Peter WHY...

Christmas Day dawned white and wild over Queens, a rare snowstorm blanketing Forest Hills in a thick layer that turned the streets into a hushed wonderland. Peter Parker had slipped out after lunch with Aunt May and Uncle Ben, he tugged on his jacket and scarf. 

The snow was piling up—5 inches already, the radio buzzing about it being the heaviest Christmas snowfall since 1909—and Peter couldn't think of a better way to spend it than with Liz Allan. 

A date in this mess? Perfect, he thought, grinning as he trudged through the drifts to meet her.

They'd planned it over the phone the night before—Liz's mom was still tied up with her grandparents post-emergency, leaving her free, and Peter jumped at the chance. He found her waiting outside her apartment building, her blonde hair dusted with snowflakes under a red beanie, her jacket zipped tight. She waved, her smile lighting up the gray afternoon, and Peter's heart skipped. "Hey, you made it!" she called, stepping toward him through the snow.

"Wouldn't miss it," Peter said, brushing snow off his sleeves as he reached her. "Ready for a Christmas adventure?"

"Born ready," Liz replied, linking her arm with his. "Where to first?"

Peter grinned, pulling her close as they started walking. "Central Park's close—let's see if we can sled or just wander. It's a snowy mess out there, but that's half the fun."

The trek to Central Park was slow, the snow crunching under their boots as they dodged drifts and laughed at the chaos—cars stuck, kids hurling snowballs. By the time they reached the park, the storm had turned it into a winter playground, the trees heavy with snow, the paths buried. They headed to Cedar Hill, where a few brave souls were sledding on makeshift gear. "Look at that," Liz said, her breath puffing out in clouds. "It's like a movie—snow everywhere, people going nuts."

"Wanna join 'em?" Peter asked, spotting a discarded cardboard box half-buried nearby. "We could sled—steal this thing and take a run."

Liz laughed, her eyes sparkling. "You're on, but if we crash, it's your fault."

They grabbed the box, flattening it into a crude sled, and trudged up the hill, snow clinging to their jeans. Peter sat behind her, his arms around her waist, and pushed off. The cardboard flew down the slope, wobbling wildly as Liz squealed, her hair whipping back against his cheek. They hit a bump, tumbling into a snowbank in a tangle of limbs and laughter. "Told you we'd crash," Liz said, sprawled beside him, her face flushed as she tossed a handful of snow at him.

"Worth it," Peter said, catching her hand and pulling her close, their noses inches apart. "You're cute when you're covered in snow."

"You're not so bad yourself," she teased, brushing snow from his hair. They lay there a moment, the world muffled around them, then got up, brushing off the flakes as they wandered deeper into the park, hand in hand.

Next, they headed for Bryant Park, the snow slowing their pace but not their spirits. The park's nascent Winter Village was quieter than usual, the storm keeping crowds at bay, but the ice rink glimmered under fairy lights, and a few vendors huddled in their stalls. "Skating?" Peter suggested, nodding at the rink. "They've got rentals—could be fun."

Liz grinned, tugging him toward it. "Only if you promise not to fall on me."

"No promises," he quipped, and they rented skates—$7.50 a pair, a small dent in his pocket money. The rink was slick with snow, but they laced up, wobbling onto the ice. Peter steadied Liz as she slipped, her laughter ringing out as they glided together, his hands on her waist. "You're better at this than I thought," she said, spinning to face him, their skates scraping softly.

"Hidden talent," Peter replied, pulling her into a slow twirl, their breath mingling in the cold. "You make it easy."

They skated until their noses were red, then warmed up with hot cocoa from a vendor, sipping it on a bench as snowflakes dusted their cups. "This is perfect," Liz said, leaning against him, her voice soft. "Snow, skating, you—I couldn't ask for a better Christmas."

Peter's heart swelled, his arm slipping around her shoulders. "Me neither. Beats anything I'd dreamed up. You're… kinda amazing, you know that?"

She tilted her head, her eyes locking with his. "You're pretty amazing too, Peter. I mean it—this feels special."

"It is," he said, brushing a snowflake from her cheek, his thumb lingering. The moment hung between them, tender and quiet, until he leaned in, kissing her gently—her lips warm against the cold, tasting faintly of cocoa. She kissed him back, her hands finding his, and for a heartbeat, the snowstorm faded away, leaving just them.

They pulled apart, smiling, and Liz rested her head on his shoulder. "Where next?" she asked, her voice a contented murmur.

"How about Rockefeller?" Peter suggested, squeezing her hand. "Tree's lit all day—heard it's beautiful with the snow."

"Let's do it," she said, and they returned their skates, trekking through Manhattan's snowy streets to Rockefeller Center. The 76-foot Norway spruce towered over the plaza, its 30,000 lights glowing through the storm, a beacon against the gray sky. The rink below was a blur of skaters, but they stayed above, watching from the edge, snow piling around them.

"It's beautiful," Liz breathed, her arm around his waist. "Like something out of a story."

"Yeah," Peter agreed, pulling her closer. "Our story." They stood there, wrapped in each other and the magic of a snowy Christmas, the city's chaos softened by the flakes and their quiet romance.

Liz tilted her head back, her blonde hair catching snowflakes as she gazed up at the tree, her red scarf a splash of color against her jacket. "It's unreal," she murmured, her voice soft with wonder. "All this snow, the lights—it's like we stepped into a dream."

Peter's arm tightened around her waist, his hazel eyes tracing her face—the way the lights reflected in her gaze, the flush on her cheeks from the cold. "Yeah," he said, his voice low, almost lost in the wind. "But you're the best part of it."

She turned to him, her smile slow and warm, and their eyes locked, the world narrowing to just them. "You're cheesy, Peter," she teased, stepping closer, her hands resting on his chest. "But I like it."

"Good," he replied, his grin softening as he brushed a snowflake from her cheek, his fingers lingering. "Couldn't let Christmas go by without you here."

Her breath hitched, and then she leaned in, closing the gap. Their lips met, soft and tentative at first, the cold fading as warmth bloomed between them. The kiss deepened, Peter's hands sliding to her back, pulling her closer, her fingers curling into his jacket. Time stretched, the snow swirling around them like a curtain, the tree's glow bathing them in golden light. It lasted—a long, sweet while—each heartbeat a silent promise, the storm and the city melting away until it was just Peter and Liz, lost in each other.

They parted slowly, foreheads resting together, breaths mingling in the frigid air. "Wow," Liz whispered, her voice trembling with a laugh. "That was… wow."

"Yeah," Peter said, his grin wide and giddy. "Best Christmas present ever."

She laughed, pressing a quick peck to his lips before stepping back, her hand finding his. "You're impossible," she said, her eyes shining. "But I'm freezing now—how about a hot drink? Warm us up?"

"Thought you'd never ask," Peter replied, lacing their fingers as they turned from the tree. "There's a café just off the plaza—let's go."

They trudged through the snow, the storm painting the streets in a pristine white glow, holiday lights twinkling defiantly against the gray. The café—a small, cozy spot called Café Lalo—was tucked a few blocks away, its windows fogged with warmth, the scent of coffee and cinnamon spilling out as they pushed through the door. Inside, the place hummed with a quiet holiday buzz—soft jazz playing, a few patrons sipping at tables, the barista steaming milk behind the counter. They ordered hot chocolates—rich and topped with whipped cream—and settled into a corner booth, shedding their snowy jackets.

Liz wrapped her hands around her mug, the steam curling up as she took a sip. "This is heaven," she said, licking a bit of cream from her lip. "Snow outside, cocoa inside—you're spoiling me, Peter."

He grinned, sipping his own, the warmth spreading through him. "Gotta keep my girl happy. That kiss back there? Worth every snowflake."

She blushed, kicking him lightly under the table. "Smooth talker. But seriously—this day's perfect. The park, skating, the tree, now this. I didn't think Christmas could get better."

"It's you," Peter said, his tone softening as he reached for her hand across the table. "You make it better. I'd freeze out there all day if it meant being with you."

Liz squeezed his hand, her smile tender. "You're too sweet. I'd freeze with you too—just don't make me prove it."

"Deal," he said, chuckling. "Next time, we'll stay inside—pizza and a movie, no frostbite required."

"Perfect," she agreed, her thumb brushing his knuckles. "But I wouldn't trade today for anything."

They lingered over their drinks, the café's warmth a cocoon against the storm, their conversation drifting from holiday plans to silly what-ifs—would they build a snowman next, or just huddle under blankets? When the mugs were empty, Peter paid, and they bundled up again, stepping back into the snowy night.

The walk to Liz's apartment was slow and quiet, the snow crunching under their boots, their hands clasped tight. The streets of Queens were hushed, the storm softening every edge, holiday lights glowing faintly through the white haze. At her building—a modest brick structure with snow piling on the stoop—they paused, the cold nipping at their faces.

"Thanks for today," Liz said, turning to him, her voice soft. "It was… magical."

"You're magical," Peter replied, stepping closer. "Merry Christmas, Liz."

"Merry Christmas, Peter," she said, and wrapped her arms around him in a goodbye hug. He hugged her back, her warmth seeping through their jackets, her hair brushing his cheek. They held on a moment, the snow falling around them, then parted with a shared smile, Liz slipping inside as Peter watched her go.