Kiss her slowly.

Peter trudges up the steps of his porch, tired and sore. His aunt is probably waiting up again, worried sick. As usual. He hates doing this to her, but he has to - he has the power to help so many people, to do what the police can't. With great power comes great responsibility - his uncle would have approved of such a mindset.

Uncle Ben. Peter really misses him, and of course so does Aunt May. He feels guilty for taking her husband away from her, because it is his fault Ben Parker died. Shot by a petty criminal Peter could have stopped if he hadn't been so selfish.

With great power comes great responsibility.

"Peter?"

The voice hardly startles him. With his enhanced senses, he knew she was there, sitting in the shadows, the moment he lifted his foot to the first stair. It's Roseanne.

"Yes?" He is tired, really tired, but for some reason he can't just excuse himself before hearing what she has to say.

"Where do you go?" she asks, exactly what Aunt May had asked him time and time again with worry and fear. But this sounds infinitely more timid and childish, and yet not. She leans across the railing that separates their porches, looks at him, all pale blonde and bright blue hair and worried, curious eyes in the dim light from the street lamps and houses.

He looks back for a moment, then slowly shakes his head.

The expression on her face tells him she had been expecting that, but is still disappointed. "Alright," she says after a moment. "I know your aunt's been really worried, so I called her up and told her you've been doing homework with me the past few days and forgot to tell her. I explained to her that the skateboarding accidents were you attempting to teach me."

"Roseanne," he says, thinking about the relief his aunt must have felt, and the relief he feels to have a legitimate excuse for his absences, "I could kiss you!"

She nods, quiet, thoughtful. "What's stopping you?" she asks. For a moment, Peter is dumbstruck. Then he's leaning down, and she's reaching up on her tiptoes. Their lips meet.

It is a slow kiss, tentative and unsure, but also sweet and deliciously warm. This is before a first date, before a relationship, but maybe this is why he was so reluctant to dismiss her even though he was bone tired. He hadn't even realized, but she was on his mind often, and this kiss is too long in coming.

They break apart after what had either been an eternity or a millisecond. Roseanne steadies herself on the railing, breathing deeply. She touches her lips with a finger, then smiles. Peter smiles nervously.

"Do you, ah, want to do - something? Sometime?"

"Yeah," she replies, somewhat dazedly. He feels a little bit proud that he caused that - that and the tint of red gracing her cheeks, barely noticeable in the darkness. "Something. Yeah. That - that sounds great."

There is a pause. "Well, I should get in, just in case Aunt May decided to wait up again," he says, scratching the back of his neck.

"Oh," she says, "oh yeah. Tell her I said hello . . . goodnight, Peter."

"Goodnight."

A good night indeed.