This wasn’t the first time Peter had shown up at Anon’s door.

He’d shown up…countless times, actually. He was constantly searching for comfort and solace in their presence.

Each new mission he went on seemed more daunting and dangerous than the last. Had it not been for Anon, he likely would have gone to Ned’s to hide his wounds from Aunt May.

“Hey, Anon?”

Cutting through the music playing in Anon’s headphones, Peter’s voice called out from behind the door. It was late. He knew that…but he couldn’t stop himself.

“Can I come in? Nothing serious…promise. Not super- hurt…or anything.”

He chuckled nervously. When the door opened, he had his head down. He perked up at the sight of Anon. His eyes softened. He was wearing a slightly better-fitting ‘I survived my trip to NYC’ shirt.

When Anon let him in, he padded over to the couch, crashing onto it with a groan.

“I’m just gonna…rest here for a minute. If that’s okay…”

He muttered; his eyelids already heavy-looking.