Chapter Text
“You coming to decathlon today?”
“Nah, I have a doctor’s appointment."
“Like, actually, or are you just using it as an excuse to leave?”
“Yes, actually. I’m not the one with a ‘Stark internship.’”
“Sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, dude.”
“Later, bro.”
Peter and Ned complete their handshake, and Ned turns to head down the hall.
Like last practice, Peter's early, but MJ has made herself comfortable in there already. She’s straightening her flashcards, fanning them between her fingers like she’s shuffling for a card game. Her hair hangs around her head like a canopy of chocolate curls, her tongue sticking out the side of her mouth slightly. She hasn’t noticed him yet.
“Hey,” he says from the doorway, then lowers his shoulder to unhook his bag from his shoulder as he walks up to a seat and plops himself down into it.
“Hi,” she says. When he glances over at her, her gaze is glued to the podium.
“You okay?”
At that, her eyes lift from the cards to meet his, spearing him with their gaze. “Let’s talk later.”
Peter swallows. The sound of it is deafening enough in his ears that he’s half–convinced she hears it as well. “Okay,” he agrees meekly.
Peter tries to stay focused during practice as the rest of the team eventually filters into the room and they start the rapid-fire questioning that they’ve gotten used to in the time that MJ’s been captain, but ultimately fails. Every time her question is directed towards him, his response is delayed by a few seconds, and his eyes fall to his fidgeting hands that are folded on the desk. When he finally answers, she simply fixes him with a pointed stare, and he can almost hear her saying Get your head in the game, loser.
After about forty–five minutes of struggling through the questions, she finally says “Same time and place tomorrow,” and everyone rises from their seats like they were waiting for the first opportunity to leave. Maybe it was the way MJ carried herself today, like she couldn’t be bothered with them. Like there were more important things she could be doing.
Peter gets up, but he has no intention of leaving. So instead, he starts stacking chairs to give himself something to do while MJ busies herself with her supplies.
When he’s on his fifth chair, he feels a presence at his side that almost makes him drop it to the floor. He should stop being so damn surprised by her. He has his enhanced senses for a reason, right? So why is MJ able to subvert them?
Thankfully, he stops himself from looking like a complete idiot, gently setting the chair down. She doesn’t wait for him to say “Hi” or something equally as unnecessary: “I think you’ve got something to say.”
Peter turns to her and clears his throat. She’s very pretty when she’s… pissed off. But she doesn’t look too much so — otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to have this conversation.
“Yeah, um, two things, actually,” he admits, scratching at the nape of his neck. This is really happening.
She raises an eyebrow. “Two?”
“Yeah.” A pause. “I really should be better at keeping secrets, and two people are already too many to know, but I owe this to you.”
She simply stares by way of response.
He takes a deep breath.
“I’m Spider-Man.”
“Oh, no way, that’s crazy,” she says, wearing the most bored expression he’s ever seen on her. He can’t choose whether to laugh out loud or be insulted.
“I’m not even surprised that you knew,” he says, hanging his head because surely she has something to say about how he used his secret identity to take advantage of her in an emotionally compromised state, right?
“I am pretty damn observant after all,” MJ replies. This time Peter chuckles, looking up at her slightly amused expression.
“Aren’t you, like, mad?” He can’t help but ask.
“Why would I be mad?”
She’s making this kind of difficult for him because all of her responses barely give him time to think of what to say next.
“I don’t know, because I lied?”
She scoffs. “If I didn’t know it was you yesterday, I would have told you to fuck off.”
Peter frowns slightly. “You technically did.”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever. Now, what was the second thing?”
Peter swallows, because oh, yeah. He almost forgot about this part. They seem to be on good standing as of right now, and he’s kind of scared to see what this bombshell is going to do to their friendship.
Well, if he can tell her he’s Spider-Man, literally his most guarded secret, this should pale in comparison. Except, it doesn’t. He’s even more nervous about telling her he has a crush on her than telling her he’s a literal superhero.
“Right, the, uh, second thing,” he says. He knows he’s stalling. “The second thing is that, uh…”
“You sure know how to keep a girl waiting, Parker,” she says, but there’s no malice, and her face contorts into an awkward expression as soon as the words leave her mouth. “Ugh. That was terrible. Forget I said that.”
Peter laughs nervously. “Okay.”
He gathers his nerve.
“I know this is totally unwarranted. But. For a while, I’ve… had a crush on you? A big one.”
Her mouth falls open a little bit, and her eyes hold a gaze that displays an emotion he can’t quite put a label on.
“Was that a question, or a statement?” MJ asks.
She actually looks… nervous. She needs him to be confident because it looks like his answer to her question actually matters to her more than she’s letting on.
“Statement. Definitely a statement," he assures. Another deep breath through his nose. “I like you, MJ. A lot.”
A smile breaks through her nervous expression with a shaky exhale.
“Okay, good,” she says quietly. “Because… I like you too?”
Something within Peter unfurls and basks in the warmth of I like you too. He bites his lip to keep his smirk from growing too big.
“Was that a question or a statement?”
MJ laughs good-naturedly before doing something pretty unexpected.
She takes either side of his face in her hands, leans in, and kisses him. Gently, like she doesn’t want to break him; the tenderness is so un-MJ yet it immediately makes sense that she would kiss like this. But Peter acknowledges that he's getting a little bit too analytical about the whole thing and decides to carpe the fucking diem. He kisses back, his hands extricating themselves from his jean pockets and landing on her waist as he tilts his head upward so that the angle of their lips is more natural.
Peter feels her smile against him for a sweet moment, and then she pulls away from him. He opens his eyes to see her wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Her cheeks look a little rosy in the sunlight that’s filtering through the blinds of the empty classroom, and her eyes, they glow like amber —
She’s beautiful. So unfathomably beautiful, that he thinks he might need to sit down and catch his breath. Thankfully, her hand on his face grounds him and reminding him that now is not the time to do something of the like.
“That was enough of a statement, I think,” she says, caressing his cheek with the pad of her thumb.
Peter beams.
“I really like you, MJ,” he says again for good measure, unable to hold himself back.
She mock gasps: “Really? I had no idea.”
Peter laughs because normally he would be a bit offended by such blatant sarcasm, but she likes him.
She makes no protest when he presses his lips to hers again to cement the idea in his head.
~*~
Days pass, and they're on their first official date — an after–school sandwich meeting at Delmar’s. Peter is unable to hide his beaming smile as he watches her scarf down her sandwich. She calls him a “weirdo” for doing so but she makes no other complaints. In fact, she seems to like being observed, as he is sure she is guilty of plenty of the same toward him.
He gets a little bit of pickle juice on the side of his mouth at one point. She points it out to him, and before he can reach for a napkin to wipe it off, she beats him to it, lifting one to his face and cleaning him up herself. Peter is frozen by the action, not expecting MJ to do something so… soft. Intimate. In fact, everything about the simple act screams not MJ.
And yet she does it anyway, silencing his curious mind and simply allowing him to focus on the pressure of the napkin against his cheek and the warmth of her fingers that brush against his face.
He leans into her knuckles just as she begins to retract her hand with the napkin in it. She notices and smiles shyly at him as she picks up her sandwich again.
“Thanks,” he says after clearing his throat.
“No biggie,” she replies over her mouthful of a vegetarian sandwich.
~*~
That was a good day, he thinks as he observes MJ over her splayed–open laptop and chews on the cap of his pen. The blue light of the screen makes her look pale, almost ghostly — but to him, she’s ever-present, reminding him that he’s lucky to even be in the same room as her. He still can’t believe that she likes him.
“Quit staring at me, loser,” MJ says, her eyes not lifting from the screen, but even he’s able to catch the telltale up-quirk of her lips at the right side of her mouth, and the little dimple that forms under it. He wants to kiss her, right there — on the corner of her mouth, where there’s proof of a smile — because now he knows that he can. Sure, she might call him dork, or sap, but that won’t deter him in the slightest.
He tucks the thought away as he focuses once again on the flashcards splayed out in front of him on his and May’s dining table. Today, they’re studying in his apartment — in the dining room, as May had stressed when she welcomed the two with a knowing smile, at which Peter had spluttered while MJ covered a laugh with her palm — while May provides snacks (nothing cooked, because she knows she’s not that good of a chef yet).
“Sorry,” he says.
“Don’t apologize, Peter,” she says, finally looking up at him as he does the same, her eyes reflecting blue-white squares of the laptop screen in her pupils. “That just makes me feel mean.”
“You’re not mean, MJ,” he implores her. “You’re not being mean.” He reaches for the hand he knows is there, resting on the tabletop, palm–up, and tucks his own hand under it while caressing MJ’s calloused palm. She reaches for the rest of his hand and he obliges her so that their palms meet, sharing warmth and the tickle of fingertips on their respective wrists.
She says nothing, her only response being the softening of her hard gaze and the closing of the laptop with her free hand as she slouches forward slightly, pinching the bridge of her nose between her thumb and index finger. “I know,” she says tiredly. “I’m tired, dork. You guys got anything caffeinated?”
Peter jumps to his feet, making his way to the kitchen for the two-liter of Coke he knows they have, perusing the fridge for the bottle. Making a small “aha” noise, he pulls it out of the shelf and sets it down on the kitchen counter, pulling open the cupboard doors to reach for a pair of glasses. As he pours, he sees a pair of socked feet enter the kitchen from his peripheral. When he finishes both glasses, he finally turns around to put the bottle back in the fridge.
At his left, as he turns, he almost knocks MJ over, who’s leaning against the fridge, arms crossed over her chest. He almost drops the bottle of Coke, but catches himself, tucking it into his chest as he frees one of his hands to grasp at his heart. “Jesus, MJ,” he chides. “You scared me.”
“Clearly,” she says, smirking. “You’re cute when you’re scared.”
The comment makes him stop as he stuffs the bottle back into the shelf he found it in, but then he closes the door of the fridge and stands back up to his full height — which he’s constantly reminded, verbally and non-verbally, is greater than his — looking properly flustered.
“Yeah, well,” he attempts fruitlessly, splaying a palm out on the door of the fridge, “You’re cute when you’re… you.”
Peter sees her cheeks heat up, and wow, is that all it takes to embarrass her? Shitty, awkward compliments like the one he just uttered? All he can think is, I should have started doing that ages ago.
“How was that literally the sweetest thing ever?” She mutters, almost like she’s pissed off at how sweet he is.
“Get used to it,” he says, smiling, as he offers her the glass of soda. She uncrosses her arms over her chest and takes it, sipping greedily. “Jeez, MJ, not too fast,” he chides before taking a small, monitored sip of his own. “You’ll get hiccups.”
“I appreciate the concern, Parker,” she says irritatedly, wiping at her upper lip, “but I need this caffeine and sugar, so would you kindly,” she takes a minuscule step towards him, but he doesn’t budge, “shut up?”
“Make me,” he breathes out before he can stop himself.
She smirks, knowing this is an opportunity she can pounce on and tear to pieces. Before he can react accordingly, she sets her glass down on the counter next to them and captures his lips on her own. He feels her bunching up the fabric of his shirt in her fists at the hem, and all he can do is put his own glass down and place his hands on her arms near her shoulders to keep himself from floating up, up, into the clouds, to never be seen again.
“Kids…”
He jumps, and MJ stumbles slightly backward, gripping the edge of the opposite counter so that she doesn’t trip in her socks. He misses the warmth of her lips against his own, but the warmth that now envelops the entirety of his face and neck is enough to make him forget as he clears his throat and his eyes bug out at May, who leans casually against the doorway of the kitchen as they fumble for an awkward greeting, explanation, something.
“Was getting her… a drink…” Peter says haltingly —
“Wanted to make sure he didn’t trip over himself,” she says, more quickly, coherently —
“It’s okay, lovebirds,” May’s voice rings out, clearest of all, making both teenagers stop speaking in the same instant. “Peter, I’m heading out for my shift,” she says, gesturing to her scrubs, “don’t get into any… funny business while I’m gone.”
Peter chokes over his own spit. “May,” he protests. MJ makes a similar sound that betrays embarrassment, and that’s when he’s reminded that she, too, is witnessing this terribly awkward situation. She was the perpetrator, after all.
“See you tomorrow morning, Pete!” His aunt responds cheerily, offering a wave as she disappears behind the doorway and, a few painful moments later, he hears the door of their apartment opening and closing gently.
“Oh, my God,” one of them says. He doesn’t register who. All he knows is that they’re looking at each other, twiddling their thumbs, averting their gazes every second then meeting for a fleeting instant only to break their gazes once again.
“I didn’t want to study anymore anyway,” MJ says, trying to diffuse the awkwardness. “Couch,” she announces, reaching for her glass and disappearing behind the doorway.
Peter takes the moment to collect himself, thinking, thank God that’s over, and then takes his own glass with him out of the kitchen. He finds her on the living room couch as promised, and she’s leaning back into the cushions like they’re the most comfortable surface she’s ever encountered.
He chuckles softly as he takes a seat next to her, a good distance away, because he can still feel May’s third eye watching him vigilantly. MJ groans in annoyance, opening her eyes and noticing that he’s sitting a good two feet away from her.
“What, are we leaving room for Jesus or something? Scoot, Peter,” she says.
It’s an order he can’t refuse, as he settles into her side and wraps an arm around her shoulder. She nestles into him, her head landing in the crook of his neck, and the cushiony, tickly sensation of her curls against his bare skin is enough to send chills down his spine.
“This is nice,” he can’t help but sigh into her hair, and those words make her curl deeper into him, wrapping her hands as best she can around his bicep and allowing her eyelids to flutter in exhaustion.
He rests his head on top of hers, not before gently kissing her hair and squeezing her shoulder carefully. This is really nice. He could get used to this.
When he dozes off into a fleeting, comfortable nap, an image of MJ, with a smile that looks almost second-nature, floods the darkness behind his eyelids, and he dreams of visiting her again at the diner, except their friendly hello and goodbye is a chaste kiss on the lips.