Peter Parker looked at the expression on Jessica's face, a mixture of shock, absurdity, and a hint of hurt, and felt as if an invisible hand were squeezing his heart.
The black mask had been removed, and he could only face everything with his most authentic and weary face.
"I'm sorry, Jessica," his voice was dry, filled with an apology he himself didn't realize, "I didn't... I didn't mean to hide it from you."
Jessica Jones did not answer.
She simply looked at him deeply with those eyes that always held a sense of wariness and distance, as if trying to completely overlap this young man named Peter Parker with the Spider-Man could scale walls and leap across rooftops in her memory.
She took a deep breath, her chest heaving violently, then abruptly turned around and strode down the stairs to the second floor without a word.
The atmosphere in the hall became even more tense due to this sudden change.
"Ha." Wolverine Logan, twitched his rough stubble and let out a low laugh, breaking the deathly silence.
He pulled a flat metal flask from his waist, unscrewed the cap, and took a large gulp; the pungent aroma of the liquor instantly filled the air. "Looks like everyone's having a tough time."
He shook the wine jug and looked at everyone. "How about we all have a drink to celebrate that we're still alive and can still stand here and know each other?"
"A toast to this fucking world! A toast to the fact that we're still alive!"
Female Iron Fist and Black Panther exchanged a glance, offering no rebuttal. Magik said nothing, simply picking up his glass and downing it alone.
Doctor Octopus, however, was completely absorbed in debugging his equipment and showed no interest in these human emotional entanglements.
Only Peter's gaze remained fixed on Jessica's retreating figure as she disappeared around the corner of the stairs.
He clenched his fist, then relaxed it, and finally followed after him.
Some things need to be made clear.
He could no longer allow his companions to feel isolated because of him.
In another corner of the hall, the Classic Loki ignored Logan's suggestion and instead used magic to clean two crystal-clear glasses from a dusty liquor cabinet in the Sanctum, conjuring up a bottle of whiskey that looked to be quite old.
He poured himself and Lena, who was beside him, each a glass of amber-colored liquor that rippled in the glass.
"Have a drink." He handed one of the glasses to the woman who remained numb. "This is a treasured possession of Earth mages. While it can't compare to Asgard mead, it's far better than the industrial alcohol you find outside."
Lena mechanically took the glass; the cool touch of the glass seemed to bring her back to her senses.
She didn't drink; instead, she raised her head and looked solemnly at Classic Loki's face with her eyes, which had been empty for a long time.
"What's wrong?" Classic Loki noticed her unusual behavior and asked, puzzled.
Lena looked into his weathered eyes, which seemed to hold the weight of countless stars, and said clearly, word by word, "I remember... my surname."
She paused, each word like a pearl painstakingly retrieved from the depths of her memory.
"I am Lena Sigyn."
"Smack!"
A faint but clear harbinger of shattering.
A crack appeared in the wine glass in Classic Loki's hand, and the wine inside was about to spill out.
He was stunned, as if struck by a bolt of lightning from the Nine Realms.
Sigyn.
This surname...
However, it was only a momentary lapse in concentration.
Before the wine glass shattered completely, a barely perceptible golden magic enveloped it, mending the cracks and holding it firmly in his palm.
He quickly regained his worldly composure, as if his earlier loss of composure was merely an illusion.
He looked at the woman before him, her icy blue eyes, her chestnut braid, and her dignified and gentle features that remained even after the devastation of the apocalypse.
No one knew better than him what this surname meant.
That heart, long since cold and accustomed to deception and loneliness, was gently touched at this moment, stirring a ripple that even he himself found unfamiliar.
But he didn't ask any further questions, nor did he reveal anything.
He simply turned his hand around and, with his own calloused but still warm hand, grasped Lena's cold palm.
"It's alright, Lena." His voice was deep and gentle, with a soothing quality. "What your surname is doesn't matter. What matters is what you think."
After saying that, he took her hand and, without any room for argument, gently placed her slightly cool palm on his left chest.
Through her clothes, she could feel the steady and powerful beating of that ancient heart.
The important thing is that you're here.
Meanwhile, Spider-Man found Jessica in a semi-open study on the second floor.
She stood with her back to the stairwell, in front of a broken round stained-glass window, looking out at the desolate New York nightscape, ravaged by the zombie virus.
She sensed Peter's arrival, but did not turn around.
"You don't need to apologize to me, Peter." Her voice came from the window, slightly unsteady. "I just... find it a bit absurd."
She turned around, leaned against the window frame, crossed her arms, and wore a self-deprecating expression.
"We used to be classmates. At the high school prom, I even thought about... whether I should ask you to be my dance partner." She gave a slight smile. "Of course, I didn't have the courage."
"I never imagined that Spider-Man was you, Peter Parker." Her gaze was fixed on him. "You've always known who I am, haven't you? In the base, in the Battleworld, every single time... you knew who I was. But I didn't know who you were."
Peter walked up to her and stopped two steps away.
"I'm sorry, Jessica." He repeated, but this time, he explained why.
"I didn't mean to hide it. The profession of superhero... if my identity were exposed, it would be a huge threat to Uncle Ben and Aunt May. I always thought that as long as I kept my normal life separate from Spider-Man's life, everything would be fine."
His voice lowered, and pain began to seep out from every word.
"But at the Queens hospital... I still backed down when faced with those terrifying zombies."
His fists clenched involuntarily, his nails digging into his palms, causing a sharp stinging pain.
"I clearly had the ability to stop all of this... but at the time, I just acted like a terrified high school student, doing nothing. I... watched them..."
He couldn't go on; that image was his Eternity nightmare.
That's enough.
Before Peter could continue wallowing in self-reproach, a hand reached out and gently covered his mouth. It was Jessica.
Her fingers were a little cold, like the stream flowing through the mountains and forests.
"You don't need to blame yourself so much, Peter." She looked at him, and in those eyes that were always so wary, a complex emotion flickered—sympathy, understanding, and even a hint of... heartache.
"You've only been an adult for a short time, haven't you?"
She lowered her hand and sighed.
"When I first saw those monsters, I was so scared that I hid in my apartment for days, too afraid to go out. We're all the same, aren't we?"
"You don't need to hold Peter to such a harsh standard. Besides being Spider-Man, you're first and foremost a normal person. You're not a savior."
She paused, her tone becoming more forceful, "Besides, after that, didn't you save even more people who were supposed to die? Me, Qin, and everyone else at the base."
"Yes..." Peter's eyes dimmed.
"But ever since we were dragged to the Battleworld, that base... has been destroyed by zombies. If I hadn't suggested going to that damn device in Central Park, maybe none of us would have been caught in it, and the base wouldn't have..."
" Peter!" Jessica suddenly raised her voice, interrupting him.
Looking at the young yet weathered face before her, and at the unyielding guilt in his eyes, she suddenly felt powerless and angry.
He always does this, taking all the responsibility upon himself.
"I think," she said slowly, emphasizing each word, "Now is not a good time to discuss things that have already happened and cannot be undone. Isn't that right?"
The air between them fell silent.
Outside the window lies a desolate city; inside, two Soul Stone struggle in the apocalypse.
They were very close, close enough to see the weariness and scars in each other's eyes, and to feel the faint warmth emanating from each other, the warmth of a living person.
In this age of despair, trust is a luxury, and hope is a mirage. They have all lost too much and carried too heavy a burden.
Two broken hearts resonated with each other because of their similar pain.
They drew closer to each other, drawn together as if searching for the last bit of warmth from a fire.
Jessica looked at him, and Peter looked at her.
The distance between them closed without them even realizing it, their breaths mingling.
Finally, as if it were a natural ritual, their lips slowly and gently met in a kiss.