“It’s a theory I have. That everybody is secretly Spider-Man in some aspect of their life. There’s the Peter Parker side that we show everybody. Which is the side that makes public appearances and goes out to dinner and buys Christmas presents for his family. But the Spider-Man side cruises the city at night and makes out with people upside down in the rain and has all these friends and enemies and dramas that the people who know Peter Parker will never know about.”

“That . . . actually makes sense to me. It’s kind of badass. I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

“Does my theory apply to you? Do you have a Spider-Man side?”

“Hm. Well, I guess if we’re thinking about it that way, sometimes I feel like I’m way more Spider-Man than anything else.”

“You do seem like a very private person.”

“Not usually. I generally pride myself on being an open book. But lately things have just gotten really . . . complicated. Anyway, you’re probably my Spider-Man side. No one knows that I’m anonymously chatting with a random dude every night.”

“Bo-ring. Everybody chats with randos at night. It’s the nineties.”

“Is that right?”

“You’ve never chatted with a random before me? Then what the hell are you using your internet connection for?”

“Talking to people is too stimulating. I usually use the internet to find something that will put me to sleep.”

“Ah. Of course. I forgot the whole reason we’ve found ourselves in this situation. We’re hopeless insomniacs.”

“Hey, have you ever talked to anybody about it?”

“About why I’m not sleeping?”

“Yeah. Like a doctor or a counselor or something?”

“No, actually. I haven’t.”

“Pride?”

“Um . . . not exactly. It’s more like, I already know the reason I’m not sleeping, so going to a doctor or a counselor just seemed like a waste of time. It’s just something I have to get over. It’ll take a little time. That’s all.”

“So, you’re taking the tough guy route, huh?”

“Ha. No. That’s part of the problem, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this whole not-sleeping thing started because of a sort of traumatic experience I had two months ago. And let’s just say I was the opposite of a tough guy.”

“Do you . . . want to tell me about it?”

“Eh. Not to dangle it out there and then leave you hanging, but . . . I’ll tell you about it at some point. I just . . . not tonight.”

“Sure. I didn’t mean to pry.”

“Ha. Are you joking right now? You’re the queen of prying. You just bribed me with twenty-five points so that you could pry to your heart’s content!”

“There are lines I won’t cross! I won’t pry about important stuff. I was only prying before because I wanted you to admit you were painting a nude self-portrait.”