Peter’s face dropped instantly at her comment, eyes widening like a deer caught in headlights. Worse? She’s seen worse? He blinked, utterly dumbfounded. “Worse?” he managed, his voice almost squeaking. “Like… uh… what do you mean… worse?” He realized too late that he’d probably sounded naive—or worse, desperate—and tried to correct it with a small, nervous cough.
As she lifted the room key with a casual smirk, she clarified, “I walked in… to my room.” She delivered the line so effortlessly, and his brain was spinning trying to figure out what the actual hell was happening. Things are CONFUSING when you’re naked in front of a stranger okay. Especially when the stranger is… her.
“Oh… right.” Peter’s gaze flickered to the key, his face caught between horror and confusion. “Maybe… you’re right… the receptionist saw my epic… fail in the lobby and decided, ‘Hey, this guy hasn’t been tortured enough in this lifetime.’” He managed a shaky laugh, eyes glued to the floor as his cheeks turned even redder.
But then, like an angel of mercy, she slid one of his bags across the floor in his direction. He scrambled for it like a lifeline, immediately grabbing the first thing he could reach… and… well… he was dressed. Dressed well? Um.
Have you ever seen those ironically ugly Christmas sweaters that no sane person would wear on a day to day basis? Well… WELL… that was the first thing he grabbed… a bright red sweater… that said “my eyes are up here” pointing up. Great. Well, he didn’t have time to exactly think while he was throwing whatever he found on. And paired with the fuzzy… warm sweater was a pair of cargo shorts. Sooooooo it wasn’t the best outfit, but at least he was clothed. Right? He glanced down at his bizarrely thrown-together outfit and let out a tiny sigh of resignation. At this point, looking decent was off the table.
Finally feeling a fraction less exposed, he cleared his throat, running a hand awkwardly through his damp hair. “You can, um… turn around now,” he mumbled, shifting his gaze to her and trying to seem casual. He had no idea if he succeeded.
And now came the introductions… official… introductions that is “I’m… Peter P…,” he started, extending his hand, though the motion felt foreign and strange. He took a step toward her, intent on offering a solid handshake—but, of course, his foot snagged on the edge of the couch. He stumbled forward, barely managing to catch himself on the wall next to her, his hand just inches from her shoulder. He stood there, wincing and mortified, way closer to her than he intended, his voice reduced to a hoarse, “Uh… Peter Parker… and you are?”
He only waited a few seconds before continuing, “So, uh… maybe we should go figure this whole… room situation out?” he stammered, gesturing weakly down the hallway, silently begging for any way to exit this mess.
As they started down the hall, Peter searched his mind for anything to say, and before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “So, uh… you… come here often?” His brain froze as soon as the words left his mouth. Oh god. Oh no. Really? His inner monologue kicked in at full force. Of all the questions, Peter, really? That’s the one? He could feel his face burning as he fought to keep himself from outright groaning.
@novella - forgive me. I’m trying to get back into a writing headspace so this isn’t the best