"Yawn." A man with heavy eyelids and disheveled hair dragged himself out of bed, his movements sluggish. He looked like he hadn't slept in days, dark circles under his eyes betraying his exhaustion.
Stumbling to the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, the shock of it jolting him slightly awake. He grabbed his toothbrush and began brushing his teeth, the rhythmic motion almost mechanical.
"Ugh, I'm so tired," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. "I should've patrolled the city less last night."
This lean, muscular man with tousled brown hair and a strikingly handsome face was none other than Peter Parker—the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. Despite his superhero alter ego, mornings like these reminded him that even he had limits.
After finishing his morning routine, he stepped into the shower, letting the warm water wash away the remnants of his restless night. Once clean, he dressed in fresh clothes and tossed the dirty ones into the washing machine.
With a sigh, he made his way to the kitchen, where he prepared a cup of warm black seed water. He carried it to his cluttered work desk, the glow of his computer screen illuminating the room. Sitting down, he took a sip of the bitter drink and grimaced.
"Ugh, bitter," Peter muttered, shaking his head.
He drank it anyway, knowing its purported benefits for wound healing. As Spider-Man, he was no stranger to injuries, and he figured it was better to be prepared. After downing the rest in one gulp, he turned his attention to his computer.
His fingers flew across the keyboard as he uploaded damning evidence against the corrupt president of a major company. But Peter didn't stop there.
With ease, he hacked into the bank accounts of several individuals, including the president himself. One by one, he drained their funds, transferring the money into his own accounts accounts he used to fund his vigilantism and support those in need.
When the last transaction was complete, Peter leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms above his head. "Done," he said with a satisfied grin.
He stood up, grabbed his gym bag, and headed out the door. Outside, his sleek Mazda RX-7 awaited, its custom design mirroring the iconic style of Kenji's RX-7. Peter slid into the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life as he pulled out of the driveway of his luxurious home.
The drive to the MMA gym was short but refreshing, the cool morning air clearing his mind. When he arrived, he was greeted by the familiar sounds of fists hitting pads and the grunts of determined fighters. Peter quickly changed into his training gear and began warming up. His coach, a seasoned fighter with a no-nonsense demeanor, approached him with a nod.
"Ready to work, Parker?" the coach asked, tossing him a pair of gloves.
Peter smirked. "Always."
As the session began, Peter threw himself into the training, his movements precise and powerful.
The coach studied Peter for a moment, then said, "You know, you could go pro if you wanted to. You've got the skills."
Peter didn't respond right away, his expression thoughtful. Before he could answer, one of the other gym members chimed in, his tone half-joking, half-resentful. "Looks like Coach trusts you more, Peter. Even though we're the ones actually competing."
"Shut it," the coach snapped, his face red with embarrassment. The others burst into laughter, and Peter chuckled along with them.
"I can't, Coach," Peter finally said, shaking his head. "My daily schedule's already packed. This is the only time I get to have fun."
The training session continued, intense and grueling. By the time it was over, Peter was drenched in sweat, his muscles aching but his mind clear. He sat on a bench, catching his breath and wiping his face with a towel. One of the other gym members, Bryan, plopped down beside him.
"Peter," Bryan began, curiosity etched on his face, "why do you train so much harder than the rest of us? You're not even competing."
Peter grinned, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Because it's fun, Bryan. Simple as that."
"You're crazy, man," Bryan said, shaking his head. "Thinking this is fun. Ever since you joined this gym, Coach has been ramping up the intensity. It's like he's trying to kill us."
"Isn't that a good thing?" Peter replied, his tone light. "You're all getting stronger because of it."
"Yeah, sure," Bryan said, rolling his eyes. "If by 'stronger' you mean 'barely able to walk after every session.'"
Peter laughed, clapping Bryan on the shoulder as he stood up. "I'm heading out. I promised my aunt I'd visit her today."
"See you tomorrow, then," Bryan said, offering a fist bump. Peter returned it with a smile before grabbing his bag and heading out.
The drive to his aunt's house was peaceful. Peter turned up the radio, singing along to the music at the top of his lungs, especially when he got stuck in a traffic jam. For a moment, he let himself forget about the weight of his responsibilities and just enjoyed the simple pleasure of the drive.
When he arrived, he knocked on the door, and it was opened by a stunning redheaded woman. "Tiger," she said with a warm smile.
"MJ," Peter replied, stepping inside as she wrapped him in a hug. "We're just getting everything ready," she added.
"Let me help," Peter offered, but Mary Jane shook her head.
"It's okay. You've been driving for a while. Take a seat and relax," she said, gesturing toward the couch.
Peter gave in, sinking into the soft cushions and flipping through the TV channels. Meanwhile, Mary Jane headed to the kitchen, where Aunt May was busy preparing dinner.
"Aunt May, Peter's here," Mary Jane announced.
"Really?" Aunt May said, her face lighting up as she wiped her hands on a towel. She hurried out of the kitchen, her eyes softening as she saw Peter.
"Peter," she said warmly, opening her arms.
Peter stood up and hugged her tightly. "How are you, Aunt May?"
"I'm fine, dear. But you...you've barely called since you moved out. I've been worried," Aunt May said, her voice tinged with gentle reproach.
"I've been busy," Peter admitted, scratching the back of his neck. "But I'm here now, aren't I?"
Aunt May smiled, her worry melting away. Just then, Mary Jane called from the kitchen, "Aunt May, Peter. Dinner's ready!"
The three of them gathered around the table, the aroma of home-cooked food filling the air. As they began to eat, the conversation flowed easily, laughter and warmth filling the room.
Aunt May set her fork down and gave Peter a knowing look. "So, Peter," she began, her tone casual but her eyes twinkling with curiosity, "have you found yourself a girlfriend yet?"
Peter nearly choked on his food. He cleared his throat and shook his head. "No, Aunt May. I've been too busy. I don't exactly have time to go around approaching women."
Mary Jane, who had been quietly listening, leaned forward with a playful smirk. "Then what about me, Tiger?" she asked, her voice teasing but with a hint of something more.
Peter didn't hesitate. "No," he said bluntly.
Mary Jane blinked, caught off guard. Normally, Peter would stumble over his words or blush when the topic of relationships came up. But this time, his response was firm, almost cold.
"Why not?" she asked, her voice softer now, her smile fading.
Peter hesitated for a moment, then sighed. "I don't trust you enough to be my girlfriend," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. He knew what Mary Jane was capable of in the future, and given his track record with luck, he wasn't willing to take the risk.
Mary Jane's eyes widened, and she looked down at her plate, hurt flashing across her face. Aunt May, sensing the tension, reached over and lightly slapped Peter's hand. "That was rude, Peter," she scolded.
"I'm just being honest," Peter said, "Besides, I wouldn't make a good boyfriend. You'd probably end up leaving me anyway."
Aunt May frowned. "Why would you say that? You'd be a wonderful boyfriend if you just gave yourself a chance."
Peter shook his head, his expression somber. "No, Aunt May. With the life I'm living, it's just not possible."
The table fell silent after that, the weight of Peter's words hanging in the air. They finished their meal in quiet, the usual warmth of their gatherings dimmed by the unspoken tension.
When it was time to leave, Peter stood up and thanked Aunt May for dinner. Mary Jane followed him out, walking beside him as he made his way to his car.
"Peter," she said softly, stopping him before he could open the car door.
He turned to face her, his expression apologetic. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier," he said, his voice sincere. "I didn't mean to hurt you."
Mary Jane nodded, though her eyes still held a trace of sadness. "It's okay. I think I understand where you're coming from." She paused, then took a deep breath. "But if there was ever a chance for us. If things were different would you take it?"
"No," he said gently, shaking his head. "I'm sorry, MJ."
Mary Jane's shoulders slumped, but she managed a small, bittersweet smile. "Okay," she whispered, her voice barely audible.
Then he gave her a nod and got into his car. As he drove away, he glanced in the rearview mirror and saw Mary Jane still standing there, her figure growing smaller until she disappeared from view.
The drive home was quiet, the hum of the engine the only sound accompanying his thoughts. Peter sighed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel.