My reflection peered back at me as I stood on the front porch, waiting for the door. I humbly looked back down to my feet, swirling energy around my fingertips to pass the time.

A flower box beside me burned with the gray crusted body of a dead marigold.

I brushed my fingertips against a brittle petal. There was a pain that stung my skin but it barely caught my attention. Instead I watched as the vibrant orange sank back into the plant, returning to the state of all the rest.

Peter's mother opened the door. Her strawberry blond hair was bunched into a loose braid, and her pink lips bent into a smile,

"Hey, hun. He's downstairs waiting for ya."

"Thanks, Ms. Maximoff."

She shut the door behind us and I asked,

"Hey, is noon okay for gardening this Sunday?"

"Sounds perfect. You have to help me find something for that shady spot in the back, though. Anything I try to plant there always seems to go to crap."

"Already got it. Primrose. Those love the shade."

She kissed the top of my head and patted me on the back. Her energy is strong, pained but compassionate,

"Thanks, hun."

She shooed me away with the flutter of her hand and added,

"Now go on. We both know he can't stand to wait for anything."

I laughed and twisted the metal knob to the basement. My feet descended down the steep wooden stairs. My eyes fell upon the scene of Peter lying upside-down on the couch, his legs wrapping up and bending over the top. Music blared into his eardrums from his headsets.

The room was still. A rarity. His energy was flat, longing deep for something. I'd seen him get like this before, only ever when one thing was consuming his mind.

I peeked behind his silver sneakers, earning a little smile. He slipped off the headphones hugging his ears.

"You're thinking about him again," I stated.

The smile sank back in and away.

"Yeah," Peter said faintly, delicately.

"I don't know. I, like, can't get him out of my head for some reason," he explained, covering his face with his palms.

He sat up, scratching the back of his neck,

"Do you believe all the stuff they say? Do you think my dad's really that bad?"

I shrugged my shoulders and sat down beside him, rubbing the side of his head,

"You can never really know unless you get to know him."

"Or if you can super-sense it," he argued looking at me with a smirk.

"I sense emotions, not the reasons behind them. The reasons are the important part," I clarified while tracing my thumb across his jawline.

His gaze trailed off away to the blinking lights of his arcade games, as he began nervously,

"What if...what if I go see him again? And before you say no, I know everyone thinks it's dangerous and my mom went on about how I should be scared and how—"

I pressed my index finger to his lips and smiled, telling him simply,

"Let's go, then."

His eyes went wide,

"Really?"

"Yeah. Let's drive up to New York and ask Charles to track him with Cerebro."

Peter weaved a worn, wrinkled business card in between his fingers, smiling at his chest and then meeting my eyes,

"I love you."

I transferred some energy into the tip of his nose, the heat leaving my skin. The center of his face glowed soft, wavering like a flickering lightbulb. I laughed lightly at him,

"If you loved me you'd take me to that movie you promised."

He rolled his eyes and playfully shoved me onto the couch. Peter gripped onto my wrists and hovered over me, his nose still bearing some of the light I marked it with,

"If you loved me back you would quit making me look like Rudolph, you punk."

I pulled him down to me and kissed him deeply. He broke away abruptly and chuckled at the glow now uncontrollably consuming my cheeks,

"Ha. Gotcha back," he bantered.

I just stared up at him and grinned. I took a mental picture of him there, of the blanket of light and his affectionate eyes.

And I saved it in my pocket for the darkness that followed.

A/N: Thinking about starting questions that you guys could comment on at the end of the chapter. Anyone interested?

-thecatgurl =^._.^=