hallway and closed the apartment door.

Ben and I walked down the hall to the staircase, and when we passed the Watson’s door, I asked, “Did I tell you MJ locked herself out of the apartment again?”

He gave a short laugh and said, “No way, really?”

“Yeah, when I came out to head for groceries, I found her arms full of bags struggling against the door. Apparently a record shop across the city had some exclusive drops today and in her early morning rush to get there, she forgot her key.”

“She should get a necklace with a spare on it, and just never take it off at this point,” Ben suggested as we came upon the top of the stairs and began walking down.

I said, “I’m sure she’d find a way to lose that too,” and we laughed together, the funny moment keeping my mind off what had happened in that staircase a few hours before.

Most of the walk to the venue happened over an inconsequential conversation about whatever topic connected to the next one. Talking about the artists that we’d be seeing that night led to talking about the alt-rock artist scene around here in general, then the artist scene throughout NYC, then unconventional shows in off-broadway theaters, then about broadway in general (a land of overly-commercial spectacle that was far too inaccessible for the average person, we agreed), then I mentioned how MJ had bought some musical vinyls that day, which brought up indie-pop female musicians, and so on. Ben led the way, taking the turns to our destination, and I followed by his side.

The time went by quickly, and soon enough we were at the bar/music venue, a familiar type of locale to me, though I’d never been to this particular one before. There were a couple guys hanging out front with instruments and carrying cases strewn around them.

They must’ve been the band Ben knew, cause he called out to them, “Hey guys! Hobie, how you been?” and dapped up one of the musicians, a tall guy with wicks and a ton of piercings. Ben and the guy (Hobie, I guessed) exchanged some dude-flavored pleasantries and then Ben motioned to me and said, “This is my cousin, Pj. They go to school over at Midtown.”

A chorus of heys and sups and head nods followed, and I felt that special glow I always felt when someone introduced me with they/them pronouns. I played it cool and just gave a small wave, wondering if my newly flat chest made it so I really did look androgynous. It’s not really possible to “pass” when you're nonbinary like if you’re a binary trans person, but the closest you can get is people not being able to tell your gender, or right then what gender you transitioned from. New hope was entering me of not always being immediately clocked as AFAB.

“We were just about to head in for sound checks,” Hobie said, "Y'all are good to come with.”

Me and Ben nodded, and the band picked up their stuff and headed to the door, where they motioned their heads at us to the doorman, signaling we were with them and cool to be let in for free. The door swung open, revealing a dim and musky bar, a nice amount of floorspace, and a stage at the far back of the room.

Ben kept chatting with the musicians, so I wandered off to get a more detailed lay of the land, checking out the decor. There were a ton of posters and signed vinyls for various bands that the owner of the venue had clearly accumulated over the years that were covering almost every inch of blank wall. I got so distracted looking at the adornments, I wasn’t looking where I was going. I bumped into a gangly teen, probably only a couple years older than me, who was trying (and struggling) to carry a speaker half his height. He cried out, too late, and started teetering. I instinctively reached out my arms to try and help him from dropping it. But instead of feeling the insanely heavy weight of the massive speaker, it was…light. Lighter than the milk had been only early that day. By a lot. After a stunned moment on my part, I took it out of his arms and easily carried it the rest of the way over to the stage, expecting at any moment for it to start feeling as heavy as it surely was and plummet down to the floor.

“Is, um, this spot good?” I spoke out, faltering.

The guy gave me a dazed and confused look, which I’m sure I was also giving him back, and just nodded. I placed it down, still feeling like I’d been carrying a big cardboard box with almost nothing in it.

“Damn bro, that thing weighed like 50 or 60 pounds,” He said, “Do you work out?”. I suppose my meek figure and my height of just barely 5’4” didn’t give off “can easily carry almost half my body weight”. I mean, it shouldn’t have. It didn’t make sense. But my insistence on not thinking about weird body stuff tonight was still strong enough to not let me question it. So I just shrugged. And tried to keep my hands from shaking.

“Sorry for uh bumping into you and stuff.”

“S’all good man. Thanks for the help.”

“Yeah yeah sure…” I trailed off.

There were a couple moments of awkward silence, before he shuffled in places and said, “I better get back to setting up. Just make sure to watch where you’re going next time. Thanks again!” and he headed off through a door to some backroom with a small wave.

Voices behind me got louder, and I jumped a little when Ben suddenly appeared next to me.

He didn’t seem to notice though, and just said as the rest of the guys walked past, “Hobie’s band is opening so they’re gonna start setting up. You need anything? I was talking to this cute guy at the bar and he said he can make you a shirley temple if you want.”

I gave a genuine laugh and peered around him to get a look at this guy. “I’m fine, thank you. And how cute is this guy?”

“Pj…” He said, a little sheepishly, the slight mumble making its way into his tone that way it always did when he got a crush. He was usually such a “cool” guy, but in those moments an earnest bashfulness would possess him. I loved seeing him like that. The rarity of it made the times he got like that so much more special. I always savored it. I wish I could have savored that one a little more.

I spotted his new crush behind the bar, shaking something. Tall, slim with some bulk in the shoulders, dark hair with just a subtle but carefully maintained beard. Pretty typically in line for Ben’s type.

“Well, he’s cute, and I am utterly unsurprised that you’re into him.”

He brought his fist to his mouth, the large knuckle pressing into his lip to try and hide his grin. “Shut up kid. You’re gonna blow my cover!”

With a smirk, I shrugged, and motioned him to head back over. “If you wanna flirt, go flirt!”

“Sh—shhhh!” Ben said, pressing his hands onto my lips now, a form of his cruel and unusual punishing I was quite used to. “I’m here for the music Pj, not cruising. Besides, I’d hate to bother him at work.” He tried to put the cool identity back on, and turned to the stage, watching as one of the band members tuned his bass.

“Uh huh, I’m sure you would Ben.”

“Thank you for your trust. Now just you wait, Hobie said he and his band have been working on some sick stuff. And I’m gonna be here with you for every sec of it.”

Ben lasted two songs into their set before he “got thirsty” and promptly spent the rest of that band’s time and half of the nexts at the bar, chatting the bartender up. I didn’t mind, the artists were solid, with some really good riffs here and there, and the crowd was a pleasantly large size. Not too big where you couldn’t move around but not too small where the space felt empty. I had long outgrown feeling like the odd one out at punk shows just because I was younger than most others there. I knew how to find my people (pride pins and eyebrow piercings made it easy once you knew what to look for) and would strike up chats about if they’d ever been to this venue or had seen these artists before, recent show they’d been too, where they got that sick patch on their jacket, all that kinda stuff.

I would’ve liked if more teens were at these shows, but the occasional smattering I saw didn’t give off the best vibes. Boys you could smell the nicotine gum and vapes on from across the room who probably thought they could turn lesbians straight. Their wallet chains and band tees didn’t fool me.

But right then it was a fine night. It felt good listening to live music again; if I go too long without experiencing it I legit will go insane. Everything that night was good so far though, definitely filling my need. Around 9:40ish I went to the bathroom on the side wall of the room (even more dimly lit than the rest of the space, still pretty clean though), and when I came out there was a goth-esque butch and femme couple in their mid-twenties waiting outside the door. The butch gave her partner a small peck on the lips and headed into the restroom once I vacated the doorway. There was only the smallest pocket of space between the crowd and the bathroom door area, and right at the edges of the crowd I saw a guy sideyeing the couple and giving an eyeroll when they kissed. I thought I heard him say something under his breath too.

The femme definitely noticed him as well, and her and I both muttered “asshole” at the same time. We gave each other a shocked and just slightly amused look as the guy turned his head at us in a clear anger. He was maybe early thirties, kinda stocky and pretty tall, taller than both me and the femme.

“You two say some shit?” He said sharply. Neither of us responded. “Fuckin thought so”. His face pulled into an expression like he’d smelled something really vile. The man turned back towards the stage, saying just loud enough to hear, “Fucking fags”

Without thinking I responded “The fuck you just say to me man?”, taking a step towards him.

The femme tried to give me a look saying not to engage. I shouldn’t have. I knew as well as anyone else that talking back to an asshole who was way physically bigger and stronger than you is stupid, and you’re probably just going to get yourself hurt. This wasn’t my first time being called slurs, I should’ve either tried to tell someone with power about him and get him removed or if that wasn’t viable (which it often wasn’t) stay as far away from him as possible for the rest of the night.

But I had had a very long day, I had been trying to push down the confused shitty feeling for hours, and I could feel something sparking in me.

“I said you and her were fucking fags. It's sick how young you kids are doing this shit. What even are you?”

A spark of anger, of my anger wanting to get out.

“I’m whatever the fuck I want asshole. You can call me Pj.”

And something behind that anger, that gave it power. I felt a power in me.

“Did you pick that name yourself tranny?”

I had lifted that speaker like it was nothing. That strength was still in me, I could feel it like it was one of my senses. I could knock this guy's block off. I could finally actually do something against scumbag bigots. But…what if I couldn’t? Nothing about the weird shit that day made sense. I didn’t feel secure enough in any of it to even try. Fear started creeping in and I realized how stupid of a situation I had just gotten myself in. I couldn’t do shit.

Maybe, you could try, a little voice in the back of my head said, trying to be heard over a growing anxious static. You can feel it, you can feel that you can do something here. Just try.

No, no, another voice sounded. That’s stupid. You’re going to get hurt. Just shut up and run away.

But what about the femme? You got this guy all riled up and now you’re just going to abandon her? She’s going to get hurt.

NO. I can’t. None of what’s happened today is real. Okay, none of it is real and none of it is going to stay and none of it can help. I can’t. I can’t. I– I can’t let any of this be real.

So I just stood there, frozen and close to bursting with fear and anger and nausea. That’s when the butch came back out of the bathroom, took in the situation and deduced some stuff, and gave the guy a withering glare only a hardened butch woman can produce, saying, “We got a problem man?”

He blinked, gave a sort of snort-snuffle, and turned toward the door and said, “Fuck this, I’m not staying for a show in a fag venue. The queers at the bar were bad enough. Go kill yourselves, or get AIDS, whichever comes first.” and he started pushing through the crowd.

Through all my overwhelmed nervous system, I still stupidly called out, “Go die ass-hat!”, just to let out some steam that otherwise was about to pop me open.

“You first, tranny-bitch!” He growled back, a deep venom in his voice that shook my bones.

Fuck.

The couple tried to say things to me, asking if I was okay and stuff, but I hardly heard. I was trying really hard to push down the voice in my head that told me I could do something. That I really did have strength. I couldn’t let that voice be right, I couldn’t let all that had happened that day actually be able to be used. I couldn’t act on the strength I felt, because that would mean I was stuck like this. And what then?

I just stood there for a few seconds, until I heard a familiar voice. My vision came back into focus, and I saw Ben pushing through to get to us.

“Pj! What happened? Are you okay? I heard some stuff from across the room. Are you hurt or anything?"

“I– I’m fine…” I said, very unconvincingly.

Ben glances over at the couple, asking for details that clearly I wasn’t going to give.

The femme spoke first, “Some asshole had a problem with me and my girlfriend kissing. The kid tried to stand up for us, but he was like 6-and-a-half-feet tall. She scared him off,” she said, motioning with her head toward the butch. She turned to me and asked, “Is this your brother…?”, maybe wanting to be safe and make sure this wasn’t a kidnapping thing.

“My cousin, don’t worry he’s cool.” I said, trying to muster my usual snark.

The couple chuckled and relaxed a bit. Ben still seemed on edge, fidgeting with his hands slightly. “Okay, I’m glad you’re okay Pj. It’s… getting late. I think we should head home.”

I gawked at him. “It’s not even 10 yet! You said we could stay out late tonight, and what about that bartender guy you were–”

“Pj.” He said sternly, in a tone I had almost never heard him use. “It’s been a long night, we should start heading home. Please.”

Oh. He’s worried about me, I realized. He’s worried something bad will happen.

I read the protective fear in his face, the expression looking too old on someone only 25. I nodded, and waved goodbye to the couple, saying I hoped to see them again at a show sometime. They nodded and the femme gave a wave back, giving out a “Get home safe!” along with it. Ben put his arm around my shoulder. As I turned around I saw them as they held each other’s hands, the grip tight.

Once we were outside, the guilt really started setting in.

I halted a few steps past the door and croaked, “I’m so sorry Ben, I didn’t want to make you leave early. I was acting like an idiot, and– and–”

He stopped where he was, a few paces ahead of me, and looked back at me concerned, “Hey! Hey! It’s alright Pj. You shouldn’t feel bad for someone else being an ass.”

“But I was riling him up–”

Ben closed the space between us, coming back towards me. “The only reason he could be riled up is cause he’s an ass. That’s not your fault. It was nice of you to stand up for that couple Pj, legit I’m proud, but I thought I’d taught you better than to start fights you can’t win.”

I thought he had too. But you lift 50 pounds like it’s nothing once and suddenly you start feeling like you’re able to beat anyone up. Maybe because you can, the little voice tried calling to me again. You could’ve fought him. You know it. And I did. I still felt that strength running through me, and it felt true and real.

I tried to tell Ben, “But I could’ve. I really felt like I could take him. I still do. I was just…chickening out.”

He just looked at me in clear disbelief, leaning against the wall of the building.. “Pj, I love you, but no way you could’ve. It wasn’t your fight, and that’s okay. Pick your battles and allat. If you know you can help in a situation then help, but don’t think you’ve got some crazy powers that make you stronger than you are.” But I do. It wasn’t that he thought I was lying, Ben didn’t think me malicious or stupid, just overconfident

“I…” I started, wanting to tell him about all the stuff that had happened since I’d woke up. Maybe he could do something. Or at least I could make him understand why I’d acted like that.

Ben stepped in front of me, crouching down slightly to match my height, looking me dead in the eyes in the most loving way I’d ever been looked dead in the eyes.. “You are incredible Pj, and you have a lot of strengths that can help people, your people. Our people. Just know those strengths, and know how and when to use them. Okay?”

Even though he didn’t really know all that was happening inside me, I still felt that maybe he understood. “Okay.” And for the first time all day I really did feel it.

He straightened up, and I asked him, “So anything happen with the bartender guy? Or was he a total creep?”

Ben chuckled sheepishly. “We talked for a while–”

“YEAH I NOTICED”

He laughed, clearly embarrassed. “SORRY! Last track of time. He seems nice, a very good mixologist definitely. I got his number–”

“Ooooooo”

“Yeah, yeah. But near the end, this guy was at the bar, drinking an IPA I think, giving us weird looks. Eventually he fucked off, but…I think it might’ve been the same guy that accosted you.”

“Tall, 30s, kinda buff?”

He nodded.

We both sighed, but I was still happy he’d gotten the bartender's number. We just stood there for another minute or two in silence, both of us leaning against the wall, me putting my head in the crook of his shoulder, and enjoying the never fully quiet noise of the city. The constant buzz that eventually you tune out, making interruptions to it still a shock.

I was about to tell Ben I was ready to start walking home when a sharp, “HEY, YOU” rang out from further down the sidewalk. It was a tall, stalking figure, coming towards us. It was the same guy who’d been yelling slurs at me inside.

Ben recognized him too, I saw, and he stepped into the middle of the sidewalk, away from the wall, and called out, “Hey man, you need something? Cause otherwise I think we’re good,” clearly trying to diffuse the situation.

I followed Ben, standing beside him on the sidewalk.

The guy reached a point only a few feet away from us, and ignored Ben’s words, spewing, “You fags fucked up my night. I left my keys so I gotta come back and see your disgusting asses again. Not a shock you two know each other, you’re both so shameless”. He was drunk, which I hadn’t noticed earlier but could definitely tell now from the slight slurring in his words and unsteadiness in his feet. And a drunk bigot is much more dangerous than a sober one.

Still, Ben tried to disentangle us, playing it cool. “We don’t wanna bother you man, just go get your keys and have a good night. We’re not stopping you.”

The man spat next to Ben's feet, the saliva leaving a trail at the corner of his mouth instead of coming out as a clean glob. Ben stiffened next to me. The look in the man’s eyes was pointed and disgusted. “Fuck off fruit. Shut up or I’ll make you.” Ben’s arm protectively reached over to cover my chest, but I felt in my blood that I should've been covering him. The strength felt even more clear than before, it pumped in my veins and I knew I could knock off this guy's head if I tried. If I just took a step forward and did something.

Ben made a last attempt at peace. “We don’t want trouble, we just wanna head home, like you.”

“I am nothing like you” The man said, the vitriol in it bone-melting. He fumbled for something in his jacket, and pulled out a small handgun. Ben pushed his arm against me harder. DO SOMETHING, the voice cried desperately. YOU CAN DO SOMETHING. “Say that shit again and–”

Ben interrupted, a desperate tone in his voice, and leaned forward “Listen man–”

“SHUT UP”

There was a bang.

I thought I heard the sound of something shatter, though it might’ve just been in my head.

Then it got very very quiet.

Somewhere, sounding muffled in my ears, there was a sound of footsteps running off.

And suddenly I was kneeling on the ground, my hands on Ben’s chest, bloodied. There was so much blood. Oh god, G-d, there was so much blood.

Suddenly the only words I knew how to say were “I’m sorry” and “I love you”.

I said them enough times to make up for the lack of any other words.

Ben said them back as many times as he could, splutteringly. And a lot of choked out “fuck”s to go along with them.

The last thing he said…

As people started gathering around us, pouring out from the venue and surrounding places.

Was quiet, stringy, and something he was trying very hard to force out.

He gripped my wrist as tight as he could, my wrist that was so so covered in his blood.

And he said,

“Just do all you can Pj. Do all you can. I love you so mu–” his voice caught, seizing up. His eyes went glassy, his grip loosened.

And Ben was gone.

And it was my fault.

And somewhere, very far away.

A curtain finished rising.