I haven't seen Peter in a couple of days. He hasn't come to school, which is odd because from what I have heard Peter is a model student, barely ever misses a day. But he hasn't been back since I punched that douchebag of a guy. I wonder if he has anything to do with his absence.

Well, probably. The boy is a dick to everyone.

In a sense that was true. No one comes near me in fear of getting a fist to the face. That and they think i am straight up insane. They're not far off the mark. I'm not insane, just a mutant with the ability to talk to myself. And regenerate, but ya know the voices are the fun part!

'Watch me.' I snap. Shit i didn't mean to say that out loud. I now have 32 pairs of eyes watching me. I sink into my chair, face turning the exact shade of a tomato. Luckily the bell rang and I literally sprinted out of the classroom. I ditched soccer practice and went straight home. I barged through the door to my apartment and collapsed on the couch with a sigh.

I wish i could see him. I know its stupid, to like a boy you barely even know. But I can't explain this feeling I have for him. Back at my old school, people practically threw themselves at me. But never have I felt the way I do towards Peter. After many conversations with myself i decide I am gonna do something stupid.

My head is throbbing and my lungs still burn. It has been four days since the Sandman and Vulture attack. Two of which I spent unconscious in Dad's lab. Now I was back in my own room 'resting'. I didn't have the guts to tell Dad that due to my healing factor I was completely fine, well apart from a slight headache. So I allowed him and Pops to baby me, for a while at least.

I turn over in my bed to see it was almost 6 p.m. With a sigh I get out of bed and make my way to the kitchen, glad to leave my room for the first time since the accident. I go to the fridge and pour myself a glass of soda. I run my fingers through my shaggy, unwashed hair and down the soda in one. "Look who's up! Hey buddy." I turn to see Uncle Clint and Aunt Natasha striding down the corridor, huge smiles on their faces. I wave at them, trying to smile back. "Tony will be glad to see you up. He has been worried sick." Of course he has.

"Where is he?" I ask quietly, trying not to worsen my headache. "Down in his cave. He hasn't left there in hours though, so you might not want to go down there." I just shrug and head in the direction of the labs. I knock on the door and let myself in. there are papers strewn across every desk available. Bits of tech piled high of the main workbench, hiding Dad from any visitors. I clear my throat, startling him.

"You're up!" he rushes over to me. I'm flooded with questions along the lines of 'are you ok' or 'how do you feel'. I shrug them off and simply say "I'm fine." he looks at me questionably, like he is trying to read me. "There's something you're not telling me."

I roll my eyes. "How do you do that?" I grumble taking a seat at a messy desk.

"I know you Peter. I know how you try and suppress every little emotion." I gasp. Do I really do that. Yeah, okay I'm distant and not very social, but I don't do that. Do I?

"So whats up." He looks at me, genuinely concerned. Then he smirked, a glint coming to his eye. "Is it about wade." At the mention of his name I shoot up and cry out.

"WHAT?"

Dad just laughs at me. "How the hell did you know that. Did Clint tell you." He just shook his head and replied "You were mumbling his name in your sleep when I came to check on you earlier."

I slump back into the chair, head in my hands. This was beyond embarrassing. I could feel my ears getting hot, the heat flowing up my neck and spreading across my face. I was no doubt bright red by the time i lifted my hands down. Dad was grinning stupidly at me. Please god just take me now.

"Sooooo, tell me about him. Is he cute? Is he tall? Does he like you back?" I groan, sinking lower into the chair with every question. "Yes he's cute, yes he's tall. And i don't know if he likes me back." A ding rings out from a nearby laptop. Another mischievous grin creeps across my Dads face.

"Is he blonde?"

"Yes?"

"Is he your age?"

"Yes?" I say even more confused than before. "Why are you asking?"

"He's coming up the elevator."