Chapter Text
Peter’s phone is sitting on his desk, Marinette’s contact open on the screen. Peter stares at the phone, not showing any signs of making any move to call her.
“Peter, you do not have The Force, so you need to use your hands to call her,” EVIE says, snapping Peter out of his stupor.
“Yeah, I know, EVIE, thanks,” Peter sighs, lifting his gaze from the phone to his monitor, “I just can’t y’know.”
“I see.” Then, as if the world was moving in slow motion, his monitor started ringing, showing Marinette’s caller ID as ‘calling…’
“Fuck, no, EVIE-” Peter exclaims, panicked.
“Hello?” Marinette says, her voice hoarse on the recording.
“Oh, uh, hi, Marinette,” Petter sputters, attempting to be casual (and failing miserably).
“Oh! Peter, hi,” Marinette smiles, her expression softening instantly and her eyes lighting up. “What’s up?”
“Oh, yeah, I was just wondering how your job interview went,” Peter smiles a big, awkward grin, while Marinette’s expression flickers slightly, before turning into a carefully crafted smile.
“Oh, well, I got it! Say hello to your newest Peter Pan Donut & Pastry Shop server!” Marinette moves the camera slightly to reveal her teal and pink uniform, the same as MJ’s from four years ago.
Peter’s heart drops to his stomach, a lump forming in his throat. His mouth parts slightly, words unable to be formed.
“Peter?” Marinette moves the camera back up to her face, worry showing on her face as she creases her eyebrows.
“My name is Peter Parker, and I… would like a coffee please,” Peter says, eyes drifting to Ned sitting at the counter.
“Ok… no problem, Peter Parker,” MJ nods slightly, turning away to grab a glazed donut with a piece of wax paper, walking over to give it to Ned. Peter shuts his eyes quickly and lets out a slow breath in exasperation, mentally preparing for his speech. “Donut for my fellow engineer,” MJ says, setting the donut down in front of Ned, who looks up from his phone.
“Wait, what?” Ned asks, confused.
“MIT, they’re the engineers- the mascot,” MJ explains. Peter stares at his two friends from across the shop, feeling a pit form in his stomach.
“Ohhh, right, right, right, I should probably know that…” Ned says, MJ letting out a short laugh. “Look at you with the school spirit,” Ned teases.
“Tell anybody, I will deny it,” MJ turns around to make Peter his coffee.
Ned lets out a playful scoff, putting his hands up in mock surrender, “Ok.” Peter stares at his best friend, a smile forming on his face. He’s so focused on Ned that he doesn’t notice MJ come back over to the cash register with a cup of coffee.
“Peter Parker?”
“Peter Parker,” MJ calls, snapping Peter’s attention away from Ned and back towards her. “Your coffee,” she gestures awkwardly.
“Right,” Peter says, quickly grabbing the cup off the counter. “Thank you, um…” Peter hesitates slightly, not quite knowing what to say. Because, what do you say to the girl who has no memory of you whatsoever? “Are you excited for MIT?”
MJ pauses, confused, before realizing he must’ve overheard the conversation she had with Ned. “Oh, uh, right, yeah… Yeah, actually, I am excited, which is weird ‘cause I don’t really get excited about things. I kinda expect disappointment,” she says, huffing out a laugh.
“‘Cause then you’ll never actually be disappointed, right?” Peter says, finishing MJ’s thought, causing her to pause and stare at Peter, slightly confused, if not suspicious of the random customer who just seems… off.
“Uh, yeah, right… It’s just, um, I don’t know, it just kinda feels different this time, for some reason,” MJ says, brushing it off.
Peter quickly glances down at the letter in his hand, paper crinkling in his hands. He looks back up at her and smiles, taking a slow, steadying breath. He looks down at his letter and opens his mouth to say his big speech, before realizing he hasn’t even paid yet.
“Right,” he says, taking the money out of his back pocket and handing it to MJ. “Um, I was-” he begins, interrupted by the sound of the money being inputted into the cash register. MJ puts the money in the register, tilting her head down briefly, but long enough for Peter to notice the bandaid above her eyebrow, in the same place she was hurt at the Statue of Liberty.
He pauses, MJ looking back up at him. They stare at each other briefly, eyes locking as Peter’s drift back up to the bandage. “You ok?” Peter asks, moving his hand up to gesture to the area above his eyebrow.
“Doesn’t really hurt anymore.”
Peter stops. If knowing me is just putting her in danger, why be so selfish and force her to know me? Force her into this world?
She smiles a tight lipped smile at him, closing the cash register with a click. “Is there anything else?”
Peter just smiles, he was setting her free. She could finally be safe.
“No.”
He tucks the letter into his back pocket. “Thank you,” he says, still smiling slightly.
“No problem,” MJ smiles back at him, though a bit weirded out.
Peter turns, taking a final glance at Ned, “I’ll see you around,” he says, before exiting the shop and their lives forever
~0o0~
“Peter? Peter?!” Marinette calls into her phone. He was having a panic attack, that was clear enough as it is.
Shit, shit, shit, shit.
“Think, Marinette, think, what did Alya do when you had that panic attack when you lost your memory?” Marinette mutters to herself, trying to jog her memory.
She was no stranger to a panic attack, having had a serious one after being told what had happened in that huge gap in her memory. She was, however, a stranger to helping someone with theirs. She’s always had Alya to help her through hers, especially as they grew more recent, or sometimes when alone she would power through them herself. But helping someone through one?
She bites the inside of her cheek, trying with all of her might to remember what Alya did to ground her, to snap her out of it, to-
“Oh, I know!” Marinette exclaims, pulling the phone closer to her face to get a view of a hyperventilating Peter. This cannot be healthy…
“Ok, Peter, name 5 things you can see,” Marinette says, gaining zero response from Peter, who’s currently lost in his own memory. “Yeah, I don’t know why I thought that would work,” Marinette mumbles, anxiety growing higher.
“Ok, Mari, guess we’ll have to improvise,” Marinette whispers, before attempting to ground the person she’s known for a grand total of two days.
“Peter, are you with me? You are safe, you are in your… apartment? It’s me Marinette, the girl who stained and washed your hoodie. You are here, you are safe. Um,” Marinette trails off, trying to think of something to say. She notices his hyperventilating continuing and decides to tackle that first.
“Peter? You’re hyperventilating, breathe with me ok,” Marinette takes a loud, deep breath in, slowly and audibly releasing it. She keeps going until she can see Peter doing the same, Marinette visibly letting her shoulders relax at the sight.
“Peter? Are you with me? I don’t know what memory or world you’re in but… you’re safe right now. You’re safe, I’m here,” Marinette says, repeating some of the words she remembers Alya saying to her.
“Marinette…?” Peter says, calming down and coming back to the present. He blinks when he realizes what just happened, immediately scrambling up to be eye level with the girl he’s known for two days, forced to witness his panic attack over a uniform.
“I am so, so sorry you had to witness that,” Peter says, running a hand through his messy, unkempt hair.
“Oh, no it’s totally fine!” Marinette says, waving it off. “I have panic attacks all the time, it's nothing to be ashamed of,” she smiles softly at him.
“Still, I’ve known you for two days, you don’t even know my full name, how can I not feel guilty over making you watch that,” Peter says, averting his eyes as her eyebrows crease at his words.
“Hey, never apologize for having a literal panic attack,” she says sternly, making Peter glance back up at her. “And, if it makes you feel any better, I once had a panic attack in public surrounded by people I’ve either never met or barely knew, and it was bad,” Marinette laughs lightly at the not-so-funny anecdote. “But seriously though, I get it.”
Peter smiles slightly at the words, brain latching onto the anecdote for some reason.