Gwen POV
Two months. That's how long it's been since my father died, and forced Peter to promise to leave me out of his life. He'd done a pretty damn good job of keeping it too, no matter how much I wished he would come knock on my window in the middle of the night after a rough night. Every night I would wait, but lately I feel like I let go. At the same time I keep holding on to the little hints, the littlest possibilities that perhaps he hasn't given up, or that he'll change his mind and come back. And yet, even after two months, I'm still sitting here, putting off a bio report to just sulk in my pathetic self pity. Tap.
My laptop and coffee were chucked at the floor in my rush to see the window Peter had so many times climbed through. Dark. There was nothing there. Tears were welling in my eyes as I realized just how much I needed him right now. To hold me and tell me he loves me and to never let me go. How much I needed him to let me cry, to get all the unresolved issues out of the way, to let go of all the pain we'd caused each other, to forgive and forget and to get our old relationship back, even if it meant having to see him in pain, bloody and bruised, and to clean it up night after night, but that would be so worth it because he'd smile the sheepish smile and kiss me to make me relax and we'd just lay down and savor each others company. I'd have my head on his chest, playing with the strings on his hoodie and he'd play with my hair and we wouldn't talk because words couldn't describe the feeling of peace that enveloped us. I was so lost in my desires and thoughts that I almost missed the second tapping noise. Almost. This time I flew to my feet and glided across the room to the window, where, yet again, there was nothing. But there was something, something on the fire escape. Taking a deep breath and praying hard it would be my Peter, I opened the window and slid through. There was nothing. The tears were coming once more and I was smothered by a swimming black hole of disappointment and rage and emptiness. And then a strong arm wrapped around my sweater-clad waist, spun me around and I was pressed between the cold brick wall and Peter's warm chest with his hands on either side of my head, hands against the brick. His eyes were flaming with an intensity written about in stories, and I could feel his breath through the crisp New York night air. It was like every part of my body where he touched was lit on fire, his body pressed against mine and his face just inches away from my own. The grin crept its way onto my face as I placed one hand on his muscular chest that I knew was covered in the scars he'd gained.
"Peter." My voice was less than a whisper, filled with the pain I'd dealt with and the desperation for his presence and the plain love I had for the incredible man before me. Maybe it was all the emotions that laced their way through that one word that caused him to slam his lips against mine, letting his own emotions sneak in. He pulled away slowly, only to rest his forehead on my own, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist, pressing me against the bricks. "Gwen," he said, his voice softly breaking. "I love you. I love you so much it hurts, and I give up on this promise, I can't take it, and I'm so, so sorry. I put you through hell and I wouldn't blame you for hating me-" He didn't get to finish before I reached up, wrapped me hands around his neck, lacing them through his hair and pulled his head down slightly so his lips met mine. We stayed like that for what felt like years, silently telling each other everything words would ruin. I pulled back this time and murmured the three words that curved both our mouths into smiles before reconnecting our lips. I love you.