❝ staring at the
sunset, babe ❞

005. casual

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋, wrapped in the kind of quiet that only New York city at dusk could offer— a stillness rare and fleeting. Below, the city hummed with life, cars honking, people moving like tiny dots from the heights they sat on, but up here, it felt like another world. The air was cool, brushing lightly against Ingrid’s skin as she leaned back against the rough, cold concrete wall, arms folded across her chest. She watched the sky shift, fading from a soft gold to a dusky pink, the last rays of sunlight painting the horizon with a melancholy glow.

Evelyn sat beside her, cross-legged, her messy, colorful nails gripping a brown paper bag that covered the bottle— whiskey, Ingrid assumed. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt right that Evelyn’s nail polish was chipped, vibrant, and chaotic, like everything about her. She brought the bottle to her lips, taking slow, deliberate sips, as if savoring the moment, her face serene but distant.

Nearby, Dylan and Lucas lounged lazily, legs stretched out, cans of beer in hand. A few empty ones lay discarded at their feet, catching the light of the fading sun. Their faces were lit by easy smiles, the kind that came naturally after a few drinks and good company. They traded jokes, grinning at each other like they didn’t have a care in the world.

Ingrid’s eyes darted towards the bottles and cans more often than she liked, catching herself before looking away quickly. She didn’t get it— casual drinkers. It was something she couldn’t wrap her mind around. Maybe it was because, no matter how much both she and her dad tried to avoid it, alcoholism really was genetic, a shadow that loomed over them both. They were both at high risk, a fact she’d learned too early.

But it wasn’t just that. Ingrid had never been casual about anything in her life. She didn’t know how to take things in moderation, didn’t know how to do things halfway. Every part of her life was lived in extremes— training until her muscles burned, studying until her head ached, throwing herself into missions with reckless abandon. Eating until she physically couldn't anymore or not eating until she inevitably passed out. Even sleep wasn’t an escape; it was a necessity she tried to conquer, never allowing herself to rest unless exhaustion forced her. Everything she did was a way to outrun her thoughts, her memories, the guilt she carried like a weight around her neck.

She swore alcohol would never be one of those things. But still, she watched her friends drink. They’d finish their bottles, laugh, and that would be it. They wouldn’t think about it tomorrow, wouldn’t dwell on it or crave more. The laughter flowed freely between them, weaving through the rooftop like a gentle breeze. It was the kind of easy banter that came when there was nothing to worry about— no missions, no villains, no world to save. Just four kids sitting on a rooftop, watching the sun sink behind the skyline.

But Ingrid wasn’t laughing.

She’d refused the drink when Lucas offered earlier, shaking her head without much explanation. He hadn’t pressed, none of them had. They respected her boundaries, always did. It was something she appreciated more than she could ever say.

She liked being with them, her friends. Their ability to shrug off the weight of the world, even just for a little while, felt like something she could never have. It was a break, a respite from the constant tension that followed her everywhere she went, like a shadow she could never shake.

But as much as she loved their company, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being an outsider. It was as though she was watching them through a pane of glass, close enough to see but never fully part of it. The ease with which they joked, the way they leaned into each other’s space, felt foreign to her.

Maybe it was because she never had friends her own age. Not real ones. Not like this. She’d grown up with Avengers, soldiers, and gods. People with worlds on their shoulders. But now, sitting here with them, a sudden, overwhelming urge filled her. She wanted to tell them everything. All of it. The things she’d never shared with anyone.

She wanted to tell them about the nightmares that still woke her up in a cold sweat, about the weight she felt every day, about the guilt that gnawed at her when she thought about the lives she couldn’t save. About the way she sometimes wondered if she was even capable of being normal. Of living a life without constantly looking over her shoulder, waiting for the next battle.

But she stayed quiet. Her tongue felt heavy, the words like stones she couldn’t lift. Even if she told them, they wouldn’t understand, not fully. How could they?

And yet, there was a part of her that desperately wanted them to try.

“Look at that view.” Evelyn’s voice broke the quiet, her tone light and a little slurred. She tipped her bottle toward the horizon, her smile wide, cheeks flushed with the warmth of the alcohol. The city lights flickered on as the sun dipped lower, casting a golden hue over the tops of the buildings. It was beautiful, in a way that only fleeting moments could be.

“Almost makes me forget all the crap going on, y’know?” Dylan added, his voice gruff but tinged with that same sense of temporary relief. The way he said it, with the weight of too many unspoken thoughts hanging between his words, earned him playful eyerolls from both Evelyn and Lucas.

“Buzzkill,” Lucas muttered, shaking his head with a grin.

Ingrid smiled faintly, though the words barely registered. The skyline stretched before her, glittering and grand, but her mind was elsewhere— far from the laughter and casual conversation, far from this rooftop. She could still hear them, her friends talking and joking like they always did, but it all felt muted, like she was standing on the other side of a glass wall.

Lucas noticed her stillness first. He nudged her gently with his elbow, his voice soft, yet filled with that familiar, quiet concern. “You alright?”

She blinked, startled out of her thoughts. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“Dangerous pastime,” Dylan quipped from across the rooftop, raising his can in a mock toast before taking a sip. He shot her a smirk, clearly trying to lighten the mood, but Ingrid only managed a weak laugh, the sound barely leaving her throat. It felt hollow, disconnected from the part of her that was always there, just beneath the surface— heavy, anxious, never truly at ease.

The others drifted back into their conversation, something about movies they were planning to watch together. Ingrid tried to focus, tried to let herself get pulled into the lightheartedness of it all. But the more she tried, the more her thoughts spiraled inward, tightening like a coil around her chest, pulling her deeper into that familiar pit.

She wasn’t like them. She couldn’t be like them, no matter how hard she tried. Their world felt too far away from hers— too light, too easy. They could forget, even for a little while. They could laugh, drink, talk about stupid things like movies and pretend the world wasn’t falling apart. Ingrid couldn’t do that. She wasn’t sure she ever could. The weight she carried felt too permanent, too solid, like an anchor dragging her down.

Before she could stop herself, the words slipped out. “Evelyn. Can I…?”

Evelyn looked over at her, wide-eyed with surprise, but there was no hesitation in her movements. Without a word, she handed Ingrid the bottle, her colorful nails brushing against Ingrid’s hand as she passed it over. The others glanced her way, Lucas with a questioning look that lingered longer than she liked. But Ingrid ignored it, her fingers tightening around the bottle.

The paper bag crinkled in her grip as she brought the bottle to her lips. She hesitated for a second, feeling the weight of the moment press down on her, then tipped it back. The alcohol hit her tongue, sharp and bitter, and she had to force herself not to grimace. It burned its way down her throat, leaving a heat that pooled in her stomach, but it didn’t chase away the thoughts like she’d hoped. Not entirely.

She hated the taste. Always had. But she drank anyway, a few more sips, each one slower than the last, before lowering the bottle. The warmth spread, dulling the edges of the pain, just a little. Maybe that was enough. Just this once. She wasn’t going to make a habit of it. She could stop when she wanted to— this was just temporary. A way to silence the chaos for a few minutes.

“Didn’t think you were into this stuff,” Dylan commented, his tone casual, but his eyes told a different story. Concern flickered in his gaze, hidden beneath the humor, the same way it always did when something felt off.

Ingrid didn’t look at him. She couldn’t. Instead, she kept her focus on the skyline, on the lights that flickered in the distance. “I’m not,” she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. The weight of the bottle in her hand suddenly felt wrong, heavy in a way she hadn’t expected. It was like she’d crossed an invisible line, one she couldn’t uncross, and the familiar pang of guilt settled deep in her gut.

How many times had she sworn this wouldn’t be her? That she wouldn’t turn to alcohol like so many others in her life had, as some kind of escape? She’d made promises, to herself, to her father, to the person she wanted to be— someone strong enough to handle things differently. But here she was, clutching the bottle as if it held answers. As if it could fix something.

The realization hit her hard, like a punch to the stomach. Her fingers twitched, wanting to hurl the bottle off the rooftop and watch it shatter below. But instead, she set it down beside her, carefully, almost delicately, as if that small act of control could erase the guilt bubbling up inside her. The taste of the alcohol still lingered on her tongue, bitter and sharp, making her feel nauseous. She didn’t want it anymore. She didn’t want the numbness it promised, or the shame that came with it.

“Hey.” Evelyn’s voice was softer now, a rare moment of understanding in her usually carefree demeanor. She glanced over at Ingrid, her smile gone. “You okay?”

Ingrid forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah. Just… needed to try and clear my head.” The lie felt heavy on her tongue, but she wasn’t ready to unravel everything, not here, not now.

Evelyn didn’t push. She just nodded, her gaze returning to the sunset, and the moment seemed to pass, leaving the others to fall back into their conversation. But for Ingrid, it wasn’t that easy. The weight in her chest stayed, gnawing at her, the guilt settling like a stone in the pit of her stomach. She pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, trying to find some comfort in the way the city hummed below them.

The alcohol buzzed faintly in her veins, but it didn’t quiet her thoughts the way she’d hoped. If anything, it made them louder, each one echoing in her mind—  disappointment, shame, fear. She could feel the disconnect between herself and the people around her, the distance growing with each passing second. They could laugh, they could be carefree, but her mind never let her rest.

Suddenly, the sharp sound of her phone ringing broke through her thoughts, startling her enough to make her flinch. She fumbled in her pocket, pulling it out to see Peter’s name flashing on the screen.

“It’s Peter,” she muttered, more to herself than to anyone else.

Evelyn’s lips quirked into a knowing smirk, a little of her usual teasing creeping back. “Ohhh, the boyfriend,” she teased lightly, drawing out the word in that way only Evelyn could. Ingrid rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips despite everything.

“Go on, answer it. I bet Europe’s way more exciting than listening to Dylan talk about Star Wars and Lord of the Rings for the millionth time,” Evelyn said, waving her hand toward the phone as if shooing her away.

Dylan immediately looked offended, crossing his arms in mock indignation. "Hey!"

But Evelyn and Lucas were already giggling, their laughter filling the air as Dylan tried to defend himself. Ingrid couldn’t help but laugh, the sound soft and fleeting, but it felt good— almost normal.

She stood, her phone still ringing in her hand, and took a few steps away from the group, the familiar weight of Peter’s call grounding her in a way the alcohol never could. She took a deep breath before answering, her voice softer than usual.

"Hey, what's up? Fought any more giant monsters lately?" Ingrid teased, trying to inject some lightness into her tone, hoping it would hide the gnawing worry she always felt when he was away.

There was a brief pause on the other end before Peter answered, his smile audible in his voice. "Uh, yeah, actually."

Ingrid’s own smile faltered, her playful banter interrupted by a creeping sense of unease. "Wait… seriously?" Her heart skipped a beat, her mind instantly conjuring images of Peter facing something dangerous, and she wasn’t there to help him. It was a thought that sent a wave of unease through her chest.

"Yeah... it was a fire one this time," Peter said casually, like he was describing a walk in the park and not a battle with something that could incinerate everything around it.

Ingrid swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "A fire monster? You fought a fire monster without me?" She tried to laugh, but it came out shaky. "You do realize that's, like, the ultimate form of betrayal, right?" She kept her tone light, but the worry twisted in her gut, threatening to break through.

Peter chuckled on the other end, the sound warm and familiar. "If it makes you feel better, it actually reminded me of you."

Ingrid bit her lip, trying to suppress the smile that tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Oh, wow. So, a giant fire monster that could destroy a city reminds you of me? How romantic." She let out a soft laugh, but her tone quickly shifted as the seriousness of the situation sank in. "How did you even kill that thing without burning down the whole city?"

Peter's smile faded slightly, and Ingrid could hear the slight hesitation in his voice. "Well… Mysterio helped. Actually, he kind of did most of the work. I just… you know… helped out a bit." He trailed off, and Ingrid could tell he was downplaying his role, like he always did. Peter never took credit, even when he deserved it. He exhaled softly, his voice quieter when he spoke again. "You get it."

Ingrid did get it. More than anyone else, she understood the weight of the responsibility they both carried. The unspoken pressure to be something more than just teenagers. But that didn’t stop her from feeling a surge of protectiveness over him. She didn’t like the idea of him fighting without her there, without someone watching his back. And Mysterio? She barely knew anything about this guy.

"Who even is this Mysterio guy?" Ingrid asked, her voice dripping with playful skepticism, though the question was genuine. She didn’t trust easily, and the fact that Peter was relying on someone else— someone new —made her uneasy.

Peter hesitated again, his voice softening. "Oh, he's great. It’s just..." He trailed off, as if weighing his words. Ingrid could hear the uncertainty, the doubt he was trying to keep hidden. "It feels really good to talk to someone who gets all the superhero stuff, you know?"

Ingrid’s heart clenched at that. Her mind raced, wondering why Peter hadn’t been telling her everything. Why would he confide in someone else? Was she not enough? Had she failed him somehow?

"Peter, you can always talk to me about it. You know I get it." Her voice was quiet, but there was an edge of vulnerability there, one she hadn’t meant to let slip out. She needed him to know that she was still here for him, always would be.

There was a pause on the other end, long enough for Ingrid to feel the weight of his hesitation. "I don’t know..." Peter began, his words slow, like he was piecing them together as he spoke. "I didn’t want to bother you with all that. You’ve been hanging out with friends, trying to be more... you know, normal. I just didn’t want to— you deserve a break from all of this." His voice was so quiet now that Ingrid had to strain to hear him over the faint hum of the city.

Her heart ached at his words. The idea that Peter thought he was a burden, that he had kept things from her because he didn’t want to add to her stress—it hurt more than she could have expected. "Bother me? Peter, seriously, you’re never a bother." Her voice was firmer now, her concern bleeding through. "You know that, right?"

“I guess… I just thought maybe you’d want space, you know? Like, away from all the craziness. You’ve been through enough.” Peter’s voice was quiet, thoughtful, like he was trying to tread carefully, but there was something deeper there— guilt, maybe, or worry.

Ingrid’s chest tightened at the thought of Peter feeling like he had to pull away, like he was protecting her by keeping a distance. She smiled softly, trying to reassure him even though he couldn’t see her face. “We both have, Peter. But I don’t need space from you. If anything, I could use more of you.”

There was a brief silence on the other end, then she heard him let out a small chuckle, the sound familiar and comforting. “Yeah, but you’ve got this whole normal thing going on now. I don’t want to mess that up.”

Ingrid's eyes flickered over to her friends, who were deep in conversation, laughing about something she couldn’t quite catch. She exhaled slowly, her voice softer when she spoke again. “I don’t think normal is really in the cards for me anyway. Maybe I never even wanted to be normal.”

Peter paused. Ingrid could feel the weight of his silence, as if he were carefully considering her words. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet, cautious. “You really don’t want to just... take a step back? Be like everyone else?”

Ingrid sighed, her gaze still lingering on the sunset as if it held some answer she was searching for. The colors bled across the sky— soft pinks, oranges, and golds melting together —and it reminded her of how fleeting everything felt. “Maybe for a minute,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, “but, at the end of the day, that’s not who I am.”

She looked back at her friends again, watching the easy way they joked with each other, the effortless camaraderie that came with normal life—movie nights, inside jokes, planning weekend trips. Ingrid smiled softly, appreciating the simplicity of it, but there was always a part of her that felt separate. Detached. She could fit into their world for a while, but eventually, she’d be drawn back into the chaos of who she really was.

“You’re not alone, Peter,” she said, her voice firmer now. “You never were. Not as long as I’m here.”

There was another pause on the line, but this time it didn’t feel heavy. It felt like Peter was absorbing her words, letting them sink in. “Okay,” he finally said, and she could hear the soft smile in his voice now, as if the weight on his shoulders had lifted, even if just a little. “Thank you.”

Ingrid smiled, her heart warming at the simple gratitude in his voice. “You promise you’ll call me if you need anything? Even if it’s just to talk?”

“I promise,” Peter said, and his voice had that sincerity that always tugged at her.

“Good. Now, I think Dylan is about to start crying over Star Wars, and I absolutely need to see that.” Ingrid’s tone lightened as she glanced back at her friends. Dylan had gotten increasingly animated in his debate with Evelyn, his voice rising as he passionately defended his favorite Star Wars movie. She stifled a laugh, knowing it was only a matter of time before Evelyn’s teasing broke him.

Peter chuckled softly. “Okay, I’ll let you go. Talk to you later?”

“Yeah, later. Bye, Peter.”

“Bye, Ingrid.”

She heard the line go silent, but she didn’t move for a moment, her phone still held loosely in her hand as she stared out at her friends. The sky was darker now, the sun nearly gone, leaving only a faint glow on the horizon. There was something both peaceful and bittersweet about the scene. She could be here, with them, laughing and enjoying the quiet moments. But there was always a part of her that felt like she was waiting— for the next call, the next battle, the next crisis.