Peter WHY...

A few days had passed since the showdown with Green Goblin in the snowy outskirts of Van Cortlandt Park, and the abandoned railway lair hummed with quiet normalcy under the early January chill. Peter Parker (MC) stood in the well-secured hideout, the air crisp and still, the glow of sterile lights illuminating the space where the alternate Peter Parker now sat upright on the medical table. The alternate Peter's sharp red-and-blue suit was patched up, his broken hand healed under the splint, his strength returning after days of rest and IV drips. Peter (MC), in his pristine red-and-black suit, mask off, ran a hand through his hair, a faint grin tugging at his lips as he eyed his recovering counterpart.

"Looking good," Peter (MC) said, stepping over to a storage locker and pulling out a spare suit—black with red accents, a sleek design he'd crafted as a backup. He tossed it to the alternate Peter, who caught it with a reflex that showed he was back in form. "Borrow this—thought you might wanna swing around the city, get some fresh air. Help out a bit, stretch those legs."

The alternate Peter unfolded the suit, running his fingers over the fabric, a small smile breaking through. "Swing around?" he said, his voice steady, a hint of eagerness creeping in. "You sure? I mean, I'm good to go, but your city—your rules."

Peter (MC) leaned against the workbench, crossing his arms. "Yeah, I'm sure," he said. "You've been cooped up here healing—24 hours out cold, days recovering. You're a Spider-Man—sitting still's not your thing. Go swing, nab a purse snatcher or two. Just don't break anything else, alright?"

He can act as my substitute for me today. He thought.

The alternate Peter chuckled, standing to test his legs, the pain a dull echo now. Fresh air—swinging again, he thought, relief washing over him. Been itching to move—this place is secure, but it's a cage after a while. "Thanks, man," he said, meeting Peter (MC)'s gaze. "Appreciate it—this suit's slick. You've got a knack for this."

"Had to improvise a lot," Peter (MC) replied, grinning. "Keeps me sharp. City's quiet today—perfect chance to breathe. You know how to reach me if anything pops up." He's solid now—tougher than he looks, Peter (MC) thought, watching the alternate Peter flex his healed hand. Swinging'll clear his head—mine too, once I'm out there.

The alternate Peter nodded, pulling on the borrowed suit over his patched one, the fit snug but right. "Got it," he said. "I'll keep it low-key—help out, no trouble. You heading somewhere?"

"Big day," Peter (MC) said, his grin widening as he grabbed his mask. "Winter formal dance at Midtown High tonight—gotta get ready. Liz is hyped—whole school's buzzing. Catch you later—don't wreck my suit."

"Winter formal?" the alternate Peter said, raising an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Sounds fun—go sweep her off her feet. I'll hold down the fort out there." Dance, huh? he thought, amused. 

Peter (MC) laughed, pulling his mask down as he headed for the lair's exit, the heavy door sliding open with a soft hiss. "Deal," he called back, stepping into the snowy Queens afternoon, the cold biting as he swung off, leaving the alternate Peter to gear up.

Hours later, after school, Peter (MC) was back in the rhythm of his world. It was January 15th, the big day of the winter formal dance at Midtown High. He'd spent the afternoon with Liz, dropping her off at her apartment to get ready, her excitement infectious as she chattered about the final prep—fake snow, fairy lights, the works. "It's gonna be perfect," she'd said, her eyes gleaming before kissing him goodbye. Now, Peter swung to the lair one last time, his tux waiting at home but his mind on the night ahead.

He slipped into the tunnel, the silence of the well-equipped space greeting him as he stepped inside, the glow of lights steady. The alternate Peter would be out swinging by now, but Peter (MC) had one last check to make—everything secure, Green Goblin's body still in the freezer, the DNA samples and Siege Perilous locked away. Tonight's about Liz, he thought, his pulse quickening with anticipation. Whole school's hyped—Harry's probably a mess, Liz is queen of it all. Time to swing into something normal for once.

Midtown High transformed the school gym into a shimmering spectacle, a testament to weeks of student effort orchestrated by Liz Allan and the planning committee. By late afternoon, the gym buzzed with activity as students darted around, their excitement crackling in the snowy January air. The ceiling dripped with fairy lights, casting a soft glow over fake snow sprinkled across the floor, a nod to the winter wonderland theme Liz had championed. Tables lined the walls, draped in white cloth and topped with bowls of punch and trays of cookies shaped like snowflakes, while a towering ice sculpture—a glistening snowflake—stood at the entrance, its edges catching the light. Streamers in silver and blue swooped overhead, and a DJ booth pulsed with early beats, testing the sound system as volunteers adjusted balloon arches and hung glittery snowflakes from the rafters.

The school atmosphere was electric, a mix of nervous energy and giddy anticipation spilling through the halls as students rushed to finish prep or ducked into bathrooms to change. Lockers slammed, laughter echoed, and the scent of hairspray and cologne wafted from clusters of girls perfecting their looks. Boys in tuxes tugged at bow ties, some practicing awkward dance moves in the corridors, their chatter a constant hum. "Did you see the ice sculpture?" one sophomore gushed near the water fountain, her friend nodding. "Liz pulled it off—it's unreal!" Across the hall, a junior smirked, adjusting his cummerbund. "Parker's got Liz—lucky bastard. Bet they'll own the dance floor."

Peter Parker (MC) arrived just as the sun dipped low, the snowy Queens streets glowing faintly outside as he stepped into the gym, his black tux sharp, the red bow tie a bold splash against the crisp white shirt. Liz outdid herself, he thought, his pulse quickening as he took in the scene—the lights, the snow, the buzz. This place looks like a dream—gonna be a night to remember. He'd swung by the lair earlier, leaving the alternate Peter to swing around, but now it was all about this—Liz, the dance, a slice of normal teenage life.

Liz emerged from a side door, her white dress flowing long and elegant, red heels peeking out as she moved, a red sash tied at her waist catching the light. Her blonde hair was swept up, strands framing her face, and her eyes sparkled with excitement as she spotted Peter. "There you are!" she said, hurrying over, her voice bright. "What do you think? It's perfect, right?"

Peter grinned, his hands slipping into his pockets as he took her in. "Perfect doesn't cut it—you're a genius, Liz. This is incredible. You look… wow." She's stunning, he thought, his chest tightening. Red and white—matches me just right. Never thought I'd be this lucky.

She blushed, twirling slightly to show off the dress. "Thanks—you clean up nice too. That red bow tie? Killer. Ready to dance?"

"Born ready," Peter said, offering his arm with a playful flourish. "Been practicing—won't step on those heels, promise."

"Good," Liz teased, linking her arm with his as they stepped into the thickening crowd. "I'd hate to limp through my own party."

The gym filled fast, students streaming in—girls in glittering gowns, boys in tuxes ranging from sleek to slightly rumpled, their chatter rising over the DJ's opening tracks. Near the punch table, a group of freshmen giggled, one whispering, "Liz and Peter are so cute—total power couple." A senior nearby smirked, nudging his date. "Parker's got moves—bet he's been practicing for her." Harry Osborn swaggered in solo, his tux sharp but his grin lopsided, still dateless but determined to enjoy it. "Hey, lovebirds!" he called, waving at Peter and Liz. "Save me a dance, Liz!"

"Only if you sober up first," Liz shot back, laughing as Peter chuckled beside her.

The function kicked into gear as the DJ dropped a slow beat—"Unchained Melody"—and couples drifted to the dance floor, the fake snow crunching underfoot. Peter led Liz out, his hand finding hers, the other settling on her waist as they swayed. The lights dimmed, fairy glow bathing them in a soft shimmer, and Liz rested her head against his shoulder, her voice a murmur. "This is it—our night. Been dreaming about this."

"Me too," Peter said, his fingers tightening around hers as they moved, his steps smooth from practice. "You, this dance—worth every second." She's everything, he thought, his heart thudding as they spun slowly, her warmth cutting through the cool air. just us.

She looked up, her eyes locking with his. "You're pretty good at this," she said, smiling. "No tripping yet—impressed."

"Told you I'd deliver," he replied, twirling her gently, her dress fanning out as she laughed. "You're the star, though—everyone's watching."

"Let 'em watch," Liz said, pulling him closer, their rhythm steady as the song swelled. The gym pulsed around them—students swaying, some giggling, others sneaking punch—but for Peter and Liz, it was their world, the dance a quiet bubble of connection amidst the festive chaos.