The fifth time they met, Peter was in the middle of a panic attack as his hero alter ego, and, of course, that's when Deadpool showed up.

Several days after Wade had met May, he'd texted Peter that he was accepting a mission from S.H.I.E.L.D. that would hopefully pay him "enough to eat all the tacos, Pete, you don't even know" and would take him to the deepest parts of the Rainforest. He'd told Peter that he'd be out of touch for a while (no cell service there) and it would take him awhile to complete the mission, "probably only two months, Petey-pie. Don't you worry that tight ass of yours." Wade was gone for five months.

Peter had accepted that at face value. He tried not to think too hard about the fact that Wade still took jobs or that, even if he didn't technically kill anyone, maiming was almost as bad. Peter wanted to keep thinking that the man that had been so nice to him, so sweet, wasn't the cold-blooded killer he logically knew was just under the surface of Wade's senseless rambling. He wanted to keep the delusion for as long as he could because he had the sinking suspicion that this nice-guy act—while not necessarily an act (because Wade seemed to have very strict morals, even though there weren't many)—wouldn't last very long. The other shoe was bound to drop at some point.

In the five months that Wade had been gone, Peter was forced to make other friends so that he could talk to someone who wasn't his aunt (who asked too many probing questions about what he did that made him sound so tired every time he called or ate dinner at her house) or Harry (who Peter tended to spill his guts to in the midst of fighting the Green Goblin, and who always answered in a series of cruel remarks).

On a normal day (when he didn't have the suit to hide behind and give him a confidence he didn't ordinarily possess) Peter was painfully shy and an awkward, rambling mess. However, in theory, he knew how to make friends.

Sort of.

In order to do just that, he'd joined Ned's (the ex-hallmate who let him borrow his Netflix account) study group of two, where he quickly found himself befriending Ned and Ned's roommate, MJ.

Over the next five months, the three college kids became inseparable. The three of them would hole up in the library, studying together, even if it wasn't the same subject (Ned was a Business major, MJ was an English major, and Peter was a Biochemistry major). They'd go to the movies, to restaurants, to parties together. They'd even hang out at their houses and play video games together (Ned and MJ shared an apartment with MJ's childhood friend Felicia, though Peter had yet to meet the third roommate). Eventually, they were known around campus as the three musketeers and if you saw one of them, the others weren't far behind.

Ned became Peter's best friend and MJ became Peter's newest love interest.

About a month into their friendship, Ned had been waiting in Peter's apartment (so they could finish the life-sized Lego replica of Darth Maul they were going to enter into a contest), but Peter had forgotten they'd made plans. So, wounded and unable to heal because he'd been stabbed with alien tech that subverted his healing factor, Peter had stumbled in through his living room window sporting his Spider-Man suit in all its skin-tight, bloody glory. Ned had just stared at him with awe, before launching into a litany of questions while he stitched Peter up (his father was a surgeon and his mother a nurse). Ned's questions included, but were, by no means, limited to:

"Can you lay eggs?"

"What? Ew, no, of course not, Ned."

"Can you talk to other spiders, like the way Harry Potter talks to snakes?"

"Um…not that I know of? But that would be kinda cool."

"Can you spew venom?"

"No, Ned."

"Are you, like, an Avenger?"

"…yeah—I mean, basically."

"Well, how did it happen?"

Peter had let his whole origin story spill from his lips then.

Peter told Ned about the deaths of Uncle Ben, Gwen. and Captain Stacey (and his all-consuming guilt at being the cause), how he'd kind of ruined Harry's life (and had this weird masochistic need to tell Harry everything even though he knew Harry would use it for ammunition later), how he once stole Captain America's shield when him and Iron Man were basically in the middle of a divorce, and his meetups with Wade (and by extension, Spider-Man's leniency towards Deadpool). Once Peter started, he couldn't stop. He found himself pouring out all of his guilt and pain, explained how he basically ruined Liz's life, how Tony Stark was trying to take on the role of a surrogate father towards Spider-Man, and Peter's sinking suspicion that Stark knew he was Spider-Man (because why else would the owner of Stark Industries himself, promote Peter as a personal assistant to his science husband and the Hulk, Dr. Bruce Banner?).

Ned, who probably wasn't expecting such a heart to heart so early into their friendship, just listened to all Peter had to say, popped a bag of popcorn, asked Peter a few questions for clarification, and then made Peter watch several romantic comedies as a remedy for the emotional rollercoaster Peter took, after he'd finished his story. Ned was funny and loyal and a very good listener. He was also a geek in the new age, pop-culture way, as well as in the classical, hacking and good with tech way, which engendered him to Peter's own geeky tendencies even more. Therefore, he and Peter were practically made to be best friends.

However, as much as Peter enjoyed hanging out with Ned, Peter and MJ seemed to be drawn together by some sort of magnetic force.

Michelle Jones was strong and smart and didn't take shit from anyone. When she'd asked Peter to be friends (well, mostly told him they were friends) Peter had agreed, because you couldn't say "no" to MJ without a logical explanation and ample evidence to support your claims. At first, it was hard for him to understand her. She was brash and wasn't afraid to be blunt, but there was a vulnerability in the fact that she used logic and sarcasm and obscure book references as weapons to cover her insecurities. He was no stranger to using humor as a conduit for his pain.

Plus, in a way, she reminded Peter a bit of Wade.

Peter refused to think too hard about the fact that it was her quick wit and the way she seemed to only be kind to him and Ned, more than anything, that drew him to her.

It was three months into hanging out with MJ and Ned, that Peter realized he'd somehow developed feelings for the brash woman and her soft smile. He agonized over what he should do about how he felt, confiding his lady issues to Ned and wondering if MJ was worth it after everything he'd experienced with Gwen and Liz. Ned agreed MJ could take care of herself, as she held a black belt in jujutsu. And so, acting on these feelings, Peter kissed MJ and asked her to be his girlfriend.

She'd accepted.

Peter wanted to believe that he really liked her. He wanted to believe she wasn't just a distraction from the weird sense of loss he felt when Wade failed to come home when he should've or the unreasonable anger he felt when Wade failed to reply to Peter's texts asking where the man was at. He wanted to believe that he felt like kissing her all the time, not just when she referenced Harry Potter or told him she really liked Twilight because of Alice and Jasper.

Somehow, Peter almost had himself convinced that she was his soulmate, even though he didn't like her taste in foreign indie films or books and she didn't understand why he found memes so hilarious or why he listened to bubble-gum-pop as his musical guilty pleasure.

Dating MJ was how Peter found himself strapped for cash and in need for some pocket money to spend on their fifth official date, which he wanted to be perfect like he wanted everything to be for her.

Ned had suggested (in the half joking, half serious way he always said things,) that Peter should go to a ComicCon dressed as Spider-Man because he was sure to win. He was the real deal. Peter had brushed him off, right up until he saw a sign that said this specific ComicCon would be giving out a thousand dollars to the winner of the superhero contest.

So of course, Peter decided to go.

It was loud and crowded and hot in the convention center and it was possibly the worst mistake Peter had ever made. And Peter had made many mistakes in his short life.

Even with the Spider suit doing its best to filter out the sensory overload, the Con was still too much for him.

Ten minutes after Peter had finally gotten through the doors, he found himself in a corner of the convention center's lobby. He sat curled in a plush leather chair with his legs pulled close to his chest, so he could hide his face in his knees, his hands over his ears to block out the noise, and his Spidey Sense screaming danger, run, run, danger, run! at him from the back of his brain.

He did his best to slow his breathing with the techniques he'd found on YouTube after realizing that he freaked out every time a gun went off (likely PTSD because of Ben's death, but he wasn't about to admit that to anyone, let alone himself). Tears leaked out of the corners of his tightly shut eyes as embarrassment washed over him, which ratcheted his nerves even higher, causing his freak-out to become even worse.

That was how Deadpool found him. Having a meltdown in the middle of a convention, while wearing his Spider-Man suit and crying like the child the Avengers swore he was.

He knew it was the real Deadpool (there were a surprising amount of people who'd decided to dress as the antihero) when Deadpool knelt in front of him and said, "Baby Boy?" in a gruff voice that Peter would recognize anywhere.

Deadpool placed his hands on either side of Spider-Man's hips and leaned in close to make sure it was the real Spidey, without touching him.

Spider-Man looked up and saw concern written all over Deadpool's panda mask. How the man got his mask to express emotion was still just as mysterious to Spider-Man as it had always been. That familiarity had him melting into the chair a bit.

His breathing eased.

His trembling and tears stopped.

"Of course, it's our Spidey-babe. I'd know those thighs anywhere," Deadpool mumbled to the boxes, his voice like a balm to Spider-Man's ears for a few seconds. "Yeah I can see he's having a panic attack, I just don't know what to do about it."

The noise from the people milling about grew louder as someone realized that the Deadpool and Spider-Man in the corner were all close and personal.

Someone took a picture.

Spider-Man heard the fake digital lens shutter from over fifty yards away.

Then the excited shouts and chatter roared even louder and canceled out any of the good Deadpool's voice had done previously to get him to relax. The sounds pressed in on him, around him. Made it hard to focus.

He was suffocating.

It was too hard to breathe. There was too much light.

Move, run, fight!

Spider-Man dug his gloved hands into the side of his head to try and relieve the pressure building within his mind and stop his Spidey Sense from continuing its chant of get out, run, danger.

He wanted to tell Deadpool what was wrong. Wanted to tell the assassin for hire to get him away from all the people. But he found that he just couldn't get his voice to work. Instead, when he opened his mouth, the only thing that came out was a small, pathetic sounding whimper.

"Tell me what's wrong, Baby Boy," Deadpool urged in the gentlest tone Spider-Man had ever heard from the man. "I promise I'll help. I just don't know what t'do."

Instead of a verbal explanation, Spider-Man signed, "too loud. Too crowded. Need to get out."

He knew Deadpool would understand the sign language as he'd once told Peter that he was friendly with Hawkeye and had needed to learn it for covert missions while he'd been in the military.

Deadpool, for his part, gave Spider-Man a quick nod, then said, "I'm gonna touch you now, Baby Boy. Is that okay?"

Spider-Man nodded. He was desperate for anything that could make it all stop and knew, on a base level, that Deadpool could make that happen.

"Okay, up we go," Deadpool said, sliding his warm palms against Spider-Man's biceps and hoisting him to his feet. He then wrapped a steadying arm around the shorter man's waist and led him away from the crowd, which had gotten even louder at the physical display between the two.

Spider-Man squeezed his eyes shut and practically clung to Deadpool's strong frame, breathing in the familiar scent of gun oil, mint, and Mexican spices. He burrowed into the heat that radiated off the red and black suit, pushing his face into Deadpool's chest as the older man walked them forward—he trusted Deadpool to lead them somewhere safe. He didn't even care that he'd lost so much control that his hands stuck themselves to Deadpool's shoulders and wouldn't budge.

Eventually, the two of them walked into a room that had to have soundproof walls because once they were inside and the door was closed, the noise of the Con halted altogether. Deadpool sat Spider-Man down on what looked like a smooshed bean-bag chair that leaned up against a wall. Spider-Man failed to take in the rest of the room around himself, though, because as soon as he sank into the chair and a soft blanket was wrapped around his shoulders, Deadpool left. Spider-Man wanted to protest because Deadpool's presence was somehow soothing to him, but he still couldn't get his voice to cooperate.

His hands started to shake, his breath sped up, and his Spidey Sense started back up, which, until then, Spider-Man hadn't realized had gone quiet (it had done so the minute Deadpool had wrapped his arm around him, but he wouldn't realize that until several days later). Spider-Man rocked himself in the bean-bag chair for several minutes, staring off into the distance and losing himself in his panic. Then, what felt like years, but was really only five minutes, later, he felt a presence next to him.

Deadpool kneeled before him, just like he'd done the last time. However, unlike before, he presented Spider-Man with a water bottle and held some type of burrito in his other hand.

"You should drink this," Deadpool said, offering the bottle.

Spider-Man was glad to see that the seal hadn't been broken and accepted it with a grateful pat to Deadpool's hand and a signed, "thanks".

He lifted his mask to the bridge of his nose, opened the bottle, and took small sips as Deadpool continued, "White assures me that drinking water can help. As well as someone talkin' to ya. So, Baby Boy, didja know that daddy-long-legs have penises?"

Spider-Man made a sound of choked surprise at the back of his throat, both because he hadn't expected that comment and also what the hell?

Deadpool grinned and shifted so that he sat crisscrossed in front of Spider-Man. Then Deadpool did something that showed he put a lot of trust into the web-slinger: he lifted his mask to the bridge of his own nose, so he could eat the burrito. However, just like the last time Peter had seen him eat, he was only privy to a small glimpse of the scars before Deadpool took a large bite out of the burrito and then covered his mouth with his gloved hand while he chewed.

"No, haha, I swear I have a point—so their difference in sex organs means they aren't technically spiders. Plus, they don't fit the same body type, or have the right number of eyes," Deadpool said, getting animated now, talking with his hands and flinging bits of his burrito everywhere. Spider-Man smiled softly at the fact that he could see the curl of Deadpool's lips (he bore an endearing kind of smile, soft and warm and cute—Wade should smile like that more often) and sat back, letting Deadpool's soothing voice wash over him and calm his frazzled nerves. "And, listen to this, cus it's the coolest part—they don't make venom or webs! We just busted the myth of them being the most venomous spiders on the planet, right there! And, because you're my favorite superhero, Bug-boy, I did more research on spiders, and apparently, scorpions and ticks are also considered spiders, or some shit. Can you believe it?! Cus don't you have a villain in your rogues' gallery that's one of those? And so, we thought to ourselves, we said, 'Pooly, who best to tell us if we're right than the great, voluptuous Spidey-butt?' So, you see Baby Boy, we just had to come see you, to make sure our information was correct."

Spider-Man had a grin on his face by the time Deadpool had finished, a bit touched that Deadpool had researched spiders just because of him.

He cleared his throat, calmer now than he'd been all morning, and said, "scorpions and ticks are considered arachnids, not spiders."

"There he is," Deadpool said, visibly relieved. "I thought I'd lost ya there for a bit. Yellow was so concerned he didn't even tell me to squeeze your perfectly formed glutes, which is a lot, considerin' he tells me to do that even when we're not together. Anyway, how're you feelin' Baby Boy? Also, why're you here if you don't like crowds?"

Spider-Man snorted and once again thanked the powers-that-be for the mask that covered his scarlet blush.

"I'm better now, steadier. And I could ask you the same thing," Spider-Man said, though his voice lacked its usual authority. "Why are you here, Red?"

"Oh! I'm here to win the superhero contest!"

Spider-Man had just taken a sip of the water, and was so shocked by Deadpool's answer, he nearly spit the water out on Deadpool's face.

"Wait, what?"

"Yeah, me and the boxes thought it'd be fun." Deadpool reached beside himself and held up two hangers, one held a replica of his own suit and one held a Captain America costume. Spider-Man was surprised he hadn't even noticed Deadpool carrying the costumes, but, well, he'd been busy freaking out and all. "We couldn't decide between you or Cap, so we brought both."

"Oh. Wow. Okay," Spider-Man said. He hadn't known what he was expecting Deadpool's answer to be, but it hadn't been that. And he was slightly flattered that he ranked so high on Deadpool's list that the merc wanted to impersonate him, instead of Captain America. "That's why I'm here too, believe it or not."

"Really?! Ohmigod, Webhead you're a total closet narcissist!" Deadpool cackled and dropped his costumes to the side, holding his stomach as if he was in pain. "This is too good. Even Pool-O-Vision couldn't make this up!"

"Hey, I wanted the money, alright?" Spider-Man said defensively. "I wanted to be able to take my girlfriend out on a nice date."

"Girlfriend? Oh. Em. Gee. Spidey has a girlfriend! Please tell me it's Black Cat, cus that's some bug on animal action I could get down with," Deadpool said, wiggling his brows. Spider-Man grimaced.

"What? Ew, Deadpool. Don't say shit like that, that's fuckin' gross," Spider-Man said, forgetting his "no cussing as Spider-Man" rule in the heat of how disturbing Deadpool's last comment had been. "And what the fuck is with your fixation on Black Cat?"

"Spidey. You just cussed. What the hell's happened to you since I went away?" Deadpool gasped as he shoved the last of his burrito in his mouth and pulled his mask back down. "First a meltdown, then a girlfriend, and now cusswords? I'd say it's like you're tryna summon me, or somthin'."

"Shut up," Spider-Man said, playfully kicking Deadpool in the shoulder, but not at all hard. He also pulled his mask back down, in order to hide his fond smile. "That didn't even make sense."

"Maybe to you."

Deadpool sighed dreamily, as he cupped Spider-Man's boot and began rubbing circles into Spider-Man's ankle with his thumbs. The material that made up his boots was thin so that the sticky hairs on his feet were able to reach through the soles, so he could better stick to walls while he was on patrol. It was because of how thin the material was, that Deadpool was actually able to reach the tendons around his foot. The mini massage felt so nice, that Spider-Man placed his other foot on Deadpool's shoulder as well. True to form, Deadpool began the same ministrations on that ankle.

"Where are we, anyway?" Spider-Man asked, finally glancing around the room.

It was relatively small. There were a few other bean-bag chairs scattered here and there, but they were the only two in the room. There was also a small kitchenette adjacent to the corner they were in.

"Oh, this is a safe room," Deadpool answered, his tone so flippant it was almost bored. "They have these types of spaces at most large Cons for people like you who, uh, have some sort of sensory issue or other, and can't do large crowds for any length of time."

"Oh," Spider-Man replied, feeling stupid for not knowing that before he'd panicked in front of thousands of strangers. "How'd you know it was a sensory thing?"

Spider-Man could feel the deadpanned looked Deadpool leveled on him.

"I may be an idiot, Baby Boy, but I ain't stupid," Deadpool said like it wasn't a contradictory statement. "You said it was too loud."

Spider-Man fell into thoughtful silence. Deadpool was constantly surprising him and he had to wonder when he'd stop underestimating the antihero.

In a bid to make things less awkward for himself, he pulled out his phone to play a game while Deadpool had his fill of touching Spider-Man's legs. Spider-Man was surprised that Deadpool never once strayed from his feet—he half expected Deadpool to take his silent consent as permission to touch the ass that Deadpool was so fond of and waxed literal poetry about (Wade had sent Peter the Haikus he'd written about Spider-Man's booty).

Just as he went to open his Pokémon Go app, he happened to glance at the time.

"What's the matter, Baby Boy?" Deadpool asked when Spider-Man let out a world-weary sigh and slumped in his seat.

"We missed the contest," he answered, thumping his head against the wall, and petulantly tossing his phone at Deadpool's chest, letting the blanket fall to his waist. Deadpool caught the phone and checked the time, then laughed when he saw Spider-Man's crossed arms.

"Well, don't get your bug-tights in a wad, there's another ComicCon next week. Not as big as this one, but it's a'hundred if you win. That's not too bad for a date," Deadpool said, absentmindedly sliding his hands up Spider-Man's calves and digging his fingers gently into the tense muscles he found there. "Wanna know somethin' crazy?"

"No, but I bet you're gonna tell me anyway," Spider-Man huffed, rolling his eyes and biting down on the moan of relief that almost escaped his mouth from the way Deadpool's hands kneaded his calves. The man had magical fingers and Spider-Man was constantly on his feet, so the massage was wonderous and so very relaxing. He was sure if this continued he'd be asleep in no time.

"The boxes are completely silent right now. Like…I don't hear 'em at all," Deadpool admitted quietly, almost to himself.

"Huh, that—that's nice," Spider-Man replied as Deadpool moved his hands back down to Spider-Man's ankles.

Spider-Man almost begged Deadpool to put his hands back on his calves, however he was interrupted just as he opened his mouth, because a person, cosplaying as Mika from Owari no Seraph, walked up to them and asked, "can I—um, that is to say, your costumes are so, so on point, like, ten outta ten perfect—so um, can I, maybe, get a picture. Of you guys? For my blog, that is. It's dedicated to SideyPool."

"Dedicated to what?" Spider-Man asked, removing his feet from Deadpool's shoulders and standing. He didn't miss Deadpool's disappointed frown.

"SpideyPool? You don't know it?" The person looked from Deadpool, back to Spider-Man, both blonde eyebrows raised to their fake blonde hairline. "I thought for sure…"

"For sure, what?"

Spider-Man had the sudden sinking suspicion he wouldn't like what came out of the person's mouth next.

"Well, I mean. You guys looked like you purposefully came here together, wearing your costumes and all. And it's um, kinda like...an underground ship?" the person said, sounding unsure of themselves.

"Ship? Like me and Spidey-babe…together? Together, together?" Deadpool asked. The person nodded hesitantly, and Deadpool let out a loud whoop. "Hell yeah! I knew I wasn't the only one that shipped us—no, I know this is a fanfiction about exactly that, and this is the author doing a slutty, shameless self-insert, I'm just sayin'."

"But we—they—have only met…" at this point, Spider-Man couldn't keep track of how long he'd known Deadpool. He turned to Deadpool. "How many times?"

"Three," Deadpool supplied. "They musta seen us team up during that Hydra attack, Baby Boy."

At Deadpool's preferred nickname, the cosplayer let out an excited, "squee!"

An honest to God "squee".

Spider-Man facepalmed. He had no words.

On the one hand…people shipped everyone with everyone these days, but on the other hand, him and Deadpool? He hated the fact that a sharp spike of heat rolled through his lower abdomen at just the thought. He did not like the sound of that. He just didn't. He was with MJ, remember?

"Sure, honey, you can have a pic," Deadpool said when Spider-Man fell speechless. "Do you want us to pose?"

"Oh my gosh, would you please?" the person asked. Their eyes were so bright with genuine delight, that Spider-Man's shoulders slumped in defeat and he relented with a nod. "Thank you! Thank you so much! Spidey, can you, like, cling to Deadpool's chest, kinda how you do when you climb walls?"

Spider-Man rolled his eyes but looked at Deadpool.

"That okay with you, Red?" Spider-Man asked.

"That is so fuckin' cool with us, Baby Boy," Deadpool answered, making grabby hands, but not touching.

Without another word, Spider-Man climbed up Deadpool, which was easier than he thought it should've been. He settled at Deadpool's side, linking one arm behind Deadpool's neck, and resting his feet against Deadpool's thigh to keep himself from falling, which created the spread thigh pose he was sure the person had meant.

Deadpool slipped one of his hands against Spider-Man's thigh to hold him steady, and the other hand fell to the small of Spider-Man's back. Yet again, Spider-Man was surprised he didn't slip it down further to cop a feel.

The Mika cosplayer brought their phone up to their face to snap the picture, just as a sudden burst of inspiration hit Spider-Man. He used his other hand to grip Deadpool's jaw, tilted Deadpool's masked face up, ever so slightly, and planted a mask covered kiss on Deadpool's cheek.

The cosplayer lost their shit and Deadpool went rigid under Spider-Man's hands.

"Uh, Spidey?" Deadpool asked after the cosplayer left, thanking them profusely. His voice wavered just a bit.

"Yeah, Red?" Spider-Man asked as he kicked off Deadpool's thigh and backflipped to the floor. It was a lot more graceful than simply crawling off Deadpool. He was not showing off. He wasn't.

"Did I…um. What just happened?" Deadpool asked, his hand reaching for one of his pistols. "I'd shoot myself in the foot to check if that was real, but I have a feelin' you'd disapprove."

Spider-Man's stomach clenched in guilt. He hadn't realized Deadpool would be this affected by the kiss. He'd just wanted to put on a show for the fan who'd thought they were just cosplayers. Of course, that'd been all there was to it.

"I kissed your cheek for the picture, Red," Spider-Man said, biting down on the urge to grab Deadpool's hand and link their fingers.

"Right," Deadpool said. "Of course. For the pic. That makes more sense."

"Anyway," Spider-Man said, rubbing the back of his head. The sudden awkward tension between them could've been cut with a knife. "Thanks for helping me out. Do you, uh, maybe wanna go on patrol with me tomorrow night?"

Deadpool, who'd been in the middle of collecting their trash, froze and turned back to Spider-Man.

"Wait, are you serious?!"

"Uh, yeah. I mean, you've proven yourself to be a good guy," Spider-Man said, noticing the widened eyeholes of his companion's mask and knowing Deadpool was astonished at being put in the same sentence as good. "I trust you not to unalive anyone. Meet me where we first met, at nine."

"Oh, Baby Boy, I am so there," Deadpool said, leaning down and kissing Spider-Man's forehead before bounding away. Just as he reached the door to the room Deadpool called over his shoulder, "by the way this so counts as the first date!"

"No, it doesn't!" Spider-Man shouted at Deadpool's retreating back, but it was too late. He'd already disappeared out the door.

Spider-Man looked down and saw Deadpool's discarded costumes. With a sigh, he took them home with him and hung them on the cork board over his desk in his new apartment, right next to the note and the card Deadpool had given him.

It wasn't until Peter was sitting across from MJ at their favorite pizza place, later that night, and MJ asked, "what's got you so happy, Tiger?" that Peter realized he'd been smiling like a dork all afternoon.

"You," was his reply to her.

He tried not to let his guilt for the easy lie bother him too much.