Chapter 52 : Unexpected Encounters
New York, Queens – Wendy's POV
The apartment felt quiet as I entered. Alex was at his desk, posture tense, eyes scanning the screens with that familiar intense focus. I'd noticed this mood before over the past few days — moments when he seemed distant, absorbed, almost… unreachable. I didn't understand it, and he never explained, but I had learned to adjust. Today, I decided to focus on the game and limit unnecessary interaction.
I pulled up a chair and launched Minecraft. Third session now — I knew the world well, had already explored most of it, and my fingers moved confidently over the controls. I stayed immersed, building, testing, and giving feedback when it mattered, keeping conversation minimal.
The first part of the session passed in quiet rhythm. I tested movement, mob spawns, crafting mechanics. Occasionally, I gave concise feedback:
"Tool crafting is smoother, faster."
"The mob spawn balance is way better — not overwhelming like last time."
"Jumping across terrain feels more natural."
Alex remained focused, sometimes paused, watching my actions, giving subtle nods. He didn't speak much, didn't tease, just observed. I noticed the difference from usual — this distant mood, the one I'd seen before — and I adapted, letting the quiet focus fill the space.
After a while, I saw him relax. His posture softened, and his voice returned to light teasing, jokes slipped between testing notes.
"Hey, that block doesn't behave like I expected," I said, laughing at a glitch.
He grinned faintly. "You know I can fix that. But only if you promise not to break more stuff first."
As the session wound down, I leaned back in my chair, stretching my fingers. "Everything feels good this time," I said, glancing at Alex. "Your tweaks really improved the flow."
He nodded, eyes still scanning the screen, but his expression was lighter now. "Glad to hear it. You gave me the feedback I needed."
A pause, then he added thoughtfully, "We could take this a step further. Have more people test it. Get a wider range of impressions — things we might be missing on our own."
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Like… other players?"
"Yes," he said simply. "Some of your classmates, for example. You can discuss it tomorrow — Friday — with whoever's interested. I'll prepare a version on a disk they can take home, so they can play over the weekend. Then we'll get their feedback on Monday."
I considered it. "That could work. I know a few who'd actually enjoy trying it — and give good notes."
Alex's gaze flicked briefly, measured. "I'm sure Peter will be interested. Being neighbors, we could get his feedback faster too."
I smiled, imagining how he'd react to being included. "Alright. Tomorrow, then. We'll see who wants in."
He gave a faint nod, precise and satisfied. "Exactly. Controlled, manageable. Enough testers to see patterns, without overwhelming the process. Quality over quantity."
We spent a few more minutes wrapping up, saving progress, noting minor glitches, and confirming what would go to the next round of testers. The session ended on a calm, purposeful note — focused, efficient, and collaborative in a way that felt natural.
New York, Queens – Alex's POV
The session wrapped up smoothly. Wendy leaned back, satisfied, still focused on her notes and the occasional comment on the game. I moved efficiently, preparing the disk versions of the game for her to distribute to the classmates we'd agreed on. Every file checked, every copy verified — precision as always.
Once the disks were ready, I finally let the Void recede, the cold tension around me easing just enough to feel the room's ordinary warmth again. The air felt lighter, the edges of thoughts softer.
Dinner with my family followed. Conversation flowed easily — Wendy animatedly recounting bits of her day, Mom thoughtful as usual — and I responded when needed, measured, but letting myself enjoy the subtle normalcy. The Void's pull had gone, replaced by a quiet alertness, a readiness for anything, yet anchored in mundane life.
Later, the evening settled into calm. I tidied my workspace, checked the city outside once, then moved toward my bedroom. The day's training, tests, and calculations had left their mark, but for the first time in a while, fatigue didn't feel like a threat — just a signal to rest.
I slipped under the covers, the city's distant hum filtered through, letting myself finally surrender to sleep, ready to face the weekend and the new round of feedback from Wendy and her classmates.
The day mirrored the one before.
Classes, the steady rhythm of ESU, and the quiet, disciplined work of refining the Void between lectures — mapping reactions, testing micro-adjustments, looking for the first signs of predictable patterns. The strain was still there, but lighter than yesterday. My body adapted. My mind adjusted. Control came in increments.
After class, I spent a few minutes with Gwen and MJ.
MJ chatted easily; I answered with my usual calm. Gwen, though… she caught the subtle shift — the cold clarity in my gaze, the flattened tone. She didn't mention it with MJ around, but her eyes said everything.
And still, for reasons I hadn't fully understood, something inside me softened slightly when she looked at me. The Void dulled almost everything, but not her. Not entirely.
When I finally pushed open the door to the apartment, the Void was fully active — sharp, silent, structured. Every object, every sound, every detail around me fell into place with mechanical precision. The cold focus wrapped around me, numbing fatigue, numbing emotion, but not thought. Never thought.
I dropped onto the couch, posture straight despite the intent to rest. Relaxation wasn't really possible with the Void active — only controlled stillness.
So I sat there, letting my body adopt the minimum-energy state while my mind continued processing the day's data points, the training adjustments, the next steps.
Wendy wasn't home yet.
I would wait.
Recover what I could before the next session.
The click of the front door lock stirred me instantly.
My eyes opened. Muscles tightened. Awareness sharpened.
The Void reacted first — focusing, organizing, preparing — but I pushed it down in the same breath, forcing the cold presence to collapse inward.
The click of the front door lock stirred me instantly.
My eyes opened. Awareness sharpened automatically — the Void reacting — but I forced it down, collapsing the cold presence inward until warmth began to slip back into place.
By the time she stepped inside, I was steady again.
"Alex!" Wendy burst in, dropping her backpack with a thud. Her face was lit up with that bright, unfiltered excitement she never bothered to hide. "Okay, okay, I have so much to tell you."
I shifted upright on the couch, the last traces of the Void fading from my tone.
"Go on."
She practically hopped into her chair.
"So — I gave out the discs today. Like, actually handed them out. And, Alex, there were way more people interested than the number of copies you prepped."
I lifted an eyebrow. "That many?"
"Oh yeah," she said, grinning. "It turned into a mini crowd. And Peter—" she paused, laughing softly, "—Peter literally gave up his disc because he saw others wanted it more."
That tracked. Too well.
Wendy continued, leaning forward, elbows on her knees.
"I told him not to worry because you can burn another copy tonight or tomorrow. He said it's fine if you give it to him directly. You know… neighbor privileges."
A small exhale escaped me — not quite a laugh, but close enough for her to catch it.
"That's manageable," I said. "I'll make him a version after our session."
She clapped once, happy to have everything in place.
"Perfect! Everyone will start testing this weekend. I told them to write feedback so you'll have it on Monday."
I nodded and stood, moving toward the desk where our setup waited.
"Then let's begin. I want to see how stable things are before they dive in."
Wendy slid her chair closer, eyes alight.
"Let's go."
The session passed smoothly. Wendy navigated the world with ease, offering precise feedback as she explored builds, tested mechanics, and refined controls. Her energy was infectious, but focused — teasing me occasionally, laughing at small quirks in the game, yet always grounded in constructive observations. By the end, I had collected enough input to confidently move to the next step.
Once she packed up her things and headed to the kitchen for a quick snack, I allowed the Void to return, feeling its cold, encompassing presence settle back around me. Precision, awareness, every impulse sharpened — the familiar weight of control that always demanded attention.
With the Void active again, I set to work preparing the additional discs. One version was for Peter, as promised — a clean copy with all the tweaks Wendy and I had tested. Another copy I labeled for him to pass along to a friend, expanding the circle of feedback without me having to manage every handoff directly.
Every step was methodical: disc creation, verification, labeling. The Void heightened my focus, eliminating distractions, every calculation exact. When the discs were ready, I set them aside, ready for distribution.
The night continued quietly. I spent a short while reviewing logs, then joined my family for a proper dinner. Conversation flowed easily — Wendy animated, Mom thoughtful, me attentive — the warmth of the moment managing to slip past the Void just enough to feel natural. After the meal, I left the apartment and made my way to the Parkers' home to deliver the discs to Peter.
New York, Queens – May Parker's POV
The buzzer's sharp trill sliced through the quiet hum of my apartment, pulling me from my thoughts. I set my wine glass down on the coffee table, the novel I'd been half-reading forgotten. Peter must have forgotten his key again. I padded to the door, my bare feet silent on the cool hardwood floor, and pulled it open without checking the peephole. "What did you forget this time, sweet—" The rest of the sentence died in my throat. It wasn't Peter.
The man standing in my hallway was a stranger, and yet… not. He was tall, so tall he had to angle his head slightly to look directly at me, his broad shoulders nearly filling the doorframe. He was built, solid and powerful in a way that was utterly at odds with the lanky teenagers Peter usually brought around. A simple grey t-shirt stretched taut across a chest that was pure muscle, the fabric softening over the hard planes of his abdomen. His jeans were well-worn and fit him in a way that was both casual and profoundly distracting.
But it was his face that finally clicked the pieces into place. Those sharp, intelligent eyes, the strong jaw now dusted with stubble instead of baby fat. Alex. Peter's friend—or rather, acquaintance. They'd worked together on a couple of school projects, but that was all. I remembered him as the older boy who'd occasionally helped Peter with his science experiments, though they'd never shared a class. His little sister was in Peter's grade, and that was the only reason they'd crossed paths if we disregard the fact that we are neighbors. My mind flashed to a memory of a scrawny teenager with a shy smile and an awkward gait, his voice cracking when he'd tried to explain a physics concept to Peter.
Now, though, there was nothing awkward about him. He stood with a quiet confidence that made my pulse quicken, his posture relaxed yet commanding. I felt a flush of warmth creep up my neck, and I quickly folded my arms across my chest, as if that could shield me from the sudden awareness of his presence. What are you doing, May? I chided myself silently. He's practically a kid. But even as I thought it, I couldn't ignore the way my stomach fluttered or how my breath hitched ever so slightly as he smiled at me.
"Hi, Mrs. Parker," he said, his voice deep and smooth, more mature than I remembered. "Is Peter around?"
I managed a smile, hoping it didn't betray the sudden rush of emotions I was fighting to keep in check. "No, he's out with a friend," I replied, my voice sounding steadier than I felt. "Can I help you with something?"
He shifted slightly, his gaze never leaving mine, and for a moment, I felt like he could see right through me. "I just had some game discs to give him," he said, holding up a small case. "Figured I'd drop them off."
An impulse, sudden and completely unwise, shot through me. The apartment was so quiet. The wine was right there. And this… this man was a far more interesting prospect than my book. "You know, he could be a while," I said, tilting my head. "You could always come in. Join an old woman for a coffee. Or something stronger. I'm drinking a very respectable red."
The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I immediately regretted them. What are you doing? He's not your age, May. But there was something about his calm demeanor, the way he carried himself, that made it hard to think clearly.
His smile didn't fade, but his eyes sharpened, focusing on me with a new intensity. He's observing me, I realized. The way I was just observing him. "Old?" he repeated, and his gaze did a quick, appreciative sweep from my face down to my worn-in jeans and back up. It wasn't lewd. It was… assessing. And it sent a jolt straight through me. "I don't see an old woman. I see a very attractive one who's definitely not old."
The air between us thickened, charged with a current he had just switched on. He seemed to realize the weight of his words a second later, his confident posture shifting almost imperceptibly. A faint flush crept up his neck. "I'm sorry, that was… I didn't mean to…"
"No, no," I said, waving a hand dismissively, though my heart was doing a frantic tap dance against my ribs. "Don't apologize for a compliment. It's been a while since I've gotten one that wasn't from my hairdresser. Come in, please." I stepped back, opening the door wider.
He hesitated for only a second before crossing the threshold into my home. As I closed the door behind him, I caught a glimpse of myself in the hallway mirror. My reflection stopped me for a moment. I hadn't expected to see what looked back at me—a woman who didn't feel as old as her age suggested. My dark hair, still thick and full, framed my face in loose waves. The lines around my eyes were faint, the kind that came from years of laughter rather than worry. My lips, painted a soft berry red, looked inviting, and the snug fit of my cream sweater hinted at curves that hadn't softened much over the years.
I caught my reflection again, this time letting my gaze linger. My jeans clung to my hips in a way that felt both effortless and intentional, accentuating the curve of my waist and the fullness of my thighs. The fabric hugged every inch, and I couldn't help but notice how it framed the subtle swell of my hips, the kind of shape that still turned heads even after all these years. My hips had always been one of my best features, and now, standing there, I felt a small thrill of pride. They were… noticeable. Undeniable.
The snug fit of my cream sweater didn't help matters. It hugged my torso snugly, skimming over the soft rise of my breasts and dipping into the gentle curve of my waist before flaring out slightly at my hips. Confident, I thought. That's what I looked like. Confident. Bold, even. My curves hadn't softened much over the years—if anything, they'd only become more defined, more… pronounced. My breasts were still full, my waist still narrow, and the faintest hint of a flare at my hips gave me a silhouette that was unmistakably feminine.
I wasn't dressed like someone expecting a quiet night alone. No, I looked like someone who might be waiting for something—or someone—to happen. And the thought sent a small, illicit thrill through me. I still have it, I realized with a quiet, almost giddy satisfaction. My body hadn't betrayed me yet. I still had everything it took to turn heads, to make a man—any man—pause and take notice. And Alex, standing there in my living room, with his broad shoulders and that deep, rumbling voice, was definitely noticing.
The awareness of his gaze—even if it wasn't on me at that exact moment—sent a flicker of heat through me. I wasn't just looking at myself anymore. I was looking at myself through his eyes. And what I saw was a woman who still knew how to be seductive. A woman who could still make a man—even a man like Alex—feel that unmistakable pull.
The realization settled over me like a warm blanket, both comforting and dangerous. I had everything it took to be tempting, to be irresistible. And that knowledge, more than anything, made my pulse quicken.
Alex moved with a contained grace, a predator trying to be polite. He seemed to fill the living room, his presence altering the very atmosphere. I lingered for another moment, smoothing a hand over my hair, a tiny attempt to ground myself. Then I followed him in, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor.
I gestured to the sofa. "Make yourself comfortable. Wine? Or were you serious about coffee?"
"Wine is great, thank you," he said, sitting down. He didn't sink into the cushions; he perched on the edge, his posture alert. He looked around the apartment, taking in the photos of Peter, the comfortable clutter, the sense of a lived-in home. "This is nice. Cozy."
"It's a mess," I said, pouring another glass of Merlot for him. I handed it over, my fingers deliberately brushing against his. A spark, small but undeniable, passed between us. I saw his eyes flick down to where our skin had touched, then back to my face. He felt it too.
I sat in the armchair across from him, tucking one leg beneath me. "So. Alex. How are your classes? Peter said you're at ESU now?"
We fell into the easy back-and-forth of catching up. He was sharp, witty, his mind as impressive as his physique. We talked about his engineering courses, Peter's latest academic triumphs, my job at the association. The conversation was a safe, steady boat on increasingly choppy water.
This is insane, I thought, sipping my wine, watching the way his hand curled around his glass. He's… what? Nineteen? Twenty? He's practically a baby. Peter's friend. My mind chanted a list of reasons this was a terrible idea, a litany of responsibility and propriety.
But my body was chanting something else entirely. Every time he laughed, the sound seemed to vibrate right through me. When he leaned forward to emphasize a point, I caught the clean, masculine scent of his soap. I found myself mirroring his movements, leaning in, laughing a little too readily at his jokes.
The talk turned, as it always did in this city, to the strange new world we lived in. "You see the news today?" he asked. "Spider-Man webbed up that wrecking ball down in Hell's Kitchen. Pretty incredible."
"It's all so unbelievable," I said, shaking my head. "One minute it's just us, the next there are people in spandex saving buses with their bare hands. And now there's that team, the… what are they called? The Fantastic Four? It's like a comic book."
"Life's getting weirder," he agreed, his eyes locked on mine. They were a fascinating shade of hazel, green and gold flecks swimming in a sea of brown. "Makes you wonder what's next."
As he spoke, I got up under the pretense of refilling our glasses. I stood beside him, closer than necessary, and placed my hand on the back of the sofa, just behind his shoulder. I could feel the heat radiating from his body. "It does make you wonder," I murmured, my voice dropping. "What other surprises are out there."
I let my fingers, just for a second, ghost over the taut cotton covering his shoulder. It was a fleeting touch, a barely-there suggestion. He went completely still. The easy flow of our conversation halted. I saw his jaw tighten, his breathing stall for a fraction of a second.
I pulled my hand away as if I'd been burned, returning to my chair. What are you doing, May? Stop it. The internal scolding was loud and clear. He's a nice boy. You're being inappropriate. But when I looked at him, I didn't see a boy. I saw a man watching me with a look of pure, unvarnished confusion. His gaze was dark, intense, searching my face for an answer to a question he hadn't asked out loud. He wasn't recoiling. He was… captivated.
"You were saying?" I prompted, forcing myself to sound casual, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. My voice was steady, but my heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it. "About the Fantastic Four?"
He hesitated for a moment, then cleared his throat, the sound rough. "Right," he said, his voice lower than before. "They're… something else. Reed Richards seems like a genius, but I can't imagine what it must be like to stretch like that." He chuckled, the tension easing just a fraction.
I nodded, sipping my wine, though my hands trembled slightly. "And Sue Storm—Invisible Woman—she's incredible. To have that kind of power and still stay grounded. It's inspiring."
"Yeah," he agreed, shifting slightly in his seat. His eyes flicked to mine, then away, as if he couldn't quite hold my gaze. "It's fascinating how people adapt to… sudden changes."
The conversation continued like that for another fifteen minutes—safe, surface-level topics about superheroes and the city's oddities. But beneath the words, there was an undercurrent of something more, something neither of us dared to acknowledge. I kept my distance, forcing myself to stay in my chair, though every fiber of my being wanted to move closer, to feel the heat of his body again.
Finally, Alex glanced at his phone and stood up, smoothing his jeans with a practiced nonchalance. "I should probably head out," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "It was… really nice talking to you, May. A pleasure."
"Likewise," I replied, standing as well. My legs felt unsteady, but I forced a smile. "Thanks for stopping by."
He walked to the door, and I followed, my bare feet silent on the hardwood floor. As he stepped into the hallway, he turned back, his eyes meeting mine one last time. There was something in his gaze—a question, a promise, a spark of something I couldn't quite name. Then he smiled and said, "Take care, May."
"You too," I murmured, closing the door slowly behind him. I leaned against it for a moment, letting out a shaky breath. That was… something.
But as I replayed the moment in my mind, something caught my attention—something that made my cheeks flush and my stomach twist with a mix of guilt and excitement. As he turned away, just before the door closed, I thought I saw it. The unmistakable outline of an erection straining against the fabric of his jeans.
My breath hitched, and I pressed a hand to my chest, feeling the rapid flutter of my heart. Oh God, I thought, my mind racing. What have I done?
But even as the shame washed over me, there was another feeling lurking beneath it—a thrill that I couldn't ignore. For just a moment, I let myself savor it.