Chapter Text
"Good morning. I'm MJ," MJ says, extending her one free hand. In the other she has a camera and a coffee balancing haphazardly. She pauses for a moment, mouth hanging open and eyebrows knitting together. It's the same face she always makes when she's confused and up until this point Peter hadn't known how much he missed seeing it. "I'm not sure why I said that. My name- my name is Michelle. Not MJ. Well Ned calls me MJ but I think he's the only one."
Peter smiles and dips his head down as he lets out a soft chuckle. He looks back up to find her smiling at him but there's still that look of confusion on her face. As though she can tell something isn't right but she can't quite put her finger on what it is. "Nice to meet you Michelle. I'm Peter."
"Have we met before?" She asks cocking her head to the side. "You seem really familiar. Like I know you from somewhere."
"No-" Peter shakes his head. "No I don't think we've met before. I mean I've lived here for a while and I know you and your roommate just moved in a while ago."
"Are you sure?"
"Mhm," Peter mumbles. "I should go. I had a long night at work and I'm kind of tired. I wouldn't want to keep you." He puts his key in the lock and turns it. The click echoes in the silence.
"Oh yeah! Sorry. I should be going to. I have work and my boss hates when anyone's late," Michelle says. She won't look him in the eye, glancing instead towards the ground and the stairs while gesturing with her free hand. "It was nice meeting you Peter. See you around I guess."
Peter nods and lets himself into the apartment, forcing himself not to look back as she retreats down the stairs. Tears sting his eyes and threaten to pour over but he blinks them back. He inhales sharply hoping to savor the last of her perfume that drifted in when she opened the door. It's sweet and he holds onto it the best he can but it's gone all too quickly.
"Fuck," Peter curses. "FUCK!" He shouts.
It's been years since he was erased from the memory of everyone he knows and he's learned to take it day by day but some days are harder than others, and seeing MJ - no Michelle - standing there but unable to touch or hold her in the way he wants is torture. He can deal with not existing to Tony or not having family left but losing her hurt on a level he hadn't ever expected it to. She's so close. He can see her. Hear her laugh through the paper thin walls and he can smell the perfume he had originally bought for her years ago when they first got together. It was a stupid present. Some perfume he saw on sell at a department store and he had used all of his birthday money from his aunt to buy it. He was sure she'd hate it.
MJ had worn it every single day and he clings to the memory of it wrapped around him like a hug.
The apartment is hot, almost sweltering now that it's nearing mid morning. Summer will be here before he knows it and the place will become unbearable. It's half the reason he spends so much time patrolling during the summer months. The breeze he feels when swinging through the city is enough to cool him off. Today he knows hell just have to suffer through it. He strips from his uniform and leaves the pile of sweat and glitter covered clothes beside his bed to be delt with later and climbs between the wrinkled sheets on his bed.
Since Aunt May was killed Peter has found a hard time adjusting in small ways that he's sure no besides himself would notice. Like he doesn't make his bed anymore. It's small. Something most people would skip over, maybe give him a passing glance of disapproval but move on quickly from. Laundry is done only when absolutely necessary and is never folded, just thrown into a hazardously put together dresser he got off an online marketplace. To everyone else he looks lazy and not put together but he can't find it in himself to do those small things anymore when he can't hear Aunt May asking him to. Her sweet voice missing in the silence.
Sleep comes easy for Peter today. He doesn't fight. Just slips into it and lets its consume him.
Peter doesn't dream. Often if he does its nightmares masquerading as dreams. Memories morphing into something unfamiliar and distorted. In a moment of weakness in one of his dreams he reaches out for his aunt, hand ghosting the edge of her fingers before she pulls back, distracted by the oven or the television. He's not sure which because his eyes don't leave her. As she moves around he watches her back and her hair, memorizes every movement because he knows when he wakes up she'll be gone and he'll still be alone.
And she is. When Peter wakes up he's completely alone in his studio apartment. It's hot and the AC that hasn't worked since he moved in is clinking in the corner in a way to anyone else would be worrying but to Peter has become background noise he could drown out. The new thing is the knocking at his door. Rhythmic taps against the wooden door. He looks at his watch and through the cracked glass he can see it's only a quarter past one and all the people who know his address wouldn't knock. They'd just come in through the window.
Peter throws on the closest pair of jeans but forgoes a shirt. "I'm coming!" He shouts, bouncing around his apartment to make sure any sign of Spider-Man is hidden. Even if nothing is out he still cracks the door only enough for his body to stick through it and where no one could see inside. His sleep deprived brain is ready to turn away whoever is knocking but he can't find it in himself to when he sees it's MJ.
She's dressed differently than she was this morning. Her earlier attire has been traded for a sun dress and some sandals. Something more suitable for the heat he assumes. His eyes catch on her collar bone, but more importantly the necklace draped across it. It's the one he had bought her in Paris. It's cracked still, just like it was when he gave it to her. The necklace itself doesn't match the outfit. It stands out and there's a ping of pride and grief twisting in his stomach. She still wears it, maybe now it has a different meaning, but she's wearing a piece of them rather she knows it or not.
"Michelle right?" Peter asks, dragging his eyes back up to hers. He tries to ignore how her name feels so foreign on her tongue. He had never really called her that before. She's blushing and shuffling between her feet nervously. She nods her head. "Need something?"
"Yes. Can you help me put a bookshelf together? My roommate is out and won't be back till late and I want to surprise him but I'm in over my head here. I can't offer money but I can make a mean cup of coffee," she rambles.
"Yeah, let me get dressed and then I'll come over. I'll be five minutes." Her eyes drop to his chest and her cheeks turn a darker shade of pink as they sit there for just a second too long.
Peter doesn't let her say anything else. He shuts the door with a too hard slam and shuffles around his apartment looking for something clean to wear. She's special and she deserves more than him in the same clothes he wore to work yesterday even if it's all he really has. He settles on a white T-shirt that is thankfully stain free and a pair of semi-clean light washed jeans. The taste of mint from brushing his teeth is settled on his tongue by the time he's knocking on her door. He tried to be five minutes but after a cursory look at his phone he sees it's been more like fifteen and he feels a little guilty for it because he told her five.
"Hey," Michelle greets. Her voice is sweet like honey and he wants to fall into it and never leave. He can't though. Not hear. Not in this version of events. She doesn't even know who he is. "Thanks."
Michelle moves out of the way and Peter slips by her into the apartment. For the most part the layout is the same except for where he just has a plain wall they have two doors which most likely lead to their bedrooms. The kitchen is still in the corner by the front door and the laundry on the opposite side. The living space is smaller than his own but it feels larger somehow. Maybe it's the life that's been breathed into the space. There's plants on the walls, drawings and photographs scattered on the coffee table. There's a smell too. Not the same damp and humid smell his own apartment has but a sweeter smell. Maybe vanilla? Or strawberry?
"It's-" Michelle closes the door and she turns around the words die in her throat. Peter's in the living room where a rather large box that is presumably the bookshelf but that's not what he's looking at. Instead he's focused on the pictures covering the coffee table. Drawings of him. Well not him exactly. Of Spider-Man. "Sorry. I meant to put those away." She tries to grab them but Peter holds one away, studying it.
It's a photograph. Not a sketch like some of the others. This is a picture captured the day of the courthouse incident. She had been there. MJ had been where so many people got hurt because he wasn't good enough. What if she had been one of them - one of the ones that got hurt or didn't make it home? Would he have ever even known?
Probably not. Him and Ned aren't friends now. He'd never think to tell their neighbor what happened. Why tell a complete stranger your best friend died? What reason would there be? None. There would no reason at all.
"I haven't seen any photos from that day besides the ones they published of the aftermath. You were there?" He asks.
"Yeah," she answers. Her voice is more distant and when he looks up at her she isn't cleaning up the pictures anymore. Instead she's focused on of the ones she had tried to shuffle away. It's another from the courthouse. "I was there for the Daily Bugal. I was supposed to be capturing pictures of the trial but then things-" she stops talking with a choked off sound that punches a whole straight through him.
He should've been better. He could've stopped all of that from ever happening and she never would have been in any type of danger. It hadn't even been on purpose. None of that was ever supposed to happen. He was never supposed to get loose. But he did. He did and MJ was there and she could've gotten killed and her blood would've been on Peter's hands.
Another person Peter loves would've died- except she wouldn't have known who Peter was at all. Maybe she wouldn't have blamed him if she had.
"I'm sorry-" Peter starts but he stops himself short. He's sorry but he can't say for what without revealing who he is and no good seems to come from people knowing who he is. "That sounds like it was scary." The words jumble on his tongue and taste strange coming out but he forces them out nonetheless.
"It's whatever. My therapist helped a lot with it in the immediate aftermath. Should we start?" She points a chipped painted nail toward the box and laughs. Not a real one but one of those half laughs that everyone does when they're trying to brush something off. Peter lets her change the topic and moves to open the cardboard box.
"Yeah. Let's start."
Two hours. That's how long it takes them to put it together but to say they both did it would be a stretch. Mainly Michelle sat there while Peter did the work. She sketched him and helped with conversation to keep things light but he did all the heavy lifting - which she is extremely grateful for when things are said and done in the end.
"Thank you. Really. Ned should be home soon and he'll be happy he doesn't have to do this. He's just been stressed with the start up and I didn't want him to have to worry," Michelle explains. She's standing opposite to Peter at the front door and he takes the opportunity to drink her in.
This version of her he doesn't know. It's been years since the world forgot who he was and she's changed in a hundred different ways that he'd have to relearn to be able to love her the same. She doesn't look much different than the version of her he used to know. Sure she's older but the features are the same. Same smile, same eyes. A minute passes and she coughs in that awkward sort of way one does when the silence has stretched too long.
Peter doesn't want to leave. It's the last thing he wants to do but he forces himself to. They say goodbye, something sweet and simple but so painful because he can't kiss her goodbye like he used to. Can't run his fingers through her hair or hold her close and drink in the scent of whatever perfume she's chosen. All he can do is say goodbye, wave, and go back to his own apartment across the hall.
It's quiet in his own apartment. So quiet that it threatens to swallow him whole if he stays. He could go back to sleep and try to get a few more hours before he's forced to go to work but he doesn't think he'll be able to sleep much after the dream he was woken up from. Seeing Aunt May again broke something in him that he never expects it to even if it's the same thing every time.