Chapter Text
‘cause if i could see your face once more / i could die a happy man, i’m sure
two days after
Her hands can’t hold steady.
Michelle drops the pair of tweezers and glue on the desk, and they land with a resounding clatter. She chews the inside of her cheek, trying to blink around tears of frustration, but she’s been at this for nearly two hours now.
Running a hand through her knotted hair, Michelle pushes back from the desk and turns around in their bedroom, it becoming more and more bare as the days go by. His things, they’re accumulating in boxes, and she’s debating on whether to keep them or not.
Of course, Michelle can’t bring herself to touch certain items—his suit, his camera, the photographs of them that are lying face-down on the dresser. She hates the reminder of how fresh some of them still are, barely days old.
Michelle releases a shaky breath, her throat feeling tight as she looks back at the desk. Two hours she’s been working, and it’s nowhere close to being ready for tomorrow.
Tomorrow, tomorrow, tomorrow.
It’s a hard pill to swallow, knowing she has to say goodbye, but she can’t imagine not going. Can’t imagine not seeing his face one last time.
Sitting back down on the stool, Michelle wipes the stray tear from her cheek, bottom lip caught between her teeth as she picks up the tweezers again.
The black dahlia is a symbol of commitment, an eternal bond between two people, but it can also portray betrayal, sadness.
Michelle wishes she wasn’t so well-versed with the meaning of the flower, but it’s hard not to be, the chain of the necklace dangling from the tips of her fingers. The weight is heavy despite half of the petals having broken off.
When Peter had first given it to her, his smile earnest and eyes hopeful, she’d told him she liked it better broken. His expression was something she could never forget, still can’t get it out of her mind even now.
But now, when Peter’s gone and she’s still here, Michelle knows she has to try. She can’t fix everything, certainly can’t fix what she wants to the most right now, but she can fix this.
The necklace isn’t staying with her. It’s going with him.
And while Michelle likes it better broken, will always like it better broken, she knows Peter deserves better than that.
He deserves better than broken.
eight and a half years until
“It’s perfect.”
“You think so?” Michelle asks, glancing at him with a small smile and a breath of laughter, as if she thinks he could possibly be joking. “I don’t know, Peter. Your definition of perfect differs from mine.”
Peter shakes his head, full of certainty that what he sees in front of him, what’s drawn on this piece of paper, it’s perfect. A universal definition.
“No, it...it’s amazing. She’ll love it, MJ,” he tells Michelle honestly, and something in her expression loosens up, understandably so. He knows that she wants to give May the best for her birthday and won’t settle for anything less. “I promise.”
Michelle looks at him for a moment, her stare lingering, but then she nods slowly and says, “Okay. I believe you.”
“Good. It’s a little too late to change your mind, anyway,” Peter responds with a quiet laugh, nodding towards the elevator. He’d come down to bring her up to their apartment, despite it being completely unnecessary, and it could be chalked up to him trying to be a gentleman.
But Peter is past the point of excuses now. He knows how he feels—as well as any teenager would, at least—and he’s accepted it. Stopped trying to compare it to something that had failed in his past.
Michelle isn’t his past. She may not be his future either, but right now, she’s his present. He doesn’t want to waste his time, whatever it may turn into, by dwelling on things he can’t change.
The ride up in the elevator is uneventful, but their silence is a comfortable thing rather than awkward. He’s had enough awkwardness for years to come, memories of the beginnings of the friendship still fresh in his mind as if they’d happened just yesterday.
But he likes to think that they’ve come far.
Not far enough to tell her the truth about certain things, but Peter’s working up to that. He knows he can trust her and that she trusts him.
It’s just that there’s so much he wants to tell her, so much of his heart he wants to share, and there’s not enough time in the world to do it all at the pace he’s going. But he’s going to try. Eventually.
“Thank you for the escort,” she says to him with a half-smirk as they reach his door, and he grins, feeling his heart skip a beat. Just a typical Sunday afternoon.
May opens the door just then, a smile stretching across her face upon seeing them, and she says, “Michelle! Always a delight to find you at my door.”
“You know I just couldn’t pass up your birthday, May. It’s gotta be celebrated,” Michelle responds lightheartedly, following her back into the apartment, and Peter kicks the door closed behind them.
“We’re having pasta fazool for dinner, my specialty,” May says, rubbing her hands together.
Peter can’t help but smile, and it’s because of the fact that she loves to cook despite being terrible at it. He would’ve made dinner, had even offered to try one of May’s older family recipes for the special occasion, but she’d asked if she could do it. And, well, if that means eating burnt pasta and beans, then so be it.
“Hey, I, um. I made you something for your birthday,” Michelle speaks up, and she sounds nervous about it. “It’s not much, but I know how family oriented you are. And I know how much you love volunteering.”
Michelle practically throws the paper she’d had in her hands at May, and she seems so nervous that it’s almost comical, but Peter thinks he understands. He almost places a hand on her shoulder in reassurance but settles for a light touch to her elbow instead.
“Goodness, MJ.” May brings a hand to her mouth, and her eyes shine. He knows what she’s seeing, the drawn perspective of someone with a camera who’s taking a photo of the found family they’ve made at FEAST.
Peter’s in the front with May, having finally started volunteering with them, and they’re surrounded by everyone in the shelter. From the cooks to the men who always play chess in the corner to the older woman who occasionally strums her violin. It’s all smiles, something that’s rare.
And Michelle was able to capture the snapshot. Always the one behind the camera, the one behind the art—not in the view but replicating it perfectly.
“It’s nothing, I was just playing around with values and shades, really,” she begins to say but never gets to finish, already being wrapped in his aunt’s tight embrace.
“Michelle, please. It’s perfect. I am so grateful for this and for you.”
Peter smiles at the way Michelle’s expression relaxes, and he places a palm between her shoulder blades, leaning closer to murmur, “What did I tell you. Nothing to be worried about.”
Michelle rolls her eyes lightheartedly and as she keeps holding onto May, Peter wishes he were the one with the camera for once. This is a memory he wants to keep for a long time.
The way she so easily fits into their family.
“May, come on, it’s your birthday. I can clean up—”
“Hey, now. This is still my kitchen,” she warns, a teasing spark in her eyes. “We can share the workload. Besides, the sooner we get this done, the sooner you can go back to our company.”
Peter can feel his cheeks warm as he casts a glance through the doorway, toward the living room where Michelle is lounging on the couch. He’d insisted for her to relax. They didn’t need a third set of hands to clean, but more importantly, he didn’t need to be brushing elbows with her every time a dish needed soap.
“Yeah. You’re right,” he mumbles, a smile sneaking onto his lips despite his best efforts in trying to prevent it.
“Ah. There’s that look again.”
“What look?” Peter asks, ducking his head as if he can hide from his aunt that way. She merely tsks, tossing him a dish towel. “I dunno what you’re talking about, May.”
“Don’t play coy with me, mister. I wasn’t born yesterday,” May snorts, handing off the clean plates for him to start drying. “Even if you hadn’t already told me how you feel about MJ, I’d say you make it pretty obvious, Pete. I’ve seen that look before.”
“I don’t...have a look,” he complains, and yet, he knows he does. A constant thing throughout the last half of the year, like a smile he can’t erase. “This is just my face.”
“Well, then there’s something about your face,” she prompts, and he doesn’t like the way her tone is headed—as if she already knows. A parent’s intuition, perhaps. “That tells me this isn’t just a casual crush.”
Peter laughs, and it comes out slightly lilted, him saying, “You’re starting to sound like Ned. Look, I just...yeah, I really like MJ. Obviously. She’s awesome and kind of...funny in a dark way, you know? But right now, we’re just—we’re friends. Good friends, I think.”
“I’ve seen the box in your room, Peter.” And May’s tone is tender, gentle, meaning she must know. His stomach swoops—maybe in guilt, maybe in potential excitement. “I know that you have a plan. Selling your collectibles for something special? You want to see where this can go, and you should.”
“I don’t know,” he admits, wiping his hands with the towel. His gaze doesn’t match with hers. “I don’t know if I can, that is. So many of those collectibles came from...they came from him. Selling them feels…”
May tilts her head, a sad smile on her face as she says, “Wrong?”
Peter nods, looking down, saying, “Exactly. They don’t really hold sentimental value, but he still gave them to me. And they don’t make half of these figures anymore. If I sell them, I don’t want to regret it the next day.”
“I think...Ben gave you those figures so you could do whatever you wanted with them, Peter. And if what you want is to sell them so you can buy the girl you really like something nice,” she murmurs. “He would want you to do just that.”
“MJ does deserve something nice,” he mumbles, repeating her sentiment, casting a look over his shoulder. She’s still sitting in the living room, her eyes on the television but her fingers are tapping to an invisible beat, a habit.
“Then be the one to give it to her, Pete.”
“Okay. Okay, yeah, you’re right. I’m going to do it.” Peter blows out a breath and cracks a small, reassured smile, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. He’s warred with himself over that topic a while now, but now he knows his answer. “Um. What do you think she would like?”
“Well, I can’t tell you that, Peter,” May says, rolling her eyes lightly. She swats him with a towel and gestures towards the living room. “Go ask her yourself. I’ll finish up here.”
“Are you sure—”
“Go,” she insists with a chuckle. “Get the girl and try not to lose her while you’re at it. She’s a really good one.”
“I know,” he exhales, smiling. “Thank you so much, May.”
After getting waved away by his aunt, Peter heads over to Michelle. Her gaze tracks his movements before she finally makes room for him on the couch next to her. He feels his heart speed up while taking the seat, as it always does around her, a second nature.
“Hey, there, Parker.”
“Hey, yourself,” Peter replies, bumping her shoulder lightly, and she smirks slightly in amusement. “What are we watching?”
“The Black Dahlia,” Michelle says, shrugging, but her eyes shine with fondness. “One of my favorite book-to-movie adaptations. It’s based on this true crime story of a woman who was a young Hollywood actress and, well. Got murdered.”
“Oh,” he says with a slow nod, and maybe he would be more surprised if he didn’t know her any better. But he does know her.
Michelle awkwardly smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear that won’t quite stay put. She shakes her head and reaches for the remote, saying “Sorry. We can change it—”
“No,” Peter quickly blurts, placing a hand over hers, and she freezes. A bold move that he just pulled out of his ass to keep her from switching the channel, he thinks. “I just…”
“You’re interested?” she asks, eyebrows raising.
Peter merely grins, settling back into the couch, their shoulders, knees, hands touching. He feels warm all over as he says, “Yeah. Tell me more.”
three days after
“Michelle,” May greets with a barely-there smile, just enough for it to be cordial. She steps aside, allowing her into the apartment, and they stand together in the quiet room with their black attire. “Today’s the day, huh.”
Today’s the day.
Michelle merely nods with a smile that’s small and empty, her fingers tracing the chain of the necklace that is only a temporary placeholder for him, resting near her heart. It’s not perfect, but she tried her best.
“Yeah. It is.” She doesn’t want to think about how she’d spent the entirety of last night wrapped in one of his t-shirts, remembering him as she fell asleep. As if she could ever forget.
So much for out of sight, out of mind.
May shakes her head, and there’s a tremble to her hands as she gathers some dishes in the kitchen, cleaning and drying. “Is there anything I can get you before we go? I have water. Tea. Coffee.”
“No. No, I’m good,” Michelle responds, closing her eyes. They sting. “I know we don’t have to be there for a while. Can we not go just yet?”
“Of course, sweetie,” May says, and her expression is frail. Like a vase of flowers just waiting to tip over, to crack and spill. “I understand. This is...hard. We’ll get there together.”
Michelle swallows thickly, hearing her heart beating in her ears. She wishes it could tell her what to do now when every bone in her body is reminding her how much easier it would be to run. Instead, she asks, “How are you doing? I know we’re in the same boat, but I just…”
May smiles sadly, turning away from the dishes to look at her as she says, “I’ve had better days. I, uh, I don’t know. I keep thinking…”
“Yeah?” Michelle prompts gently.
“I should’ve done better,” May finally manages, and her words stun Michelle to the point where she can’t speak. “I should’ve done more. Not just now, but his whole life, I should’ve…”
“You did everything for him, May. Everything that you could. He was so lucky to have you.” The lump in her throat is persisting, but Michelle fights back. “You were his family.”
“No, you don’t—you don’t understand. I let him down. I—” May cuts herself off, her voice breaking. “I failed, Michelle. As a parent, I failed...because when your child dies before you do, have you really done…”
When your child dies before you do, have you really done anything right?
Michelle can feel her breath hitch, her stomach drop, and she wants to say something to combat that. Anything. But words aren’t coming to her in the form of comfort, as they tend not to.
Instead, she shakes her head, stepping forward to pull May into her arms, and lets her break down. They both need a release, and it’s easier when you have someone else to help hold you up.
Even though it’s just the two of them in the quiet apartment, would only be the two of them from now on, Michelle can only imagine that they’re not alone. That his presence is there too, watching over them. Bringing them together once again, just as he had so many years ago.
Michelle knows what he would say if he were here.
You did everything right, May. Believe me.
It’s not your fault.
eight and a half years until
Peter clambers back inside his bedroom window after a round of patrol, feeling refreshed and beaten at the same time. He’d forgotten how much Spider-Man takes out of him, having just gotten back into the swing of things a few months ago, but it feels just as—if not more—rewarding after having had his break.
As soon as he takes his mask off, the first thing his gaze falls on is the rolled-up paper in the corner of his closet, barely hidden by his hanging t-shirts.
The poster. His poster, an undeserving gift from her.
Peter makes his way to the closet, pulling the paper out and unrolling it, revealing the shades and colors of her art. An untamable smile spreads across his face when he looks at this, always.
It hurts, knowing he can’t display it, but Peter often finds himself returning to this piece and the memories that come with it when he needs a pick-me-up.
The day Michelle had finally given it to him when he’d finally come back as Spider-Man is one he can’t forget.
It wasn’t a grand gesture, nor was it even eventful. He had just been sitting on the stoop of a building, spending time overthinking as he does, and she’d walked past.
Her backpack was stuffed full, half-open, and she had earbuds in, presumably headed to FEAST, but then she stopped. Backed up a little, their gazes meeting, and an earnest smile had broken across her face.
They didn’t really talk much, Peter forgetting to modify his voice, but she told him she was glad to see him around. Glad to see that he was alive. She always carried the poster with her—a just-in-case kind of thing—and handed it over without a word. Her expression was enough.
Michelle had walked away quickly after that, left him on the step, but it felt as if a piece of her was still in his hands. They both knew how much the poster meant.
And maybe it was suspicious, dropping by her apartment window that evening to thank her personally, but Peter frankly didn’t care. She didn’t know who he was behind the mask, didn’t know if she would even see him, and yet, she still made that for him. Even when he wasn’t around.
Maybe he can’t give her anything meaningful as Spider-Man.
But as Peter, he will try to give her everything he can. She deserves just as much, starting with this necklace.
The black dahlia is her favorite flower, he’s learned, because they’ve watched the movie together.
His pockets are empty now, having sold his valuable collectibles for cash, only to spend it all on a piece of hand-blown glass jewelry, but he doesn’t regret it.
Peter just doesn’t know how to give it to her.
“I thought you had a plan, dude,” Ned tells him later that afternoon when they’re both hanging out in his bedroom. “Like, I don’t know. Ask her out on a date. You’ve literally been hanging in limbo for months.”
“It’s not limbo. We’re friends, and I don’t want to ruin anything,” he responds with a sigh, feeling his heart churn at the statement. “I just can’t ask her out if she doesn’t feel the same way.”
Ned gives him a look, one almost identical to the ‘you are impossible’ one, and says, “Um. You’re never going to know how she feels if you don’t ask her out.”
“Okay. Yeah, fine, I want to take her on a date, Ned. I want to bring her to this art show in Central Park, and I want to take her to the top of the Empire State Building to give her this necklace and maybe even a kiss,” Peter says all in one breath. “But I can’t just do that.”
“Because Spider-Man’s a chicken.”
Peter blinks at his best friend before huffing, “Dude.”
“Kidding, obviously,” Ned assures with a laugh. “Look, baby steps, right? Go to the art show with her as friends. Bring the necklace, and if you get the chance, just give it to her. She’ll love it no matter what.”
“You think?” Peter asks, breaking into a small smile. He hopes.
“I do. It’s you and MJ.”
“I think you made the nose too big.”
“Peter,” Michelle warns, giving him an unimpressed look, and he merely offers a small smile in return, shaking his head. “The one time I actually let you watch me, you have something to say other than it’s perfect?”
“It is perfect. As is everything else you make. You know I’m kidding,” he tells Michelle softly, and she breathes out a half-chuckle in return but there’s a bout of frustration in her expression. “MJ. You good?”
Michelle doesn’t do anything except shrug in response, but her pencil presses harder down onto the paper, lines drawn darker and darker. It all builds up to her tearing a hole in the page, right before the lead breaks.
“For god’s sake,” she mutters, tearing the page out as a whole and crumpling it up, ready to toss.
They’ve been sitting on the floor of FEAST for hours now, having volunteered in the kitchen together earlier in the day, and Michelle had told him she wanted to sketch a bit. He couldn’t say no to her offer to stay and watch.
Peter knows how long it took her to fill the page she’d been working on, and now she’s just going to throw it away. It doesn’t make sense to him, so he stops her. Asks her what’s going on.
“No, hey. That’s good, why are you crumpling it up?” He pulls the paper from her hand, unfolding it. A genre drawing of the shelter.
“I just…I don’t know. I’ve been in an art slump for the past few days, I swear, and everything I’ve tried doing looks like...well. Shit,” Michelle offers with a shrug, pushing a curl out of her eyes. She seems sad about it.
“MJ, please. Nothing you make could ever look like shit,” Peter says, spewing his typical love language towards her, words of affirmation.
Michelle rolls her eyes but smiles a bit, knocking his shoulder as she says, “I’ve just been lacking motivation is all.”
“So, what you’re saying is you need inspiration?” he asks tentatively, knowing that this could be his chance, an easy opening.
“I’m not drawing you like one of my French girls, Peter—”
“No, no, that’s not—” Peter cuts himself off, feeling his face heat up, the flush knowing no bounds. “I, um. I was actually going to suggest...there’s an art show going on in Central Park. It’s a short drive, easy inspiration. We could go together...if you want.”
Michelle smiles slightly, meeting his eyes as her own seem more amused than anything. “We could?”
“Or just...you could. If this is more of something you need to do alone,” he spews out, wincing, practically uninviting himself. “Whatever you want. I don’t really care either way.”
“When is it?”
Peter thins his smile, trying to act as if he hadn’t researched the entirety of the exhibition just for her. “This whole week, I’m pretty sure? You could go on Friday.”
“Or we could go tomorrow,” Michelle suggests with an earnest look, and it’s annoying, the way relief washes over him at the fact that she would like him to come. “Only if you want to, obviously.”
“Tomorrow? Tomorrow’s good,” Peter says, and they both smile at the fact. His cheeks hurt a bit. “It’s a date, then. I mean—a friendly outing...sort of date.”
Michelle’s expression falters slightly and she just nods, saying, “I’ll pick you up?”
“Deal.” He looks down for a moment before meeting her eyes again, imagining how they would see him if he were to just let his secret slip, let his feelings slip. If he were to just tell her everything. “Tomorrow then.”
“You think you’ve made enough of a mess of your room yet?” May comments in amusement, taking one look around at how there are clothes scattered all over the floor. His closet is practically barren.
Peter exhales a laugh, pushing a hand through his hair as he stares at the loose hangers, and asks, “Is this what it feels like to have nothing to wear? I swear I’ve gone through anything.”
May clicks her tongue and shakes her head, giving him an empathetic smile as she says, “You’re nervous for this, aren’t you?”
“Nervous?” Peter repeats, sounding high-strung and more stressed than he would’ve liked. “No, what makes you think I’m nervous?”
“You’re going on a date with the girl you really like, and you’re nervous. It’s perfectly normal, Pete, but this mess isn’t—”
“It’s not a date! I just—we’re just friends going on a...friendly outing together. So, like, please don’t refer to it as a date. Especially not in front of her,” he blurts, wincing slightly as May’s eyes narrow. “But...yeah. I’m kind of nervous.”
“Remember that this is MJ. Chill, dark-humored, dry MJ,” May reminds him, placing her hands on his shoulders in reassurance.
“Exactly. It’s MJ.” Peter glances at the necklace that's sitting on his nightstand before looking back at May. “Yeah, um. Send me all the good luck you can, May. I’m gonna need it.”
“Good luck, Peter. And, as always, be careful out there. Crime rates have been steadily increasing recently from what I’ve seen and heard on the news.”
“Of course,” he assures her, and she smiles at him before closing the door to his room, leaving Peter with his mess. He turns around in circles for a bit before sighing, making his decision.
What better to ruin the mood with than to wear his suit underneath his clothes, right?
Just as Peter finally manages to settle on a simple button-up and jeans, there’s a knock on the apartment door. He’s practically still jumping into his pants by the time he makes it over to open it, revealing her backside.
But when Michelle turns around, he thinks he forgets how to breathe for a second. There’s nothing spectacularly different about her, but she always manages to stun him upon first sight. A superpower of hers, perhaps.
“Hey,” she greets with a small smile, eyes shining with amusement.
“Hi,” Peter responds, swallowing thickly, taking in her floral dress and the denim jacket draped over it. His brain keeps short-circuiting, enough for him to blurt out exactly what’s on his mind. It’s her, always her. “You...you look really pretty.”
“And therefore I have value?”
“No—no, that’s not what I meant at all,” he stammers, already in a panic and wondering if it’s too late to back out. She merely squints at him before breaking into a teasing expression.
“I know. I was just messing with you. Thank you.” Michelle hesitates and then smiles, a slight thing. “You look pretty, too.”
“Oh.” He can feel his cheeks heating up and it’s impossible to fight the blush, to fight the grin creeping onto his face. “Thank you.”
Peter tentatively pauses a moment, feeling the weight of the necklace in his pocket. He wonders when the best time would be to give it to her. Not now, not when their evening has barely started. Later, maybe.
Michelle peeks past him, just to wave hello at May, who’s currently sorting laundry in the background, before asking, “Are you ready to go?”
“I am.” Peter quickly ducks his head back into the apartment to yell a ‘goodbye’ at his aunt, who yells back with a ‘have fun you two’. He sure hopes they will.
“Have you ever been to an art exhibition before?”
“This is my first one,” Peter says, absently tugging at his sleeves. In the back of his mind, he hopes that they’re sufficiently concealing his web-shooters that have never really been conspicuous. “Can you tell?”
Michelle barely masks a laugh, nodding as they walk around to look at each of the artist’s displays, and he has to admit, there is some really impressive work. He can’t imagine painting a wilting landscape that ranges from six feet wide to ten feet tall, or building a literal staircase of junk that seemingly leads nowhere.
There’s so much to take away from everyone’s art, and he thinks this really is the perfect place for Michelle to find some inspiration.
“There’s a theme to everyone’s work here,” Michelle tells him, linking her own fingers together as they accidentally brush with his. It stings, knowing she pulled away so quickly, but he pushes that out of his mind because this isn’t about him. “You know what it is?”
“I think you’re gonna have to spell it out for me,” he responds, chuckling quietly.
“It’s reflective of change. Impermanence. Attempting to understand the things we love and their role in space and time,” she explains.
“Woah. How’d you get all of that from...a staircase? And some paintings?” he asks, gaping slightly, and she taps her temple.
“Intuition, of course. And, well…” Michelle gestures behind him at the large welcoming banner that’s hanging between some street lights. “It says right there.”
“Oh, my god.” An unprecedented laugh bursts out of him, and Michelle’s face lights up, delighted. “You’ve always been more observant than I have.”
“I don’t know, Peter,” she murmurs, the two of them finding an empty bench to sit on. “I’d say you’re pretty observant. And intuitive. You knew I would want to come to an art exhibition. You know...a lot more things about me than most people do.”
Peter reddens slightly and looks away, his laughter nervous as he says, “Way to make me sound like a creep or something.”
“No. No, it’s...okay,” she says, quiet, her smile small as she lets her eyes flutter shut for a moment. “That you know me, that is.”
“Oh,” he breathes, the warmth blooming in his heart spreading quickly. “The feeling is mutual, MJ.”
Michelle’s eyes crack open, her expression just a bit wry as she says, “Do I really know you, though, Peter?”
And she’s right. The fact of the matter is, he hasn’t told Michelle everything. Hasn’t even shared the biggest secret of his life with her.
Peter knows that he wants to tell her, but the problem has always been that he doesn’t know if he should. To keep her safe would be to keep her in the dark, and he wants her safe more than anything.
With a sigh, he closes his eyes and tries to let it go in that moment, because right now, it’s simply him and her sitting on a bench. That’s all he wants it to be.
Some time passes with them just relaxing together, knees brushing and elbows touching, before Peter hears the sound of a camera clicking, bringing his gaze back to her. She has her face hidden behind her phone.
“Did you just take a picture of me?” Peter asks as he sits up, laughing a little, and she merely quirks her lips.
“I don’t know, Peter. Did I?” Michelle teases, looking down at her phone before meeting his eyes again. “You brought me to the art show so I could get some inspiration, and...I have. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Peter responds, swallowing thickly as they do nothing but stare at each other in that moment. It only takes a second for his mind to make a spontaneous decision. “MJ, there...there’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you. Um, for a while now, actually. I, uh…”
Peter hesitates, his hand finding its way into his pocket, clamping around the box that contains her flower. He’s going to give it to her here and now, going to tell her how he feels.
And maybe she’ll even feel the same way.
“Peter,” Michelle utters, but she’s not looking at him. Her tone is barely audible, and he wonders if it’s meant to be a warning to stop.
“MJ, I’m…” He trails off, trying to get a read on her expression, but then the next voice he hears isn’t hers. It sounds as if it’s coming from behind them and that’s when something crashes dangerously close to the art exhibition, sending shards of glass everywhere.
Peter immediately pulls Michelle to the ground, shielding her head and most of her body with his, all while trying to find out who threw the projectile. It’s not a difficult feat, his eyes quickly falling on a man in what looks to be a mechanized rhino costume.
People have been getting creative these days, it seems.
“Spider-Man,” Michelle manages to say above the screams, lifting her head up slightly, and he can feel his heart skip a beat—can hear hers pounding erratically. Not a good thing. “You were going to say that you’re Spider-Man, weren’t you?”
“What? No, I—I’m not Spider-Man,” he stammers stupidly. “What makes you think that I’m Spider-Man?”
“Peter,” she deadpans, looking around. “You better hope to god that you’re Spider-Man. There’s a guy over there who seems to be having a joyride in a fucking rhino suit.”
“Shit,” Peter mutters, watching as the man lifts a car above his head with a manic look on his face. That’s really not good. “Okay, I, uh—I am Spider-Man. I know you probably have a lot of questions, and honestly so do I, but—”
“You have to go.”
“I have to go. Uh.” Peter quickly ducks behind the stairway to nowhere and pulls his clothes off, grateful that he’d thought ahead and wore the suit underneath.
After tugging his mask on, he almost decides to just leave everything on the ground right there but then sees the abandoned jewelry box on the ground. His heart pangs briefly, and he sweeps up all his belongings.
“Are you seriously making me hold your clothes?” Michelle hisses under her breath when he returns.
“Um. I’m sorry,” Peter says, and she squints. “I’ll be back, okay? Just, stay safe and be careful. Please.”
And when he goes to swing towards the rhino who looks to be a little more than pissed off, he still manages to catch the tail-end of Michelle’s response.
I’m counting on you to come back to me, Peter.
His ribs feel broken. Just a little.
But Peter doesn’t really care as he stands above the Rhino, who’s currently unconscious and webbed up after the tussle the two of them had down 5th Avenue. They’ve left quite the path of destruction behind them, but he’s pretty sure there were no severe injuries amongst any civilians. No casualties.
“Ah, you guys got a handle on this now, right?” Peter wheezes, gripping his ribs lightly as he looks at the police now surrounding them. “Alright, cool. Cool. I’ll take your silence as a yes, so if you don’t mind...I have a date to get back to.”
Peter shoots a web out, withholding a grunt as he swings, his entire body feeling strained.
Though, when he makes it back to Central Park, the art exhibition is in shambles, even more so than when he’d originally left. It’s also barren. If they were in the Wild West, he’s sure he’d see a tumbleweed blow by.
Panic stirs in his gut after calling out for Michelle once then twice, expecting to see her appear from out of nowhere. He doesn’t know what happened here, doesn’t know if she and everyone else got away safely or if something else went down.
Peter is so confused that he almost doesn’t react in time, but he hears the footsteps before he sees the shadow. Quickly moving away, he swings up and realizes that the one behind him is a familiar face.
“Nice to see you again, Spider-Man.”
“How did you get out of jail?” Peter asks, swallowing as the electricity sparks dangerously close off Shocker’s gauntlet.
“Jail is pretty easy to get out of when you know people on the inside,” he responds, shooting out a jolt and hitting Peter in the chest. It feels like his entire body is on fire as he falls. “My partner was supposed to take you down. Guess he didn’t do a good job.”
“Rhinos aren’t really known to be reliable,” he coughs, feeling his Spidey sense go off as Shocker’s fist comes down near his head, barely missing. “You know, you guys are really taking the fun out of my day.”
“And you’re really adding the fun to mine, Spider.”
Peter manages to dodge the second blow, grimacing under the mask as he says, “Well. I try to spice up everyone’s life one way or another. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“Do you ever shut up?”
“Hard to do that when you’re the one making conversation with me,” Peter responds, and he’s about to just web him up. End it there and hopefully not get electrocuted again in the process.
But before he even gets the chance, Shocker lets out a pained grunt, eyes rolling back as he collapses to the ground in an unconscious heap.
“Think I hit him hard enough?” Michelle asks from behind in a dry voice, holding what looks to be a mace in her hands. She seems shaken but not enough to drop the weapon, clutching it with white knuckles.
“MJ,” Peter exhales in relief, trying to sit up without jostling his ribs, but she comes down to him instead. He doesn’t hesitate to wrap an arm around her, closing his eyes. “MJ. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I was able to get everyone out of here before he started destroying the whole exhibition, but I didn’t leave because I knew you were coming back,” she explains softly, and he holds her closer. “Are you okay?”
“I’ve seen better days,” he jokes with a groan, and she snorts. “Where’d you get the mace?”
Michelle’s eyes shine and she gestures around them, saying, “Oh. I stole it from someone’s art project. Homemade and kind of misshapen but still got the job done.”
Peter manages a pained laugh before webbing Shocker up, setting up a signal for the cops to find him. “We probably shouldn’t stay here like this out in the open. Wouldn’t want you to get caught with Spider-Man.”
“Okay,” she agrees, chewing her lower lip. “Then you’re coming to my place.”
“I am?”
Michelle raises an eyebrow, already helping him up, draping one of his arms around her neck. “Unless you’d rather go to yours where May can see what I’m sure are some very injured ribs?”
“Your place it is,” Peter concedes with a small smile that she can’t see, and they make their way to her car.
The drive is mostly quiet, giving him time to think about how much of a disaster their evening was. All he wanted was to have a nice time with her, and the universe couldn’t even give him that.
When they make it to her apartment, it’s empty, just as he’d expected. She flicks on the light to her bedroom, revealing a familiar mess of art supplies and books scattered everywhere.
Peter finds himself sinking to the floor next to her nightstand, head hitting the wall after he tears his mask off. He’s alone until he isn’t, Michelle coming into the room with a first aid kit and his pile of clothes.
Their eyes finally meet when she kneels in front of him, and he can see the concern in them more clearly. His heart pangs, Peter wanting to tell her that he’s okay, that nothing hurts.
But he doesn’t want to lie to her after having done so much of that in the past.
“Can you…?” Michelle trails off, gesturing to his suit, which he loosens around him. She takes a bit of cream and ice, applying it around the bruising on his ribs, all while he tries not to blush too hard. “Sorry if I’m hurting you.”
“You’re not,” Peter assures her softly before taking a risk, folding his hand around hers as she takes care of his injuries. She lets him. “You really knew I was Spider-Man, huh?”
“Of course I did,” she snorts, a small smile playing on her lips. “I’ve known for a while now. You wonder why I asked for your opinion on that poster?”
Peter splutters, but in reality, he isn’t surprised. It’s Michelle. Of course she knew. “Yeah, I still can’t believe you made that for me. I...I really love it, MJ. You have no idea.”
“I thought you deserved something nice, Peter.” And Michelle finally looks up from her work, matching his expression.
“Michelle,” he says, voice cracking slightly with emotion, the thought of her necklace not so distant from his mind. She’s the one who deserves something nice. Deserves everything. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner. I thought I was keeping you safe, but you can clearly...do that yourself.”
Michelle merely shrugs, the curve of her lips a secretive thing. “I’ll forgive you in one to two business days, Parker.”
“Ha, ha,” Peter deadpans, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. He wonders if they can finish their conversation from earlier, hopes it’ll end differently this time. “Hey, can you hand me my clothes?”
When she does just that, Peter rummages through the pockets, only to find all of them empty. In a panic, he checks and double checks them, but to no avail.
“Are you looking for this?” Michelle pulls something out of her own pocket, only to reveal the glass dahlia in multiple pieces, petals broken off and cracked. His heart sinks as he shakes his head. This is not how it was meant to be.
“No, no, no,” he whispers, cupping her hands. “God, I’m so sorry, MJ. I had this plan, this whole plan. I was going to give you this necklace on our date, and...I don’t know. Maybe I...wanted to tell you how I feel too, but it’s all been ruined—”
Peter suddenly finds himself cut off by her soft lips pressing against his, and he doesn’t know how to react, unable to even close his eyes. Not until she pulls away with the most hesitant smile, and he finds himself wanting her to do it again.
“Thanks for finally calling it a date,” she jokes, and he laughs shakily. “I, um. I don’t have the best luck getting close to people. But you’re one of the exceptions, and...I don’t know. I like that.”
“That...that’s great,” Peter exhales with an unsurmounted amount of emotion piling in his heart. He still can’t believe she kissed him, the echo of her lips against his lingering.
Michelle ducks her head, tucking an errant curl behind her ear as she says, “Black dahlia...like the murder. You enjoyed the movie?”
“I enjoyed watching it with you.” He looks down at the shattered necklace in her hands, knowing he wanted better for her. “I’m sorry it’s broken, MJ.”
“It’s okay. I kind of like it better broken,” Michelle tells him with a small smile on her face, and he knows the pounding in his chest has nothing to do with the pain anymore.
Peter wonders if his gaze is as affectionate as it feels, if she can tell how deep this goes for him, finally admitting to her, “I really like you.”
“I really like you, too,” she says, an earnest, honest thing.
Peter leans in first this time, tentative as he grips her hand, brushing his lips against hers. He closes his eyes, committing this to memory in every sense of the way. It’s not something he ever wants to forget.
When Michelle pulls back after the brief kiss, she gives him this open look, one that softens his heart from the inside-out. He adores it. Adores her.
Without hesitation, they both lean in again, the clumsiness and fumbling gone with the first two kisses, leaving them with nothing but peace. And that’s how it feels to kiss her.
Peaceful.
Peter isn’t sure how long they sit on the floor of her bedroom, but it’s just them the whole time, wrapped up within each other. That’s all he needs it to be.
But he knows he can’t stay forever. Certainly not overnight.
“I don’t want May to worry,” Peter explains, wrapping his suit around him once more, the bruising already starting to fade. She nods in understanding, and he drops a kiss to her forehead. Doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to this, but he’ll do it until he does.
Her window opens to the fire escape, and he’s half in, half out when she brushes her lips against his cheek, leaving a trail of warmth before pulling his mask the rest of the way down.
“Be careful,” Michelle tells him, and he breaks into a smile that she cannot see.
“I will,” he promises, his feet clanging on the fire escape.
“See you tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” Peter murmurs, knowing the emotion in his stomach will settle at getting to see her again like this. “I’ll see you, MJ.”
And when he jumps off the fire escape, he leaves with the feeling of Michelle surrounding him like something familiar, knowing he can’t wait to see her again.
three days after
The funeral home is quiet.
So quiet that Michelle would assume no one had come if it weren’t for the faces that had turned when she and May stepped inside. But of course, that would’ve been an unrealistic assumption anyway, knowing how loved he was by so many.
Michelle can’t bring herself to meet anyone’s gazes yet, despite the fact that they’re all familiar. They’re all family at this point, the funeral a private one reserved for only those who knew him best.
May squeezes her arm, the two of them support beams for each other as they had come together. She has the courage to look around at everyone, at the casket, whereas Michelle does not.
“Do you remember...taking that picture of him?” May manages to ask, her voice watery, gently coaxing Michelle’s eyes up. Her gaze travels past Tony Stark and Pepper Potts, past Ned and his family, past the few friends of theirs that they’d kept in touch with through the years.
Michelle swallows thickly upon seeing the photo that they let someone else choose, neither of them wanting the pain that came with the responsibility. She knows exactly when it was from. Her heart aches, remembering how young they were just a few years ago, remembering the day as if it had just happened.
She thought they’d come so far but after seeing the picture again now, Michelle can’t help but feel like they’re back right where they’d started.
At least, they would be right where they had started if he were still here.
“Yeah. It was on our...first date, if you can even call it that.” Michelle laughs quietly, and it’s brittle, breakable. She feels as if she’s going to shatter. “He just looked so...happy. Carefree. I remember, in that moment, I wanted to draw him.”
“And did you?”
“Not then. But I did later. So much,” she admits with a shake of her head. “I don’t even think he knew half the time, but he was always the perfect subject. Always smiled for me.”
“You’ll have to show me them sometime,” May responds, something akin to encouragement in her voice. Soft and subdued. “Either way. I think the photo they’ve chosen goes well with the other piece.”
Michelle looks to the opposite side of the casket, and her eyes sting as she blinks at the second portrait. The one she’d taken out from under their bed, the one she’d made by hand just to show her appreciation to him.
The one of Spider-Man that was starting to fade, colors not so vibrant anymore, and in a way, it feels fitting.
Fading away but not completely disappearing, just as he never will.
“I think so, too,” Michelle says, wiping the wetness from her cheek with a brush of her thumb.
“Are you ready...to see him?” May asks, and she manages a smile that thinly masks the sadness and weariness in her expression. “We can wait a while if you’d like. Take as much time as you need.”
Michelle shakes her head, fingers absently tracing the glass flower around her neck as she says, “I can’t wait forever.”
They approach the casket together, Michelle squeezing May’s fingers so tight that her knuckles whiten. And in the moment that she finally sees him, she wishes more than anything that she could take the air she can’t seem to hold and give it to him. Just to see him breathe again.
Peter is laid out in a suit, his hands clasped together on his chest, and he looks so peaceful. She does hope with her whole heart that he is at peace now.
Michelle ducks her head for a moment, letting a tear run down her cheek and it splashes onto his skin. Tenderly, she reaches out, his hands cold underneath her own as she brushes it away.
Maybe it would’ve been better if she had written down everything she’d wanted to say, everything she can’t remember now, but she knows that planning for a goodbye is an impossible thing. Saying a goodbye is even harder.
“There’s so much I didn’t get to say to you,” she begins quietly, biting her cheek to keep her tears inside. “But I’m glad I got to tell you how much I love you every day. Even though we ended up here, I don’t regret spending these past years with you, Peter. I never will.”
Carefully, Michelle unclasps the chain from around her neck and places the flower in his hands. It’s not perfect, but it’s not broken, anymore. It’s whole.
Michelle can feel another tear streaming down her cheek as she leans forward, placing one last kiss against his temple. She finds that her words are dying on her lips, but if he were still here, she knows he would tell her that it’s okay. Even if she can’t say it out loud.
I will always love you.
I will never forget you.
I’ll see you in the next life, Peter Parker.