For 30+ Advance/Early chapters :p
atreon.com/ScoldeyJod
Peter walked into the massive, tiered lecture hall, and for the first time, it didn't feel like an arena where he was the designated sacrifice. The air, usually thick with his own pre-exam dread, was still and calm. He took his seat, Diana beside him, and felt the familiar, grounding pressure of her hand squeezing his under the table. He squeezed back, a silent transmission of gratitude and a sliver of her own borrowed confidence.
When the exam papers were distributed, a hush fell over the room. Peter turned his over, his heart giving a single, nervous thump. He scanned the first page.
And he smiled.
It was not a triumphant, arrogant smile. It was a slow, quiet, and profoundly grateful one. The first question was about the electron transport chain and the role of oxygen as the final acceptor. He didn't see a complex biological diagram; he saw a ballroom, filled with graceful, energetic dancers, just as Diana had described. He didn't just know the answer; he understood it on a fundamental, narrative level.
He picked up his pen. The words flowed. The frantic, desperate scramble for information that usually characterized his exams was gone, replaced by a calm, confident clarity. He moved from one question to the next, and it was as if Diana were sitting on his shoulder, whispering her beautiful, elegant metaphors in his ear.
He came to a question about protein folding, and he didn't see a complex chain of amino acids; he saw a delicate, intricate piece of origami, each fold precise and purposeful. A question about signal transduction became a story of a secret message passed down a line of waiting couriers. Her voice, her perspective, had not just been a key; it had been a master key, unlocking the entire library of knowledge in his mind.
He wrote with a speed and certainty that was unfamiliar to him. The usual second-guessing, the frantic erasing, the nervous, jittery energy—it was all absent. There was only a quiet, humming focus. He was in the zone, a state of perfect flow he usually only found in the heat of a battle, web-swinging through the concrete canyons of the city. He felt a profound, almost spiritual connection to the material, a harmony between his scientific mind and her poetic soul.
He was one of the first to finish. He read over his answers one last time, a sense of deep, buzzing satisfaction settling in his chest. He hadn't just passed. He knew, with an unshakeable certainty, that he had aced it. He had stared into the face of his own academic panic, and with Diana as his shield, he had won. He placed his pen down, the soft click a sound of finality, of victory. He looked over at Diana. She was still writing, her expression one of serene, effortless focus. She caught his eye and gave him a small, almost imperceptible nod, a silent acknowledgment of their shared success.
He handed in his paper and walked out of the lecture hall, not with the usual exhausted shuffle of a post-exam student, but with a light, buoyant step. The weight of the world—of his fight with May, of the looming threat of A.I.M.—was, for a single, glorious moment, lifted. There was only this victory. A victory that was not his alone. It was theirs.
His only thought was of her. He didn't want to go home. He didn't want to study. He wanted to see her. He had to thank her. He had to show her what this meant to him.
He waited outside in the crowded, bustling hallway, his back against a cool stone pillar, his eyes fixed on the doors. Students poured out, their faces a mixture of relief, anxiety, and exhaustion. The air was thick with the excited chatter of post-mortem analysis. And then, he saw her.
She emerged from the hall, moving through the crowd with her usual, unconscious grace. She saw him immediately, and a warm, beautiful smile lit up her face. The world seemed to narrow, the noise of the hallway fading into a distant, irrelevant hum. There was only her, walking towards him.
He pushed off the pillar, a wide, unrestrained grin spreading across his face. He met her in the middle of the crowded thoroughfare.
"So?" she asked, her blue eyes sparkling with a knowing light.
"The dance," he said, his voice a little breathless, a little shaky with the sheer, overwhelming force of his emotions. "The origami. The whispers. It was all there. I didn't just pass, Di. I... I think I destroyed it. And it was all because of you. I... I don't know how to thank you."
"Peter, you do not need to—" she started, but she never finished the sentence.
He did the only thing that felt right, the only thing that could possibly contain the massive, explosive gratitude and love that was overflowing in his chest. He closed the small distance between them, his hand coming up to cradle the back of her neck, and he kissed her.
It was not a gentle, questioning kiss. It was a collision. A spontaneous, public, and profoundly heartfelt declaration. It was a kiss of pure, unadulterated joy and a thousand unspoken thank-yous. For a split second, she was stiff with surprise, a soft gasp escaping her lips into his. But then, just as quickly, she melted, her own hands coming up to rest on his chest, her body leaning into his.
The moment lasted for an eternity and for no time at all. When he finally pulled back, the sound of the crowded hallway rushed back in with the force of a tidal wave. But it was a different sound now. The general, chaotic chatter had been replaced by a focused, stunned silence.
In the space of their kiss, a deafening bubble of quiet had formed around them. Every student in the immediate vicinity had stopped. Conversations had died mid-sentence. People who had been rushing to their next class were now standing frozen, their mouths slightly agape. Flash Thompson, who had just come out of the hall, looked like he had been struck by lightning.
They were a spectacle. A public exhibit.
Peter's blood ran cold, the joyous, triumphant heat in his veins instantly replaced by a wave of pure, "oh-crap" adrenaline. His face exploded in a blush so hot he was surprised he didn't set off the fire alarms. He was Spider-Man. He lived in the shadows. He wore a mask for a reason. And he had just made himself and the woman he loved the absolute, undivided center of attention in the most public way imaginable.
He looked at Diana. Her own face was flushed with a rare, beautiful blush, her eyes wide with a lingering surprise. But there was no anger there. Only a soft, dazed wonder.
"So," he croaked, his voice an octave higher than usual, a nervous laugh bubbling in his throat. "That... happened."
Diana looked around at the sea of staring faces, then back at him. A slow, beautiful smile, one that was both embarrassed and profoundly happy, spread across her face. Without a word, she took his hand, her fingers lacing with his in a firm, defiant grip. It was not a gesture of retreat; it was an act of ownership. An answer to every staring eye.
"Yes," she said, her voice a low, clear note that cut through the awkward silence. "It did."
She tugged him gently, and they began to walk, a silent, united front moving through the parting sea of their fellow students. The kiss had been an accident, a spontaneous combustion of emotion. But the walk, hand-in-hand, was a choice. It was an acknowledgment, a confirmation, and a quiet, powerful declaration to the entire world. They were not a secret. They were a signal. And they were just getting started.
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