IT WAS A FEW DAYS LATER, JUST BEFORE THE START OF SCHOOL, WHEN DIANA RECEIVED A TEXT FROM NICKY THAT CHANGED EVERYTHING. She had just finished eating dinner with an angry Flash and a smug Harrison. Jesse had tried convincing Diana to play cards, but the girl refused, wanting to hide out in her room as soon as possible, the tension in the air choking her.

She was texting Gwen who was telling her all about this cute intern that she was working with at Oscorp and Diana tried to sound supportive and not as if she wanted throw the girl off the nearest bridge; they hadn't discussed Flash and Gwen's breakup, but it didn't mean Diana couldn't have heard it from Flash.

to: Gwen (10:27 pm)
Sorry if I don't respond it's
cause I fell asleep

Lying so that she would have an easy way out if she got tired of pretending to be okay was always her go-to, it seemed.

from: Gwen (10:27 pm)
Okay yeah I'll text you tmrw
goodnight!

She smiled and closed out of the text window, relieved to be freed from the conversation. She loved Gwen, she really did, but she just couldn't handle the topic. She couldn't handle talking either, she just wanted to stare at the ceiling or sleep.

But the world had other, more painful plans.

from: Nicky (10:32 pm)
Peter is going over he's beat
up bad

Her heart began to race and stood up, locking her door and unlocking her window, leaving the curtains partly open. She reached under her bed, relieved to find that no one had touched her things while she was gone. Not even Flash.

At the thought of Flash, her stomach plummeted and she turned to look at the door. Every so often, the boy seemed to find his way onto the foot of her bed, curled up into a little ball fast asleep, leaving when she found him. She hoped that he wouldn't try to get in that night, mainly because of Peter, but also because her door was locked and if he found it locked, he might think that she was telling him he wasn't welcome.

Before she could continue thinking about worst case scenarios, she heard a quiet knock on her window. Whirling around, she found herself face to face with a red mask and big, white eyes.

As if in a trance, Diana made her way to the window, pulling it open and stepping back, watching as the familiar stranger crawled into the room, movements slow and calculated.

"Shit, Peter," she breathed, closing the window and helping him onto her bed.

He groaned, head lolling back onto the pillow. He pressed the button on his chest, his suit deflating and becoming baggy. She raised her eyebrows, surprised, as she helped him out of it, leaving him in his boxers.

She wanted to believe that she mentioned it to Tony Stark, asking for him to help make the suit easier to get out of in the event of an emergency to make it easier for her. It was unrealistic and false, but she liked the idea, even for just a moment.

"Please," he whimpered, "Please, it hurts so much, please."

Her heart wrenched and she dropped to her knees, opening the box full of supplies, digging out bandages and antiseptic. When she caught sight of a nasty gash, she pulled out the supplies needed for stitches, her hands shaking slightly.

She grabbed the hand towels, forcing her hands to stay still as she cleaned out his wounds, using her other arm to keep him still as she did. He tried to swallow his screams, but even then they were still too loud.

"Bite this pillow," she hissed, nearly smothering him with it.

He blushed all over and Diana was sent back to the first time he was over, when she first found out. She watched as he placed his mouth around the edge of the pillow, not looking at her; he was embarrassed. If he had been like this before they broke up, she would have a completely different reaction.

She pressed the soaked towel against the gash on his leg and he jerked violently, biting and shouting into the pillow, her other arm holding him against her mattress.

"Shh, shh," she said, running her hands through his hair. He was soaked with sweat, whimpering softly. "It's okay, Peter, shh."

She set the supplies to the side, giving him some time to calm down and prepare himself. She didn't have any anesthetic and didn't know how much it was going to hurt to give him stitches. She shook at the very idea of having to stitch him up; she never had to before.

"You," he panted, "You don't–why are you helping me? You–I–what am I doing?" He tried to sit up, tried to stand and get away, but Diana pushed him back down, scoffing incredulously.

"You are bleeding out on my sheets and you want to leave?" she hissed, "Are you crazy?"

He struggled against her weakly. "But I hurt you, why are you still helping m—"

"I don't care if you don't love me anymore, I'm not gonna let you die!"

The silence was deafening and all Diana could hear was the roar of her blood in her ears as she glared down at the boy who was lying perfectly still, staring at something just past her, a thin layer of sweat covering his entire body.

"I'm not dying," he whispered softly.

She wanted to laugh. She wanted to laugh and scream and cry because this boy had caused her so much pain. Unbeknownst to her, he felt the same way because love is all about communication, but she had put him on hold. Two people, in the same room, never felt so alone.

"I'm gonna stitch this up, okay?" she said, already moving to pick up the her supplies. She switched the two tweezer-like tools in her hands, trying to remember what she had learned; YouTube was a life saver.

"Okay, doc," he mumbled weakly.

She snapped her head up to stare at him, not quite glaring. "Don't."

He nodded and she looked back down, threading the needle and taking a deep breath. She moved towards his wound, staring at the hook and the raw flesh she would have to pierce. She wondered, briefly, if she should cut away at the dead flesh, but decided against it.

"Don't move," she commanded as she stuck the hooked needle into the flesh of his skin, poking it out on the other side of the wound at roughly the same distance.

Peter took a sharp breath and his arm snapped out and gripped her wrist, causing her to drop her tools, though thankfully his skin didn't tear. She looked up and stared at him, glancing down at his tight grip on her wrist.

"You're hurting me," she said flatly.

He released his grip, though he didn't pull away. He just stared at her and she became acutely aware of the fact that neither of them seemed to be breathing. Her heart ached as she stared at him and willed herself to look away.

"Let me finish," she said, tone still even and devoid of the emotions she had been feeling for so long. Her heart ached to look at him, but other than that, she felt almost nothing.

He pulled away and let her continue. Her hands had stopped shaking and she was able to go through the motions, trying to remember how to tie it off before continuing. They weren't surgeon precise, some weren't as evenly spaced as others, but she was able to close all the gaps and finished it off well enough to be safe.

She reached down and pulled out a non-adhesive bandage, placing it over the stitches, quietly reminding him to keep it dry for about two days and minimize its contact with water. She told him to come back in the event it would become infected, as she always did, even though she wouldn't have a clue what to do if it actually did.

"Here, I'll patch up the rest," she mumbled, grabbing a few more towels and cleaning out his wounds without warning, shoving the pillow into his face when he yelped.

"Sorry," he whispered when she finally let him breathe, not looking at her.

She didn't reply, going through the motions that had become commonplace during the nights before she left. She missed when she could just give him a small bandaid and roll her eyes when he asked her to kiss it better.

"Rest," she said as she finished applying the last of the many bandages, "You can't leave until you're well enough to at least walk."

He sighed and nodded, settling in on her bed, propping himself up against her pillows which were one of the only things not stained with blood. She grimaced as she realized she would have to change her sheets before the Thompsons found out. She thought back to when Peter had gone with her the first time and she took a deep breath, her heart hurting once again.

The two sat in silence, Diana sitting on her desk chair staring at her hands while Peter stared at nothing, eyes glazed over.

She turned to look at him, staring as he ignored her. She wanted nothing more than to run her hands through his hair, to make him smile at her, for his eyes to brighten as he called her doc or even just her name, but with feeling and with an emotion that wasn't pain.

She wanted to see him in his old Spider-Man suit, to have him act the way he used to. She wanted to sit next to him on the bed, to go back to the Empire State Building.

She wanted things back to normal. Why did everything have to change?

She felt her entire body buzzing as she continued staring, her heart beating out of her chest, her palms sweating, her vision blurring. She felt such a strong desire that she could barely keep herself still. She had missed him so much.

He took a deep breath and relaxed, turning to look at her. "Listen, I—"

Before he could continue, she was out of her seat like a rocket, barely registering and she gripped his shoulders, kissing him like she would never get to again—because she wouldn't—like she hadn't in such a long time—which was true. She ran her hands through his hair, barely taking a breath, kissing him like she needed it to breathe, like he was the only thing keeping her alive.

He kissed back, if only for a moment. If only for one, blissful moment where they both forgot what had happened, that there was a world around them with people who changed, with things that changed. For a moment, he kissed her back like he had been wanting to for months—because he had.

Then she was being shoved off, falling to middle of the room. Her heart shattered, her head clattered, everything was broken and she could only prop herself up and stare as he rose to his feet and put on that disgusting suit—the stupid, evil suit—staring at her with so many emotions she couldn't read any of them.

"I can't," he sobbed, though tears were nonexistent, "I–We can't."

She bit her lip and closed her eyes because her tears were there. She took a shaky breath in, breathing out with all the pain she had, but it fell into a sobbing laugh because she was in so much pain, it was never going away.

"Just go."

He stared at her for one moment more. She looked at all of his wrapped wounds, remembering all the others she had taken care.

He crouched down in front of her. "One last time?"

She wanted to say yes. She wanted to say yes and jump him, to kiss him because it would be the last time, because she would miss him, because her heart ached. She wanted to card her fingers through his hair, to remember the taste of him, to remember his smell, to remember everything. She wanted to hold on and never let go.

She shook her head. "Please, just go."

He nodded and stood up, pressing the button on that suit. He opened the window and climbed out, closing it behind him. He sat on her fire escape for a moment, staring at her through the glass. He placed his hand on it, letting it linger for a few moments.

Then he was gone.

Diana broke. She jumped to her feet and began to shriek, sobbing and crying and trying her hardest not to destroy everything in her room. She kicked her bed, she threw herself against her wall because she was an idiot. It was right there—he was right there—but she let him go.

She let him go because he wasn't the same and she didn't want that and she was too selfish to accept him.

There was a frantic knock on her door and she ripped it open to reveal Flash who immediately walked inside and pulled her into a hug.

She fought against him, screaming incoherently, sobbing and clutching his arm because she wanted to be held, but not by him, she just wanted to be left alone.

"Leave me alone!" she cried, falling to her knees.

Flash held on for just one moment longer. Then he kissed the top of her head and left, closing the door behind her.

She didn't know if he was a dream but she immediately wanted him back, she wanted to call him back and let him hold her, to sit on her bed and fall asleep knowing that someone stayed the same, but he didn't and she wanted something familiar. She wanted him to hold her, she wanted him back.

She looked up at her walls, anger spiking as she stared at what hung above her desk. With a frustrated shriek, she jumped to her feet and onto her desk, ripping it down with a broken sob, tossing it to the ground.

Then she climbed into bed and cried until morning, her entire body shaking.

On the floor sat a discarded flag that read: VIVA LA PLUTO, FUCK YOU.

Pluto wasn't a planet. The world had already moved on.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

( 07.22.17 )

God, I wrote the last 1000+ words in just a few minutes because I was just so upset for the two of them and felt so much that words just came pouring out, so welcome to Diana's inner monologue and a narrator's take on her life.

Let it be known, I wanted her to say yes and kiss him and my entire body ached when I had to stop myself and make her say no. I wanna punch me too, trust me.

The timeline is shot to hell in this story, like so much math was done but whatever, it will work somewhat.

The title is based off of Sean Grandillo's song of the same name which I haven't listened to in so long, but it suits the chapter.

Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed!