( gif by hazzawckd <3 )

That night instead of the adrenaline keeping me awake, it was the fear instead. I was a firm believer that aliens existed, ghosts are real, vampires might've once walked this earth and mermaids could be alive; but a man shooting webs out of his wrists in the middle of the night while speaking in a british accent–not that it really mattered what his accent sounded like, just adds to the even more weird experience I had–wasn't on my agenda.

I ended up staying awake for the rest of the night to wait for the girls to come home, huddled on the couch with a blanket wrapped around my shoulders and a cup of hot chocolate in my hands, I refused to shut my eyes. After they all came home, I sat them down on the couch and started to explain everything I saw. Thinking they would find my experience also alarming, I was appalled when not a single one of them moved from their spots to say we should be careful; they were calm, as if this happened every other day in their life.

"He calls himself Spider-Punk," Vanity starts off, opening up her tablet to show many art designs she had done of the said superhero. "No one really bothers him. He helps out around the community, keeps the creeps out of our neighborhood and is good at what he does." She reassures me, glancing between the other two as if she was hiding something that only she knew about.

So much for trust. Vanity doesn't say anything, taking her tablet back as she heads to her room without a good night.

I turn to the others, a confused look on my face. "So, he names himself basically after a popular band and no one says anything? That isn't obsessive to you?" I questioned, expecting to get an answer but was left with it unanswered as the other two did the same, both of them saying nothing as they headed into their rooms like what I just said meant nothing. Like a man shooting webs out of his hand was... normal?

Shaking my head in disbelief at the empty living room I stood in, I take one last glance out towards the bustling streets of New York before heading back into my room with the door shut and locked. My stomach cramped and I nearly collapsed to the ground in shock as my face buries into my pillow, it all felt like a dream. None of it was real–like an illusion and I was high of narcotics that made me go lucid. I relived that moment until I was finally knocked out. My dreams were a mixture of a nightmare and a lucid dream. I knew I was awake, but did my body? I wasn't scared of that drunken man on me–well, maybe a little, but that was a normal thing in today's society that shouldn't be, but there was nothing I could do about that.

I was scared of that so-called Spider-Punk.

I got a few hours of shut eye, my mind clouded with thoughts of that crazy man running through my mind. What made me even more mad was how no one seemed phased by the description I gave and comforted me about it, maybe I was being too dramatic about wanting to be comforted, but in my defense. Who wouldn't?

I woke up two hours earlier than my alarm the next morning. I don't remember eating breakfast or hailing a cab, but I step onto the curb and I have a strong desire to bolt now that I'm finally here, but I know that I worked far too hard to get here. Also for the fact Deja was waiting for me at the top of the stairs.

A pretty girl with bouncy curls steps out from behind her as she holds two cups of coffee in her hands, hurrying towards me with Deja bolting down the stairs and pulling me into a hug. I take in her features, a miniature version of Deja with her tanned skin and bronzed, high cheekbones. They have the same fashion.

"I saw that look of hesitation on your face, were you getting cold feet?" Her perky, morning voice rings through my ears as I chuckle shyly. "You did!" She yells out, causing others to give us a weird look.

"(Y/N), right?" The girl next to Deja says, passing me a coffee. "I'm June." She smiles and pulls me into an awkward hug. "I'm Deja's assistant for this 'semester' that they like to call it."

I pulled back and, slightly impressed, said, "Nice to meet you."

She hooks an arm through Deja's as Deja does the same to me, the three of us walking to the reception like we knew each other since diapers. "So, I've pretty much grilled Deja for information on you, and obviously, she is like a broken zipper on a bag. Useless. You'd think being the best designer at this company and wanting to win, she'd help out with her assistance getting to know the new intern, but no."

I raise an eyebrow at Deja, who is looking at June with a sweet, bashful smile. "I didn't tell you anything because she barely told me, and her work can speak for herself." she says.

June swivels her neck to look at me. "Well, let's start with an easy one: what made you want to get into fashion?"

My stomach clenches. It's a simple question, but one I always feel guilty about. This dream was never mine to begin with, it was always Maddie's dream, I felt like a fraud taking over something that didn't belong to me. "Is this going to be in a magazine about the new interns?"

She grins, and I can't help but notice how perfect her teeth are with one diamond engraved on her canine. "No, this is strictly for personal use." She scrunched her button nose and says, "I promise I am not a stalker, I'm just interested in the new intern that has everyone gloating about your work and this is your first day."

"It's really not that interesting," I say "My best friend Maddie passed away, and I promised her that I would continue on what she started. I grew to love it over the months after she passed, makes me feel like she is still there."

Her eyes soften while Deja stiffens at the mention of my reasoning, but she stays quiet as we enter inside and the two swap places so we can talk. "That must be hard, my cousin died when I was fifteen. Losing someone is never easy, but on the plus side: you know she is always watching over you in your work."

I smile, and in the final minutes of us talking and entering inside the warehouse again, the two give me a crash course on all things interning: always be on call, never silence your phone, research today's fashion in all different countries, try to get interviews with any important people before the person in front of you in the next group does, two cups of coffee will be your friend, never go to the bathroom without your phone.

And the last one is a must. Never, ever, let someone other than your group see your designs. By the time they finish telling me everything, I somehow know everything and nothing.

Deja spends the next fifteen minutes going over the schedule of this month's events and what she expects out of me before leading me down the corridor. We make a right, stopping in front of a door with its blind pull down.

"This is my workshop," She says. "We muster out in the main foyer, as long as you do your homework on time and don't embarrass me, you are allowed back here with or without one of us." She nudges me with her shoulder and smiles, so I attempt to smile back.

She opens the door and steps inside, June already on the phone with a company trying to get an interview with their director to wear some of Deja's hidden work. Thankfully, June is a smooth-talker and promises whoever it was on the other end she'd go out with him and the conversation ends there. I stand at the door as quietly as possible, studying the large bay screen that holds many folders dated back to when Deja started.

At one point, I ran my gaze over a few mannequins, spotting fabrics that had yet to be released, colors that mixed well with one another, project designs behind the mannequins that had the most recent blueprints for the show. Tucked away in a small area of her screen, I see 'Spider-Band' in bold letters. Curiosity gets the best of me and I'm tunnel-vision on the idea of who is behind the mask and if the lead singer is mad that some fake superhero is taking their name, and twisting it for his own pleasure.

"What's with people liking this band? I heard, well, read, the lead singer is a horrible influence on everyone."

June snapped her pen in my direction while resting in the chair, feet kicked up on the table with her laptop in her lap and her ipad opened up next to her. "That's exactly why our inspiration will be based off of the band, more specifically Hobie Brown." Placing a finger on the tablet to have the screen face me, on display was an outline of Deja's work that was side by side of Hobie Brown's attire.

"Hobie is the type of person who, if you tell him to jump off of a building, he won't listen to you because you told him to; but he will jump off a higher platform just to prove he can do it. His work is very bright, mismatched colors, inconsistent."

"So a designer's worst nightmare."

The pen she was holding pointed at me, a grin on her face. "Exactly, Deja snooped around and saw Karl is planning on getting the band here in two weeks to try on everyone's designs. Unless someone comes up with a better set."

"And if they decide to come." Deja finally chimed in, an annoyed sigh leaving her lips whilst stabbing a pin into the head of the mannequins. "They say they will come, but then suddenly they can't because Hobie is always missing or too tired from doing god knows what the next day. If you tell me—as much as I like this idea, I think we should focus on Rico."

"The guitarist?"

"Yes. Feminine power! She is the only one who is stuck in that overrun band of men, I think if we pitch the idea of a few outfit ideas to Karl, he'll consider letting Rico try them on."

"Is Hobie the only one who gets outfits?"

Deja taps her chin in thought, nodding her head after a few minutes of silence. "Yes and no. Usually we make a whole set of designs for them, pick out fabric and get custom made jewelry, the whole nine-yards; but nothing catches their eye and they only take what they have to. Luckily, Karl makes each different group focus on one member of the band. This year it is the whole band we have to focus on."

My eyes widened with a little sigh, feeling myself overwhelmed by the pressure to pull this off. "So we start now?"

"We start now."

Pulling off the backpack from the seat, I zip open my bag and was surprised to see a stack of papers that read the paperwork for my job at the diner. Confused and puzzled, I shoved them back into my bag before grabbing some pens and paper to start brainstorming.

...

"I want to die." I murmur, running around the diner with one hand holding a plate of food while the other holds a checkbook. Maggie stood behind me, chuckling softly as she helped me distribute the proper orders.

"Relax, it's the first real day. You're bound to be overwhelmed." Maggie says back over my shoulder as she nods to a customer silently asking for a refill. I spilled to Maggie of everything I witnessed and would be doing, the only person who validated my feelings.

"I have to come up with designs for a band I just heard about, studying their lives and to add the cherry on top." I turned to her as if I was about to drop a bombshell. "We have to try and get an interview with them to learn some deeper meanings, I mean. Come on. If they are that popular, how can we do that?"

Maggie just laughs, shrugging her shoulders before my shift comes to a quick end. It was only an orientation, but luckily it was paid for. Clocking out and reminding her of the days I can work, I headed out and was glad the night wasn't as rainy as it was the first time I was here.

I hesitated on what route to take, the longer way that wrapped around the city? Or take the alleyway again. I didn't want to let what happened fear me seeing as that route was only a five-ten minute walk, the other was half an hour.

My body acts before I can reconsider my decisions again, propelling me down the alleyway and the silence of New York seems to vanish again.

The blast of warm air is starling. Yesterday, the streets were flooding with the pouring of the rain and today, it is like a warm summer's day.  I was partially used to it, California was bipolar when it came to weather.

"You really like getting yourself into danger, huh?"

My gaze shifts to the fire escape stair well. The tall, covered figure leaning over the railing, he was about five feet away from me, but there's enough light from a nearby streetlamp to irradiate his outfit in a warm, yellow haze.

In the lightning and with a clear head, I get a good look at him now. He is wearing ripped jeans with a spider on the thigh, two belts around his small waist, a torn, blue shirt and a leather jacket with the sleeves completely ripped. He has a few pins on the jacket and spiked bracelets around his wrists. He is skinny, but the few indents in his suit proves he definitely works out in a weird way. He has a nice accent, it makes an odd feeling flutter through me. Halfway between nervousness and alarm.

"And you must really like stalking me," I say, shifting my weight onto my other foot. If my mother could see me now, tucked away in the dark with a masked boy, she'd have my head. "I am going home. How did you find out where I live?"

"You neva' heard of me?" I can tell he is looking right at me, his mask surrounding his eyes moves with each different word like a cartoon character would. "I saw you drop it yesterday, I wanted to be nice and drop it off."

"By following me home?"

"Let's say I know a friend of a friend."

"Well, tell your friend of a friend I would appreciate not being stalked." I shoot back. I was completely out of my mind being so straightforward and disrespectful to a strange man who could possibly hurt me, but I didn't care. Not now that I knew he was stalking me.

"Believe me, it wasn't my idea." He jumps over the railing and lands gracefully in front of me. I stand my ground, ready to pepper spray him as he holds out his hands in a universal "I won't hurt you" kind of way. "I know Vanity, she told me you were new and wanted me to keep watch." With that, he slips back into the shadows and heads into the void of no light as I'm left, openmouthed, staring at the street ahead of me.