Chapter Text
six years later
It’s almost kind of funny how he finds himself in these tricky situations time and time again. He’s not about to say that luck has it out for him, even if it does, but maybe he did have it coming this time.
“You are under arrest for breaking and entering, theft, disorderly conduct, and vandalism. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law,” the policeman recites gruffly, eyes narrowed as he cuffs his wrists a little too tight and breathes out pure annoyance. Now this is the type of person who hates their job.
“Oh, come on now,” Peter quips with a slight chuckle, hearing the rest of his rights as background noise while being shoved into the backseat. A part of him is itching to fight back and slip away like he usually does, but his game plan is different this time around. “Is it really necessary to manhandle?”
The door merely slams shut in his face, Peter blinking before releasing a sigh, sinking back in the seat and relaxing, really just there for the ride. He sees the cop looking at him through the little window and shoots him a wink, only to hear an indignant scoff in return.
Alright, then—not a fan.
Noted.
We could always just bite his head off. Delicious, delicious human flesh…
“You know that’s reserved for certain people only,” he muses, knowing Venom’s a little jokester when he wants to be, but never about food. Not when their appetite is an insatiable sort of thing, always craving something. “Besides, I kinda wanna experience it this time. The whole interrogation thing?”
“Who the hell are you talking to back there, kid?”
“Me, myself, and I. Don’t worry about it,” Peter replies calmly, getting a suspicious glare out of the officer. He sighs, staring down at his cuffed wrists, knowing he has better things to do with his time. And yet, there’s something about the thrill of getting caught that he likes, feeding on that adrenaline rush.
The rest of the ride is silent, almost eerily so, but he doesn’t mind. He watches the scenery go by, the streets and the cars and the buildings he sees almost every day while walking around.
It’s one of his favorite things to do: just relax and take a moment. Get a breath of fresh air.
Sometimes, he really needs it.
“Time to get out,” the officer says a little too loudly, cutting into his thoughts as he stands there with the door wide open, and Peter realizes that they’ve already arrived. He steps out of the car and is escorted inside, past the front desk and the holding cells, just to sit right inside an interrogation room with only one window.
“This is very homey,” he remarks offhandedly, only for the door to slam behind him when the officer leaves. “Nice to know everyone here is friendly…”
We should just leave. Break out right now and get dinner. We’re starving.
It’s tempting, really. He can feel their appetite gnawing away at his stomach, knowing he could go for a burger or something more filling. But he simply shakes his head, sitting down instead, his expression plastered with a smile when the interrogator enters the room.
“How are you?”
“I should be asking you the same thing,” the woman says with a slight nod, sitting down across from him and smoothing her skirt. “I see that you’re just a kid, so I’ll try to make this as easy as possible.”
“Appreciate it,” Peter drawls, realizing with blatant dread that this isn’t actually going to be as interesting as he thought, the whole rush of it all fading now. He tugs slightly at his cuffs, metal clanking against the tabletop, and takes note of the impassive expression on his interrogator’s face. She doesn’t know just how easy it would be for him to break out.
“Let’s start with your name, seeing as no one has been able to pry that out of you.”
“Nobody important…really.” He says it quietly in hopes that she won’t catch the almost pitiful note to his tone. The truth to his own words is something he thinks about when he has too much time on his hands—hence why he’s always trying to keep himself busy. It’s too easy to drown in his thoughts otherwise.
“Try that again, young man,” she says, clicking her pen up and down, which gets old really fast. He grits his teeth and forces out a little laugh, looking down.
“Peter.”
“Peter…Parker, right?”
His blood runs cold upon hearing her say that, knowing he damn well has kept his mouth shut over the past few years about who he is. He swallows thickly, lips curling into a sardonic smile, the symbiote in his system telling him to just flee the scene or bite her head off. Whichever is faster, easier.
“Thought you said no one knew my name,” he says, staring hard at the tabletop in front of him, and she merely clicks her tongue.
“I was asking out of courtesy, but the fact of the matter is, Mr. Parker…you’ve been a missing person's case since the night of your parents’ death.” She opens the file in front of her, and he sees his name, his picture, all of it solidly documented. “The case went cold, but see…we have this fancy tech where it does this thing called facial recognition. The second you walked in the station, our cameras caught it, and we were able to ID you with public records.”
“Oh, that’s fantastic.” His fight-or-flight instinct is begging to kick in, knee bouncing, but he can’t bring himself to move a muscle. He’s in the system.
“Our police dashcams have now been able to match your ID from previous offenses. This wasn’t the first time you’ve gotten yourself into trouble.” She folds her glasses up, tucks them on the collar of her blouse. “But those offenses have never been taken care of, seeing as you always…somehow managed to flee the scene.”
“My bad.” His laugh comes off a little too harshly with an undertone of nervousness, unfamiliar in the way that he hasn’t dealt with nerves like this for so long. She must take it as insincerity though, judging on how her lips curl downwards, frowning in disapproval.
“I guess I should be thanking you for so graciously letting our men take you into custody this time.” She gives him a stern look. “So now we can get to the root of the issue.”
“Look, ma’am, I really don’t think—”
“How are you doing?” she says, voice softening, and his mouth snaps shut at the question. “I wasn’t kidding when I asked earlier. You’ve been on your own for years, but you haven’t gone to anyone—and no child gets into this much trouble if they’re not actively looking for it.”
“I…I’m great,” he says weakly, shrugging, as if he remembers the last time someone asked him that.
His chest burns a little at the implications, that he doesn’t have anyone else other than the voice in his head. But then that same voice reminds him he doesn’t need anyone else.
It’s just us.
The way it should be.
“You’ve been robbing stores, Peter. Vandalizing buildings, and for what? What do you hope to get out of this rather than making your life easier by going home to the people that have been looking for you?”
He shrugs again, dropping his chin, knowing the worst of his offenses aren’t even on that list—exactly the reason why he couldn’t go home. He knew Ben and May were looking for him at the start, but with Venom, he was able to stay out of their line of sight until they eventually gave up, mourning him as well as his parents. The cherry on top of it all was the news, having to see the headline everywhere of the Parker family getting murdered in cold blood and their killer never being caught.
That was his worst week. He hit rock bottom with nothing else to lose, yet somehow still managed to stick a shovel in and crack the foundation.
But everything else up until this point has just been a means to an end, how he manages to survive without anything but the clothes on his back. He needs supplies to live, and stealing is the easiest method without money. And on top of that, he has to eat.
Maybe all of this misfortune in his life has just caused his anger to build up over the years, the pent-up and repressed emotion behind it all, and sometimes it hurts if he doesn’t let it out, burning like a cigarette on skin.
If he has to smash a few windows in, destroy a few abandoned buildings to feel some relief, so be it. He should be proud of himself really, because at least it’s not someone else that’s getting hurt—no one innocent, at least.
If he happens to indulge himself with others who are less than innocent, it’s only when he’s hungry.
“I don’t know,” he says quietly instead of what he’s thinking, refusing to meet her eyes because then the guilt will come, and he doesn’t need that right now.
She sighs, rubbing her temple a bit like that wasn’t the answer she was hoping for. “I don’t quite believe you, Peter, but I’ll let it go. I know your life has been…bumpy, to say the least. I’ve made a call to your aunt and uncle—your parents named them your designated guardians—”
“You what?” he chokes out, feeling a bit stupid he hadn’t realized this earlier. Of course they would call them. The tightness in his chest is suffocating him like a rubber band right when it’s about to snap. “No, no, can’t you just—I don’t know, put me in jail instead?”
She raises an eyebrow at the ridiculousness of his question. “You’ll still be hit with charges, but nothing you’ve done is worth a sentence. Besides, they haven’t seen you in years, and I’m sure they’ve missed you very much. You should’ve heard the relief on the phone when you found out you’re alive.”
“Yeah, but—”
“But, what? This is a good thing, Mr. Parker. You’re off the streets and under a roof again,” she tells him, a gentleness in her tone that makes him want to cry.
You don’t need them.
You only need me.
The charcoal black symbiote trickles down his forearms under the table where the camera can’t see, wraps around his fists, fingertips sharp enough to slide in the lock of his handcuffs. Brute force isn’t the way to go if he wants to get out of here as easily as possible.
He’s about to stand up, feeling a wave of hunger-induced panic wash over him, right on top of his i-can’t-do-this panic, but then he sees them through the glass window and they see him.
Peter feels as if he’s been hit in the gut with a bowling ball, the shocked and teary-eyed expressions of his family now etched into his mind. He wonders if he looks the same as they do, emotionally wrecked, but figures that’s a stupid question. Of course he does.
The symbiote reluctantly sinks back into him as he stands up, the handcuffs clattering onto the floor, but he’s completely forgotten about them when the door opens, and suddenly he can’t breathe.
“Peter,” May chokes out, gripping him with the force of thousands, hands fisted in his sweatshirt. “My god, you’re alive. I can’t believe you’re alive.”
“When we got the call,” Ben starts, and Peter has never seen him cry before, but his voice wavers now as he speaks, one hand on May’s shoulder and the other on his. “We almost didn’t believe it. There was no way after six years, and yet…here you are. Nearly all grown up.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he whispers repeatedly, squeezing his eyes shut, but he can’t tell what he’s apologizing for. There’s too much.
They only cling to him tighter. But as much as he wishes this would make him feel at peace, it doesn’t. He only feels the weight of the guilt for leaving them in the first place, especially when they’re the only ones that make him feel genuinely loved.
“We’re gonna deal with the trouble you’ve gotten yourself into,” May eventually says when she pulls back, wiping at her eyes and smearing her mascara a bit. “And then we’re going to take you home so you can explain to us where these years went.”
“Okay,” Peter exhales, looking down, feeling Venom rattling around in his head like a sign that this isn’t the best idea.
It’s a good thing he’s gotten better at lying.
There’s a heaviness sitting right on his chest at the ease of which he can do this—look them in their eyes and say with certainty that this is what happened when it couldn’t be further from the truth.
It’s for their sake, though. He has to remind himself of that with each word.
“I was hiding.”
“You were?” May asks, concern etched across her expression as she stares at him from the other side of the dinner table. They ordered Thai food from their favorite restaurant, and it doesn’t hit the same way it used to when he was younger, but he’s still grateful. Tries to be.
It’s kind of funny how their apartment almost looks the same as it had six years ago. Almost. The only difference being the lack of anything of sentimental value connecting their family, and fair enough. He wouldn’t want those reminders either.
They showed him his new room, or as they called it—the old guest room. He’s meant to live with them now, and that should be comforting. He should be happy, but he can’t help but think that this isn’t what’s best for them, or him.
“Yeah.” He swallows thickly, scraping his fork against the plate of half eaten food. “In the closet. My mom told me to stay there and to be quiet, so I did and—and I was. Thought that would be enough.”
“So you heard it all,” Ben utters, sympathetic and looking at May like he can’t believe it. To be fair, he shouldn’t. “I’m so sorry, Pete.”
“It’s fine. You have nothing to apologize for,” he says with a sardonic kind of laugh, giving up on trying to eat his dinner. “Their backup couldn’t help them either. Everyone but me died that night.”
The room falls into a silence, Peter realizing that he hit a nerve in the conversation. He drops his head, unsure if he should just leave it alone now.
“I always knew my brother and Mary were in deep with some organization, but I never thought it would go that far,” Ben eventually says, clearing his throat, like the other conversation topic hurts too much to think about. “I should’ve known something was up when they got back early.”
“I’ll never be able to forgive the police for failing their job twice,” May adds under her breath, and he gets it. Losing Richard and Mary to a killer that got away, losing their child to something else, the police letting both cases go cold. That’s the only story they got. “But I still don’t understand…where you’ve been all this time?”
He vaguely tells her in and out of FEAST, knowing that too much detail will only worry them more than what’s necessary. Always tried to stay under the radar despite being looked for, just in case the killer came back for him. Never came home because he didn’t want to be a burden, or draw danger back to them.
There’s partial truth to his words, and maybe that’s what’s making his lies easier to digest in his own head. Stealing to make ends meet, vandalizing because he needed an emotional release. Letting himself get arrested because by the end, he was just tired.
It feels a bit like he’s trying to paint himself as a better person than he actually is, but it’s for the sake of his aunt and uncle. Not for himself.
He knows the type of person he is.
“My god, Peter,” May exhales shakily, lifting her glasses to dab at the corners of her eyes with a napkin, and his heart twists.
“Please don’t cry, May,” he says with a sharp inhale, a half smile that sticks out like a sore thumb on his face, misplaced. “It’s fine now. We’re fine.”
Funny how those words feel like more of a lie than any part of the story he just fabricated for their peace of mind. But she nods her head anyway, matching his expression. They’re as okay as they can be.
“The only thing we can do now is move on, right? Have a fresh start,” Ben says, looking between the two of them, and he has to nod—even if he thinks that there’s no such thing as a fresh start. “We’re gonna give you two weeks to settle back in, Pete.”
“What do you mean, two weeks?” he cracks out.
“Well, we can give you longer if you need it, but we want to get you reacquainted back with school as soon as possible,” he explains, and that statement sends Peter reeling backwards in his seat, dumbfounded.
“You’re joking.” He hasn’t been to school since fifth grade, he doesn’t need it—and the last thing he wants is to go back there. “Can we just come up with a contingency plan or something?”
“No. You’re sixteen—you need to be in school. You can take a placement test, see where you stand.” And he’s gentle yet firm about it, like there’s no room to argue.
And here we are again, from freedom right back into a jail cell.
“Shut up,” he grits out at Venom’s snark.
“What was that?”
Peter’s eyes widen and he shakes his head. “Sorry—I was just talking to myself. Yeah, no, school sounds great. Exactly what I need.”
God help him to not bite someone’s head off.
It’s exactly as easy as he thought it would be to readjust. That being, not easy at all.
Living in a household with a roof over his head is something he hasn’t experienced for so long that it almost feels wrong, shifted too far over to the left.
The bedroom he’s staying in, the meals that he’s getting, the care and the love that he really didn’t think he would get again, it makes his head spin, makes him want to run and not look back because his life was far easier when he was the only one in it.
He won’t leave—he wouldn’t do that to them again, even if Venom is mad about it.
But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hate it here. It brings back too many memories that he’s been trying to repress. One of his biggest fears has always been the past repeating itself.
The week goes by slower than he thought it would, which at first is a good thing because he’s absolutely dreading next week, but it gives him too much time to sit alone and think, and when he thinks too much, he has to sneak out for some fresh air and maybe a bite or two.
He knows his hunger has been more insatiable lately—the home-cooked meals just aren’t doing it for him like they did when he was little. So he makes excuses for himself, that the people he finds are the worst out there, past redemption.
It would be easier to just not care and take whatever he wanted, but he’s tried that already and it doesn’t work. He wasn’t raised to be that type of person when he was young, even if the other voice in his head had almost convinced him otherwise.
That voice has gotten too much control of him already in ways that he can’t tell who’s thinking what sometimes. He hates that enough as it is.
Peter has to try to temper his thoughts and give May and Ben more credit because for as hard as it is to adjust, they’re really giving him the space to do so. No smothering, even if he can tell May wants to just a little bit, and no intruding on him when he asks for some time alone.
It’s nice. He really thinks they’re the best people he knows, and maybe that’s not saying much because he doesn’t know that many people, but it’s all he’s got.
When next week actually rolls around, Peter realizes that maybe he should’ve tried a little less hard when it came to the placement test. He doesn’t know if it’s because of Venom, or if he’s simply a genius, but it’s landed him a spot at Midtown School of Science and Technology.
Sounds like the definition of sucking the fun out of every living teenager, but okay.
“I still don’t think I need to go,” Peter says on the morning of his first day as he’s being halfway shoved out the front door. He’s not going to know anyone, nor is anyone going to remember him—not that he wants them to, but it’s going to be miserable.
“So you’d rather keep moping around the house with that scowl on your face?”
“No, but—”
“But nothing,” May says, her expression compassionate, like she knows he needs this badly, the reintegration. She hands him a granola bar and brushes away a stray curl that was sitting against his forehead. “This will be good for you, trust me. You’ll be back with kids your own age.”
“Okay,” he concedes, even if he’s not happy about it because she seems really hopeful for him and he’s not about to ruin that. He gives her a quick hug before walking out the door, trying to shake the urge to just start running in the opposite direction.
It’ll be fine.
So many tasty snacks to meet…
“We’re not eating anyone,” Peter mutters under his breath, gripping his backpack straps tighter as he feels his stomach growl at the same time. He sighs and shoves the granola bar in his mouth.
When he gets to the school, the principal assigns him a student to show him around.
Betty Brant, probably the most chipper person he’s ever met—which grinds his gears a little but he fakes a smile anyway and follows her around to his classes.
“You’re gonna feel so welcome by the end of the day, Peter,” she tells him with a bright smile and a light touch to his arm, but that’s enough to have him reconsider the whole not eating anyone thing. He really needs to shake himself out of this mood, but it’s persistent today. “Did you just move here?”
“Oh. Um, yeah,” he lies, clearing his throat awkwardly and wondering if any of his peers actually remember him at all. She just gives him a weird look before shrugging, wishing him good luck, and then walking away.
He lingers by his locker until the bell for first period rings, and that’s when he realizes that this is going to be hell on earth. His shoulders tense up, wincing slightly at the shrill sound, bringing him back to the memories of elementary school. At least these bells aren’t as intense, but they still give him a headache.
None of his teachers give him a break from introductions as they make him stand in front of the class, but he always shrinks to one of the seats in the back when it’s over to avoid eye contact with anyone. Especially when he can hear them whispering behind his back, talking about how he disappeared years ago and was presumed dead, making up their own theories because apparently, people did watch the news.
Peter thinks that maybe sneaking out early isn’t such a bad idea. Nothing can be worse than being here. That’s how miserable he feels, so he makes a promise to himself that by lunch, he’ll be gone. The cafeteria would be the worst of all anyway.
It’s not hard to leave the school without anyone noticing. There aren’t any teachers roaming the halls during their lunch period, so he can dart out the front door freely and do a quick maneuver over the gate entrance.
Finally.
Let’s eat.
Yeah, yeah , Peter thinks with an internal roll of his eyes, knowing how impatient Venom gets. He shoves his hands in his pockets, walking leisurely down the sidewalk, eyes peeled for any suspicious movement.
There’s a moment, barely worth a second, but he spots it—the flail of an arm as it gets dragged into a nearby alley. He picks up his pace and when he gets to the alley, he sees two men. One of which has a gun pointed at the other. A robbery.
“Hey, fellas,” Peter says, soft spoken, gaining both of their attention.
“Back off, kid,” the man with the gun warns, waving it around too carelessly for him to be considered an expert. “Don’t take one more step or I’ll put a bullet between your eyes.”
“Please,” the other man whimpers, nodding for him to run, like it’s okay.
“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” Peter hums, walking a bit closer, seeing the way the gunman’s nostrils flare. He turns to face him directly and, without hesitation or guilt, fires a bullet right into his gut.
The other man screams, scrambling for a hold against the wall in shock, but the bullet only hurts for a second. This isn’t the first time Peter has gotten shot, so his symbiote knows what to do, stitching himself back up from the inside out.
“What the fuck,” the robber mutters upon seeing that he’s still standing, unmoved, and Peter gestures with a nod of his head for the other guy to run. Which he does, reluctantly. “Oh, wrong move, buddy—”
“Sorry, buddy .” He takes another step forward and smiles, Venom’s needle-like teeth making an appearance, and the robber’s eyes widen into oblivion. “I hope you don’t take this personally. You were just the first asshole I came across and I’m kind of…really hungry.”
Bullets start to ricochet like crazy, but the symbiote has already wrapped itself around him completely, protectively, and it only takes one swift move for the man’s body to fall to the ground, head missing.
Scrumptious meal.
Peter would hate to agree, but as the symbiote sinks back into him, he can’t lie. It really did hit the spot. The euphoria only lasts for about a minute though because reality always sets in afterwards, along with the guilt.
But the man was irredeemable. He deserved it. That’s what he tells himself, each and every time, just so he can sleep at night.
And on the plus side…at least he stopped a robbery.
They’re eating dinner—one of May’s recipes from her new cookbook—about a week later, and Peter’s in the middle of shoveling food into his mouth with his head down when she brings up the dreaded question of his entire life.
“Have you been making friends at school, Pete?” May asks, not unkindly, but it makes his chest tighten all the same and his forced smile to come out awkward.
The answer is simply and straightforward, really. Not even a hint of convolutedness since he hasn’t even talked to one person outside of his teachers since all they do is look at him with pity, like he’s some lost cause. Definitely hasn’t made any friends, but what else is new.
“Um.” Peter exhales a little laugh, hearing the pitiful note to it, and shakes his head slightly. “Not really. But it’s okay. I’m getting my schoolwork done just fine, and that’s what this is about anyway, right?”
Before May can answer, before she can elaborate on the way her lips tug into a sad smile, Ben arrives home from work with his phone up to one ear, a slightly troubled expression on his face.
“Alright. Thank you for letting me know,” he says and then ends the call, putting his phone back in his pocket. He looks between him and May sitting at the table. “That was the school that just called me.”
“Oh?”
“Apparently, Peter hasn’t been showing up to his afternoon classes,” Ben continues, and Peter swallows thickly, his heart jumping in his chest. To be fair, he’s shocked he’s made it this long.
“And what is this about?” May asks, and he doesn’t know whether she’s asking Ben or himself. Probably whoever is more willing to tell the truth.
“Peter?”
He offers a weak shrug, knowing that it won’t matter what he says. That he can tell them he leaves school before lunch and doesn’t come back for the rest of the day because anything is better than staying in a place that feels paralleled to a jail cell.
When he says that, Ben and May exchange looks before letting out a simultaneous sigh. Maybe they’re disappointed, or even worse, maybe they’re tired of him. He wouldn’t blame them.
“Hon, I know it’s been hard to adjust. I’m sorry,” May says instead, empathetic. Gentle. She stands up and walks over to him, lets him lean his head against her stomach as her fingers smooth out his hair. It’s comforting in a way. “But going to school is only going to help you in the long run. We just want what’s best for you.”
“I know. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, closing his eyes.
“And we want you safe as well,” Ben adds, glancing at the TV on in the background. The news station is recounting the murders that have happened this week. “We don’t know where you are during this time and we don’t want anything to happen to you.”
Peter gets it. He thinks they’re being unreasonably understanding of everything he’s done so far, and the idea makes him want to cry a little.
The least he can do is stay in school.
“Okay. I promise I’ll stop skipping,” he says, quiet, and they take his word for it with more sincerity and trust than he thinks they should, but he won’t break it.
He won’t.
He might break it.
As soon as he walks into the cafeteria, it’s like a split-second sensory overload. He sees how crowded it is with students almost everywhere except for an empty section of a table in the far back near the window. That’s the one he takes with no hesitation.
May had packed him a lunch with a salad and a sandwich, but he can’t say he’s really all that hungry right now. He drops his head in his arms instead, sighing heavily, thinking that the best part of this is that at least no one wants to sit next to him.
All he can hear for the next fifteen minutes is the ticking of the clock echo ring in his ears, timed with the bounce of his knee under the table. If every day was going to be like this, he could at least do himself a favor and eat in the closet or something.
But then the sound of footsteps overpower the clock, the only thing that was constant, grounding him in the entire room. They come closer until it feels like they’re right behind him.
“Can I help you?” he says dryly, not bothering to turn around.
“You’re in my seat,” she replies, matching his tone, and he wants to roll his eyes.
He’s about to get up and let her have it anyway because May would break out in a cold sweat somewhere if he didn’t, recently trying to hammer gentlemanliness into him, only for her to come around the other side and take the seat across from him instead. He fights the urge to look up, keeping his eyes on the table space in front of him.
Please let the bell ring for once so he can walk away from this without seeming like a prick.
Unfortunately for him, he’s only able to feign disinterest until he hears the flop of a paperback book hitting the tabletop. His eyes flick up to her, half-wondering why she’s not trying to dig into his life like every other kid he’s encountered since the start of school.
It’s at that point where this moment feels like a gradual car crash happening in slow motion, the air being sucked out of his lungs. Nothing registers at first—just another person in a room full of people. But her hair strikes a chord with him, familiar curls tucked behind her ears, reddish brown in the sun because they’re sitting by a window.
He’s suddenly taken back to the fifth grade when the only good memories he had in school were meeting her, sitting with her, talking to her. And even then, those memories had been pushed into the back of his mind, Peter forgetting about them until now.
His throat feels like it’s as dry as the Sahara as he tries to come up with something to say.
“Hi,” Peter eventually chokes out, dumbly, causing her to look up and squint at him.
“Hi?”
The aftermath of realizing that it’s her, that it’s MJ, is his mind has turned into a jumbled mess. He wouldn’t even be able to tell up from down right about now, which is really kind of pathetic on his part because she probably doesn’t even remember who he is.
“Do you…” Peter swallows thickly, fingers tapping against the tabletop as a distraction from her for himself. “Do you want me to move?”
“I don’t care.” She props her cheek up against her knuckles, still looking down at her book—at least until she realizes he’s still staring at her. “Can I help you ?”
“Sorry about that…earlier,” he stammers, feeling hot under her scrutinizing gaze and simultaneously wondering at the same time how she’s reducing him to this. “I didn’t—I mean, it was your seat. I just took it because it was the only one open. Well, not the only one—I know there are others, but—”
“Relax. I’m not gonna, like, sue you for taking my seat,” she says, frowning, using her index finger to bookmark her page as her book flops shut. “I was just surprised that you sat here, of all places.”
“Well, I haven’t been going here for that long.” He presses his lips together, looking down. “I don’t have any friends.”
Her brow furrows, contemplative. “I see.”
Peter shifts uncomfortably in his seat, unable to take this anymore. Her eyes are the same as they were all those years ago with their ability to see right through him, and that makes him want to both run so far away and stay put at the same time.
“Do you remember me?” he blurts out, desperate to know the answer, but her expression doesn’t change. She doesn’t react at all, still staring at him with that thoughtful look, and then she smiles. Of all things, she smiles. It’s not a nice one, though. More humorless than anything.
“Of course I do.” Michelle reopens her book, humming noncommittally. “You almost knocked me out in the girls’ restroom six years ago.”