The next evening, he went across the street as promised.
He paused before ringing the doorbell.
Ben’s voice called out from inside, “Coming, coming—” followed by the click of the lock turning.
When Ben opened the door, he was wearing an old flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his forearms, smelling faintly of sautéed onions.
“Come on in, don’t worry about taking off your shoes,” Ben said, stepping aside to let him inside.
“May’s in the kitchen.
Dinner’s almost ready.”
Lucas walked in.
The living room was small but neatly arranged, with a throw blanket draped over the sofa and a remote control resting on the coffee table beside a closed book.
A few framed photos hung on the wall—landscapes, a wedding photo, and a sequence of shots showing a boy growing up, from an infant to elementary school graduation to a recent picture.
The boy in the latest photo looked about thirteen or fourteen, skinny, wearing glasses, and smiling at the camera.
“Peter!” Ben called up toward the stairs.
“Come down for a second!”
The scrape of a chair and hurried footsteps echoed from upstairs.
A boy ran down the stairs, clutching a pen in his hand—he had probably been doing his homework, as the pen cap was stuck between his teeth.
“Coming, coming—hi.” Peter Parker stopped on the bottom step, looking Lucas over before taking the pen out of his mouth.
“Are you the new guy moving in across the street?”
“Moving back,” Lucas said.
“I used to live here.
Served two years in the military and just got back.”
“Oh.” Peter nodded.
“I think Uncle Ben mentioned that the kid across the street joined the military—so that was you?”
Ben let out a chuckle from the side.
“Peter, don’t call him ‘kid.’ He’s nearly ten years older than you.”
“Should I call you ‘bro’ then?” Peter blinked.
“Just call me Lucas,” Lucas said.
Peter smiled and turned to run back upstairs.
“I’m almost finished!
Ben shook his head and turned toward the kitchen.
“That kid, his homework is never done.
Come on in and take a seat.”
Lucas followed him into the dining room.
Three place settings were already laid out on the table—Ben later added a fourth.
A woman in her fifties walked out of the kitchen, her hair tied in a low ponytail, wearing an apron printed with faded flowers.
She smiled when she saw Lucas.
“You must be Lucas?
Ben said you were back, so I told him we had to invite you over for dinner.”
“Aunt May,” Lucas said—the title slipped out naturally.
He paused for a moment, but May didn’t notice anything amiss.
“Have a seat, dinner’s almost ready.” May turned back into the kitchen.
Lucas sat down at the dining table.
Ben took a seat across from him and pushed the salt shaker inward.
“Your parents used to sit right here, too.
Your dad liked sitting by the window.
Your mom used to say he sat there so he could watch the cars on the street.”
Lucas glanced out the window.
The streetlights on Ingram Street had just flickered to life, their pale yellow glow melting into blurry halos on the glass.
He didn’t speak, just sat there quietly.
Ben didn’t bring it up again either.
A little while later, Peter ran downstairs and sat in the chair next to Lucas.
He was wearing a T-shirt and shorts, with a Band-Aid stuck to his knee over an old scrape.
As soon as he sat down, he grabbed a piece of meat and stuffed it into his mouth before remembering to mumble a muffled “Thanks, Aunt May.”
“Eat slowly,” May said, bringing out a pot of soup.
“There’s no rush.”
Dinner lasted about forty minutes.
The topics were ordinary—Lucas briefly mentioned his time in Afghanistan, though he only described it as “helping out in a logistics unit,” omitting the explosion, the kidnapping, and the cave.
Peter shared a science project he was working on, titled “Safety Concerns in Modifying Household Appliance Circuits.” Ben corrected his terminology on one circuit component, but Peter countered, “That’s an outdated standard!” The two engaged in a brief debate until May said, “No discussing electricity at the dinner table,” bringing the argument to a swift end.
Lucas listened from the side, chiming in occasionally, spending most of his time eating in silence.
He knew that years from now, this meal would become a memory.
Peter would look back on this night—perhaps not remembering what they ate, but remembering that this neighbor who had just returned from Afghanistan sat at the dinner table, saying little, but always there.
After dinner, he helped clear the dishes.
May said, “Oh, you don’t have to,” but he replied, “It’s no trouble,” and carried the plates into the kitchen sink.
From the living room, Ben called out, “If you’re free tomorrow night, come over again!
May makes a great meatloaf.”
Lucas stood at the kitchen doorway and replied, “We’ll see.”
When he stepped out of the Parkers’ yard, he turned to look back once.
The living room light was still on.
Ben was sitting on the couch changing channels, May was clearing the table, and Peter was hunched over the coffee table with a design sketch spread out, drawing something with a pencil.
He pushed open his own front gate, went inside, and turned off the lights.
Standing in front of his second-floor bedroom window, he watched the glowing living room window across the street for about half a minute.
The System panel quietly flickered to life in the silence.
[Host has returned to owned residence.
Current identity: Queens, New York Resident (Confirmed).]
[Confirmed nearby key plot characters: Ben Parker, May Parker, Peter Parker.
Current timeline: Not triggered.]
[Note: Ben Parker is a pivotal character in this plotline’s growth trajectory.
Host has established normal neighborly relations naturally.
Recommended to maintain current frequency and avoid actively accelerating contact.]
[Character Completion: 28%.]
Lucas pulled the curtains shut.
“Got it.”
He didn’t glance across the street again.
But a sliver of light from that lamp seeped through the gap in the curtains, casting a narrow band of warm glow across the bedroom floor.
A long time passed before he finally lay down and closed his eyes to sleep.
His first night in Queens.