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One of the things Peter loved the most about the Tower was the windows. There were hundreds of them covering every inch of the exterior. But his favorite windows were the ones in the penthouse living room. They were large, clear, stretched from the floor to the ceiling, and took up an entire wall. Being up so high, allowed you to look over the tops of the neighboring buildings. Above them, you could see the sky. The moon, the stars, the clouds, and the sun. Some days the morning light would paint the world in unbelievable shades of orange, yellow, pink and purple.
Other days weren’t nearly as colorful.
Peter sat in the upper corner of the sprawling living area where the windows met the wall. Rain was falling in diagonal sheets and dark clouds were rolling in like blankets. Cumulonimbus. ‘Dense vertical clouds; usually associated with heavy precipitation and thunderstorms.’
He placed his hand against the window. Everything beyond it was gray. Gray, gray, gray- in every direction. A flash of jagged lightning lit up the sky. He began counting, only making it to three before a deep rumble filled the air and vibrated the cool glass beneath his palm.
Watching the rain pelt against the window was nice. He trailed his finger along the wet rivulets and tilted his head back to glance down below. The decorative trees that lined the sidewalk were swaying in the wind. Cars and buses were slowly splashing through the puddled streets while their wipers swished back and forth at rapid rates. For all the traffic, there didn’t appear to be many people out and about. There were only a handful of pedestrians wandering along the typically busy walkways. All of them were hunched over, tightly clutching their umbrellas as they navigated the storm.
Another quick blink of lightning illuminated the city. It was swiftly followed by an exceptionally loud crack of thunder. His initial instinct was to cover his ears. But by the time his hands had made it to the side of his head, the roar had mellowed into a prolonged grumble.
For the first time in a while, Peter was glad he’d chosen to skip patrolling. Hurling himself between buildings in light rain wasn’t exactly enjoyable. His suit would become cold, wet and uncomfortably clingy. But the worst of it was trying to breath through a saturated mask. Going out in a torrential downpour would have been undoubtedly worse. He released a sigh. The warmth from his breath fogged up the window. He used the hand that wasn’t already pressed against the pane to wipe it away.
“Hey, Kid.” Peter directed his gaze to the floor. Mr. Stark was below him, hand tucked into his pockets, looking up. “I wondered where you were.”
Rather than answer, Peter looked down and half-smiled. He folded his knees against his chest and rested his chin on his knees. The rain had slowed but not by much. Lighting continued to leave streaks of light across the clouds and thunder continued to boom in the distance. The ambiance was gloomy. But taking it all in from the comfort of the penthouse ceiling made him feel safe, cozy, and unusually quiet. Mr. Stark was astute, easily picking up on his lack of verbosity.
“You okay, Buddy?”
Peter hummed in the positive. “Just- watching the rain.”
Mr. Stark bobbed his head and cracked a slight smile. “I suppose from your position, it falls up, hmm?”
“No.” Peter extended his legs across the ceiling before pulling them into a cross-cross position. “Your brain takes into account the feedback signals from the vestibular system in your ears to reorient your vision when you’re upside down. It’s a perception thing.”
Mr. Stark rolled his eyes. “I’ll take your word for it.”
For several seconds nothing else was said. Peter looked out the top half of the towering window while Mr. Stark looked through the bottom half. Rain plinked against the glass in a soothing manner. Eventually, Mr. Stark rocked back on his heels and lifted his gaze.
“Do you think you might wanna come down here with me? We could watch the rain together.” After some thought, he canted his head to the side and smiled. “Maybe a movie too, if you’re up for it.”
Peter’s gaze remained locked on the horizon. “If I say no, will you get the broom?” It was meant to be a joke. He didn’t want it to be taken any other way. Hence, he glanced downward to smile. Mr. Stark’s eyes were twinkling with mirth.
“Nah. I don’t think a broom will be required. This time.” He chuckled and jutted his chin towards the couch. “I’ll just lure you down with copious amounts of blankets and giant mugs of hot chocolate.”
Peter grinned. “With marshmallows?”
“Of course, with marshmallows.” Mr. Stark scoffed. He placed one hand on his chest while flourishing the other. “Do I look like a heathen to you?”
Before Peter could stop himself, he was laughing. Fully and heartily. He opened his mouth to make some sort of a wisecrack, but was too late. Mr. Stark was already turning to walk away.
“Come, gremlin child!” Mr. Stark beckoned over his shoulder. “Get down here before I decide to hoard all the marshmallows for myself!”
“Wait! I"m coming, Mr. Stark!” Peter laughed. He scrambled to roll over, dangled by his hands and gracefully dropped to the floor. He darted towards the kitchen, unwilling to miss out on hot chocolate and blankets with Mr. Stark.
Mr. Stark paused, smiling until his eye crinkled at the corners. When Peter caught up, an arm wrapped its way around his shoulders and gathered him into a firm, yet gentle side-hug. Sighing contentedly, he leaned into the embrace. He supposed being right-side-up had its benefits.