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Michelle sat at Peter's desk, examining all the pencils scattered across it, and wondered how many one person must need. There was a card shoved under a waterbottle that read Stark Industries, and a birthday note from his grandma perched upward on a lamp. She smiled, and turned towards him. Peter was laying on the bottom bunk of his bed, breathing slowly, his head resting under one arm while the other held up a book. She watched him exhale, then inhale, and again, until he set Anna Karenina down on his chest and fixed his gaze to her.
"Hello," Peter spoke, sitting up as much as he could before peeking out from the bed.
"Hi." Michelle responded, resting her chin on her hand. "Do you like it?"
Peter nodded his head, and stood. He outstretched his arms and rolled his shoulders. "I do, thanks for making me read it."
"It's for English, Peter."
He snickered and walked towards her, leaning on the desk and setting the book in front of her. He bit down on his bottom lip as he stared at her, smirking slightly. "Yeah, well." He mumbled, nudging a pen and watching it roll into the waterbottle. "Ms. Paulson was not convincing enough to make me."
"You're unbelievably lazy," Michelle said, poking Peter in the stomach. He squirmed away from her, wrapping his forearms around his abdomen. He resided to the floor and groaned.
"Or I'm unbelievably busy, Ms. Jones. You may never know."
Michelle rolled her eyes, pulling the Stark Industries card toward her, and placing it in the spine of the book. She unfolded the edge of the page, and flattened it with the face of her thumb. She closed it, and slid down from the office chair onto the floor. Michelle crossed her legs, handing Peter back Anna Karenina. "Don't dog ear the pages, it ruins the book."
"I wouldn't want to ruin, Anna."
Michelle snickered, and nodded. A small smile plastered across her face. "Not Anna." She spoke.
Peter tossed the book aside, rising to his knees and scooting closer to Michelle, her gaze was on him. "So why'd you decide to babysit me while I read it?" Peter asked, sitting down again (but this time, ever so close to her.)
"I've seen your grade report, you've obviously not picked up an assigned book all year." Michelle rolled her eyes, her breath hitching as Peter's body pressed lightly against her, so she stood. Michelle was not one to express her feelings, though her feelings for Peter were there, and that was clear to her. She didn't want to show it, she didn't know how. She walked across the room to a shelf of DVDs, peering at them. "Who still watches DVDs?" She snarked, this was all she knew.
"I do." Peter replied in defense, huffing his breath as she picked through his collection.
"This better be May's." Michelle remarked, holding up an old DVD of Legally Blonde. Peter laughed timidly, trying to grab it away from her.
"Stooop," He groaned. "give it back, Michelle."
"Nope!" She grinned, holding it high above her head, moving it quickly before he could take it.
"Please, Mj, my world. Please give back my favorite movie." Peter pleaded, making grabby hands towards the disk box. "I mean... Aunt May's favorite movie." Peter fell close, their noses mere cenimeters apart. He could feel her breath on his lips. Peter's chest thumped, and he could feel heat creep up his neck. Michelle's eyes scanned over Peter's face, and wondered how she got so close to him again, and why she sort of liked it.
Michelle smirked, dropping her arm and pressing the box against his chest. "For my world." Michelle said before she fixated her gaze on the window. The snow was coming down. Peter took the DVD and placed it back on the shelf as Michelle walked over to to the glass, looking down on the city street, covered in a white sheet.
"Look," Michelle whispered softly, and Peter followed. "How am I going to get home?"
Peter shrugged, the snow was never ending.
After an hour of waiting it out, they didn't. The snow had closed streets and trains, and blanketed New York City, confining everyone to their homes. May called Michelle's mother, and agreed it would be too dangerous to take her home, so May made dinner for three and decorated the couch with a pillow and comforter. The house was warm and full and safe.
"Do you want me to get you something to wear?" Peter asked as he walked into the bedroom. Michelle was sat on the top bunk flipping through a comic book Peter had left up there, she looked up and nodded. To her surprise, Peter didn't step back out to return with an item from May, but instead moved further into the bedroom, towards his closet and pulled out a large sweater. Peter took it off the hanger and threw it up to her, rummaging still. "These should fit," He mumbled, grabbing a pair of sweatpants. Peter took them up to her, and she smiled.
"I, uh, won't look." He nervously said, jumping back down from the top bunk and over to his dresser. "Just as long as you won't."
Michelle let out a breathly laugh, grasping the clothes in her arms. "It's a non-issue," She rebuttled, her face flushing with heat. Michelle turned around and slowly undressed, wrapping herself in Peter's clothes. Her heart was in her throat, and she hated that Peter Parker was making her nervous. Michelle clasped her hands together, a small smile growing across her lips when she realized all she could smell was him. "I'm done."
It took no longer than a second for Peter to be up, sitting next to her in the bed, a blanket wrapped around the both of them, with the comic sitting in his lap. They were pressed together close, and neither of them would admit to themselves that they were close for no other reason than wanting to be, so they stayed that way because they wanted to. Peter's hand had somehow made it to hers, and was drawing shapes into her palm, her eyes watched intently, goosebumps raising across her skin.
Peter looked at her, his eyes dancing across her pretty face. Her cheeks were dusted pink, and her skin glowed softly from the night light plugged into the outlet beside her. Michelle's breathing was steady, and she could feel Peter watch, but she didn't look up to meet his gaze, hypotized by his continued sketching in her palm.
"You look pretty," Peter whispered, and Michelle heard, but she didn't react. "you always look pretty, but right now--" Peter laughed under his breath, intertwining their fingers together. "I like it."
Michelle turned to face him, seeing the nervous smile on his mouth, he swallowed, and she watched his Adam's apple bob. "You think I'm pretty."
Peter brushed his thumb across Michelle's cheekbone with his free hand, cupping her chin. He nodded. She tilted her head slightly, closing her eyes. His fingers burning into her flesh, and she felt herself lean in. Peter brushed his lips across hers, gently, like it was almost nothing. It wasn't a kiss, not even a peck. They just touched. She let her eyes flutter open, and Peter pressed his lips above hers, then her nose, and cheeks and forehead. Fireflies swarmed her stomach, and she beamed.
"I liked that." Michelle said, and she tangled her arms around him. She decided then being close to Peter was something she also liked, very dearly. Along with him.
"What's your deepest secret?" Michelle asked, her hand running slowly through her hair. Peter looked to her laying on the opposite end of the bed now, thinking for a few moments. He was silent, griding his teeth, as his jaw clenched and unclenched.
"I don't remember my parents," He finally mumbled. Michelle was listening, her eyes slowly and tiredly blinking as she sat upright. "It's always been May and Ben. Even when they were around. I suppose they didn't have time for me, which I understand, but it's just an odd feeling thinking about having a mom who's not May."
"And a dad?"
"I don't have a dad anymore." Peter whispered, laying his head down. Michelle reached out and touched Peter's arm, he glanced towards her and smiled solemly.
"I'm sorry, Peter." Michelle spoke, the soft sound of Christmas music floating in the air. She leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of his curls. "I understand, I haven't seen my father in a really long time."
"I never knew that."
"No one knows that." She murmured. "Come on, get up." Michelle climbed down the bed ladder, moving to the middle of the room. Peter followed slowly, walking to her. "Hear that?"
"May's music?" Peter questioned, and Michelle nodded, taking his hands and wrapping them around her waist. Her hands climbed up Peter's torso, finding home around his neck. She played with his hair, and moved in closer. Michelle could feel his grip on her waist tighten and relax.
"Dance with me."
And they did. The faint sound of the music leaking through the crack underneath Peter's door filled the room, the streets were quiet, and all that was heard was the soft echo of Baby It's Cold Outside. Peter pressed his forehead against hers, and listened to her hum along. Everything felt so natural, like nothing was forced, like they were always supposed to be like this. Holding eachother so close, dancing in his room. He liked the way it felt, the way he felt, and the way she looked in his baggy clothes and how her shampoo smelled. He remembered their moment, their almost kiss, flashing over and over in his mind. Peter felt so whole, and wondered why this never happened sooner. Everything seemed still, from the air, to the snow outside, to the soft thumping of the music beat. It was them in a deep haze, hands slipping under shirts, and brown eyes meeting brown eyes (and lips and hair and skin).
Michelle twirled around Peter, it was sloppy, and she never really did dance, but to see the smile on Peter's face was to know she would dance a thousand more times for him. Peter's hands resided to her hips, grapsing lightly, and pressed his lips to hers. She sighed, and smiled against him, and hoped to never part.
"I've got a lot of secrets." Peter whispered, breaking the silence, and Michelle shook her head. Her hair flopped above her eye and Peter pushed it away.
"We all do." She responded, and her fingers found the etched line up his back. "It's okay."
"I want to tell you," Peter said and pulled Michelle to the ground. They sat criss-cross, their hands clasped together. "one of them at least."
When Peter pulled the suit from the closet, Michelle just touched it. It was smooth, yet tough, and she wondered what it had been through. She wondered what he had been through. There were no words. Michelle set the suit aside, picking up Peter's hand and dragging him to the bed. They sat for a moment, before lying down.
The decorated sofa in the livingroom never met Michelle, she fell asleep and woke up in Spider-Man's arms and the snow never stopped.