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Things… haven’t really changed much at all since MJ found out that he’s Spider-Man. She had asked questions at first, which he had expected, but after that she seemed to just accept it as a fact of life. She barely treats him differently at all, and only in that she’s been much more concerned for his well-being lately -- or maybe she’s been this concerned the whole time, and only now feels like she can express that.
Peter almost thinks he should be worried by how little her attitude towards him has changed, especially considering he’s, like, 65 percent sure they’re dating. Or at least, he can’t think of any other reason she would have asked him to go to Flash’s end of the year party with her. He kind of wishes they had decided to go somewhere else, but he also figures she wouldn’t have asked him to go there specifically if there was anything else she would rather do.
Not to mention the fact that she had asked him twenty minutes after school got out on the last day, leaving him with just under three hours to get ready, and barely any clean clothes. By the time she shows up at his house, Peter hasn’t even decided what to wear, which happens to be the first thing she points out.
“So you’re just gonna wear the same outfit you wore to school today?” MJ asks as soon as he opens the door.
“Nice to see you, too, Michelle,” he groans. “And I’ve been working on that.”
“Oh, God. Let’s go fix this immediately.”
“Please. Can I borrow something?”
“Don’t worry.” With that, MJ grabs Peter’s hand and drags him into his room. She pushes him towards his closet and says, “Grab a white shirt or something. Something plain.” He does as she instructs, as she starts digging through her bag.
He turns around a few seconds later, white tank top binder in hand, to find MJ holding up a black bomber jacket and black yoga pants. The jacket is embroidered with pale blue and lavender flowers -- Peter is sure she bought it in a thrift shop, and is almost positive he would have cried if he had been the one to find it.
“Put these on.” She drapes the clothes over his arm and turns around, arms crossed. She doesn’t leave, which is fine -- they’ve changed together in thrift shop dressing rooms so many times that neither of them bat an eye anymore.
Peter changes as quickly as possible (which happens to be very fast, a skill he’s developed after a few years of changing clothes in back alleys; compared to his Spider-Man suit, this is nothing) and taps on her shoulder when he’s done. MJ turns to face him once more, looks him over with eyes narrowed, and nods slowly.
“Are you sure about these?” Peter pulls at the stretchy material of the yoga pants where his thigh meets his butt in indication. “They’re very… well, form-fitting.”
“Gotta take the opportunity to show off that sweet ass, Parker. You know how it is.”
“Uh, I- I don’t think I do, actually?”
MJ shrugs. “Hey, if the tights fit,” she says, very indiscreetly eyeing his legs. He’s slightly shorter than her, but it still works -- the leggings are meant to reach the mid-calf, so they come down to just above the ankle on Peter. The sleeves of the jacket are a little bit too long for him, too, but that’s how Peter likes it. “Ready to go, then?”
He nods, and follows her out, stopping only for a moment to shout a goodbye to Aunt May, and then they’re in MJ’s car on the way to Flash’s house. It’s not too far away; though Flash is typically an asshole, Peter has been to his place enough times for parties and decathlon-related events to know the way without directions.
“What do you even do when you come to these parties?” Peter asks. He’s seen her at things like this before, though not many -- he never really goes out like this -- and even then, only briefly.
“Sketch people,” she replies with a shrug. “Read. Steal food, that’s a big one.” All of that makes sense to him. Usually, at parties like this, he only goes with Ned and they sit in a corner with a few sodas and a bowl of chips snagged from wherever the snacks are kept.
“So, no dancing?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Eh, me neither.” It’s not totally a lie -- he has some basic dance skills in ballet, but nothing he could really showcase at this kind of party, nor would he want to.
“Good, because I’m not dancing with you, or with anyone. Not at a party like this.”
He could press, but opts not to. He’d never pictured MJ as the dancing type anyway, especially not the arrhythmic grinding people call dancing at these kinds of parties. Again, he’s a bit surprised that they’re going at all.
Before long, MJ is parked on the side of the road and they’re walking the rest of the way to Flash’s house. He trips over his own foot twice in ten seconds, and MJ throws her arm around his shoulders -- to keep him in check, she claims, but Peter suspects she has an ulterior motive.
When they reach the house, Flash is standing out front. Peter winces when Flash sees the two of them and opens his mouth to address them.
“Hey, Peter, got a second?”
Well, that’s unusual. Peter had been expecting “Penis Parker” and getting his ass smacked. It’s a rare occurrence for Flash to call him by his actual name without the presence of an adult authority figure -- or even with one, honestly.
“I don’t know,” he says, turning to MJ. “Uh, should I…?”
“You’re fine, I’ll be inside.” He can’t help but wonder if she’s in on whatever is about to happen to him, based on how unfazed she seems. Then again, MJ is almost never fazed -- the few times he’s seen her caught off guard by anything were related to either all of her friends being in mortal danger or one of her friends having superpowers.
He squints at Flash, who steps towards him and puts a hand on his upper arm. “What do you want? If you pants me again, so help me God I will piss on you and everything you love.”
“Shit,” says Flash, taking his hand off of Peter. “No, i-it’s nothing like that. I guess I just, uh, wanted to apologize?”
“Come again?”
“Oh, shut up, Parker. You heard me.” Peter isn’t sure he did, though. “Look, we’re gonna be seniors next year, and I’ve been thinking.”
“You’ve been doing what now?”
“Come on, dude, don’t be a dick. Well, I mean, it’s fair. I’ve been a total douche to you lately. I was thinking about how… things are gonna be changing a lot soon, you know? We have another year, and then none of us will probably see each other again. I didn’t want Penis Parker to be the only thing you remember me for.”
“Well, it’s probably the only thing anyone else at our school will remember me for,” Peter hisses. It comes out sounding more rude than he intended, but screw it. People have been harassing him for being trans for years now, and Flash had made it so much worse. Peter gets to be angry about this.
“I know. I didn't mean it like...” Flash's speech trails off, almost a whisper. Peter knows exactly what he means. “I didn't mean it like that. I wasn't thinking, and people started to take it that way and I have no idea how that must feel. And that’s not fair to you. You’re actually… I think you’re a pretty cool guy.”
“You have a really weird way of showing that.”
“I’m sorry. I know you’re smarter than me, but I was mad that you flaked on so many things and everyone still loved you. To be fair, whatever happened with nationals was bullshit, and I’m going to keep being mad about that. But…” he continues through gritted teeth, “I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. And I shouldn't have gone along with everyone else when I realized how that stupid nickname was being used -- I shouldn't have come up with it in the first place. So, I'm sorry.”
Peter is in awe. Shock. Disbelief. He can’t think of any more synonyms, probably because he’s in the middle of a stroke that’s making him think that Flash Thompson literally just apologized to him.
“What the fuck.”
“That’s more or less the reaction I expected.”
“Th- I mean. Thanks? I guess? Like, I’m still pissed about the Penis Parker thing. And the pantsing thing--”
“That was in second grade, man!”
“--but nothing else you did was actually too bad? You nicknaming me Penis Parker might be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me, though, so I’m holding on to that for awhile.” It’s not the worst thing that’s ever happened to him, not after Uncle Ben, and the Vulture, and the ferry incident, and a ton of other awful things he’s witnessed since becoming Spider-Man, but Flash doesn’t know about those things yet. Plus, seeing Flash guilty is the best kind of disorienting.
“I’m not saying it again.” Peter doesn’t know if Flash is referring to Penis Parker or I’m sorry -- he suspects both, which works for him. “Maybe, uh… maybe we could practice for decathlon together at some point? I want to be better at that,” he admits. Peter isn’t sure what to say.
“I- I mean, sure? Only if you keep not being an asshole, though.”
“Yes. For sure.”
“Um, cool.” Peter looks at Flash’s shoulder, not wanting to make eye contact. “Why are you doing this?”
Flash doesn’t answer for a second, like he’s thinking about whether or not he should be honest.
“I talked to MJ. We stayed late after a decathlon practice waiting to be picked up. She -- well, she’s pretty good at reading people.” Peter nods. “You should go in now. Uh, sorry for making you, like, keep MJ waiting, or whatever.”
“Yeah, no problem. Later.” He chokes over the words a little bit and turns towards the door immediately. “That was weird as hell,” Peter says as he walks up to MJ, who had been leaning up against the wall in the entryway.
“If the next words out of your mouth are ‘I have to go,’ I’m gonna punch you in the face.”
“What?” Her tone is teasing, but Peter would have to be a lot dumber than he is not to catch the warning.
“I remember how you ran off on Liz last year. If you’re gonna Spidey out on me tonight, don’t make any excuses.”
Despite the way that statement stings, it does also make it seem like MJ sees this as a date. If he wasn’t so thrown off by her distrust, he might have been excited.
“No! God no, MJ, things are different now, I swear.” And he means it -- there haven’t been any more under-the-radar baddies popping in to screw up his life, he’s opening up to people more than ever, and he’s even taking part in mindless teenage fun, like coming to Flash’s party with her. Things actually seem fairly normal, Peter thinks. Some part of him can’t help but wonder how long it’ll last this time. “Besides, if an emergency situation came up and I had to leave, you’re the first person I would tell, and I would tell you why, but as of right now, I have no plans or need to leave.”
MJ gives him a look, as if to warn him that he’d better be telling the truth. He sighs. Being a teenager is one of the worst parts of Peter’s job. There are so many obligations -- to his aunt, his schoolwork, extracurriculars, college being right around the corner -- there are so many things he can’t afford to sacrifice and also can’t afford not to. Still, he had thought now that there are people in his life who know about his situation, that they would understand. That it would make things easier for him and for them. But here MJ is, still holding things against him that he did a year ago -- that he did to save people.
You can’t make an omelet without breaking some eggs, Mr. Stark had told him once when he had asked for advice on balancing his two identities. Sometimes, Peter feels like life took his whole dozen and smashed them over his head, omelet be damned.
“Do you want a drink? I can get us drinks.”
“Sprite,” she responds, not making eye contact as she pulls her sketchbook out of her bag.
“Got it.” Peter stumbles over to the kitchen, which he probably would be unable to find if not for the trail of crushed crackers and pretzels left on the hardwood floors, no doubt by some newly-graduated senior who started drinking early.
There are very few people in the kitchen -- they had come to the party reasonably early; within the next two hours it would be packed -- and Peter is surprised to find that one of them is Ned, who has his hand buried in a box of animal crackers. He’s wearing his party hat, Peter notices. He brightens a bit at the sight of it. What a dork. What an absolute ray of sunshine. He loves Ned, really.
“Hey, Ned.” Peter leans up against the table next to his friend. “What are you doing here?”
“Oh, hi. MJ told me to be here, and I didn’t really question it. What’s up?” Ned’s hand pulls back from the box, tilting it towards Peter, who crams a few of the crackers in his mouth.
“Uh, not much so far, you?”
“Shouldn’t you be with MJ?”
“I’m getting us drinks.” Ned narrows his eyes at Peter, who is very deliberately not getting drinks.
“You’re doing a pretty bad job of that. Is something going on?”
“No! I mean, n-nah, man, I don’t know why you would even think that.”
“Peter.”
Peter sighs. “She thought I was gonna ditch her.”
“Then maybe you should get back over there and tell her you’re not? No offense, but getting drinks is kind of the classic excuse, to be honest I can’t say I blame her--”
“No, it’s -- there’s more to it than that. She brought up the time I ran out on Liz at homecoming last year. I mean, it sorta makes sense, but that was basically ages ago, and she knows why I had to do that now. And then, like, a few minutes before that, Flash brought up how I skipped out at nationals, and I didn’t put much thought into it because, you know, it’s Flash, but now I’m thinking about that, too. I guess it just… sucks that after I’ve told MJ my big secret, the thing that’s supposed to clarify everything that’s been going on and change the way she sees all of that, she still doesn’t trust me.”
“Peter,” Ned says, a supportive hand on his shoulder, “you know I’m on your side, right?”
“Yeah, but--”
“So what I’m about to say might sound harsh, but it’s in your best interest.”
“Um, okay?”
“You can’t expect the way she sees you to change right away, for better or worse. Like, it’s fine that you’re upset about this -- you’ve dealt with a lot of stuff without having the option of anyone else to help you, and now that you don’t have to be completely closed off you want people to understand. Totally reasonable.”
“I’m with you so far,” Peter interrupts.
“But you still did things that hurt people, no matter how good -- and awesome -- your intentions were. Those people still have a right to be upset too. You can talk to them about it, and things will change over time, but expecting them to completely change their expectations of you based on one conversation? That’s kinda crappy, Peter.”
“Oh.” And Peter is quiet for a moment, fiddling with the hem of his jacket and chewing his lip in deliberation. “Ned, you’re totally right. Thank you. I gotta… I should talk to her.”
“Sounds good. Want a drink?”
“God, yes.” Ned hands Peter two beers; Peter takes them both, drinks the first one, and digs through the cooler to find a Sprite for MJ. He’s not planning to have more than two drinks, and even that will barely affect him, but he’s had three too many serious conversations come out of left field to punch him in the face today already. If a fourth is planning to shove its way into his evening, Peter is going to need this.
He pushes his way back to MJ, only passing about twelve people. It’s still kind of early, and Peter knows it’ll be packed soon.
“Hey,” he says once he reaches her, holding out the can of Sprite. MJ takes it, eyeing the freshly opened bottle in his hand.
“Thanks. You getting started without me?”
“N-nah, I, uh… I mean, this -- Ned, I ran- ran into him over there, he gave this to me. You know how he is. Him and his hats. What a- what a party animal, am I right?” She narrows her eyes at him.
“This isn’t your first one, is it?” Peter hesitates for a second, then shakes his head and holds up two fingers. “You’re good, I don’t drink and I also don’t really care.”
“‘M sorry, MJ.”
“I just said--”
“No, not about that. I shouldn’t have… you’re right to not really trust me to stay. Or, I mean, you have the right to not trust me, after some of the things that have happened. I want you to trust me, though. ‘Cause I wanna be here with you, so I’m gonna stay.” He takes a sip of his drink, and then stares at it. “I probably wouldn’t go anywhere even if I wanted to, because of this. So, there you go! You’ve got me all evening.” He grins at MJ and takes another small drink.
“I didn't really think you were going to ditch me,” she sighs. “I was nervous, and then I tried to be teasing and it came out too harsh. I just didn't want to…” MJ drifts off for a moment, then asks, “Is this a date?”
“...MJ, you're literally the one who brought us here. Why would you ask me?”
“I know! I mean, do you think this is a date? Do you want it to be? I've never, like, done this before, I don’t know the rules.”
“Well, I seem to remember something from ninth grade biology about no consenting while under the influence--”
“Not like that, dumbass!”
“But! In the interest of full disclosure, I think you’re really smart and pretty and cool and if this counts as a date I wouldn’t complain.”
“God, what a loser.” Peter stares at her for a second. “Same, though.” She watches his face light up at that, and can’t help but snort with laughter. “I stand by my first statement.”
Peter giggles at that -- a phrasing he would despise and most likely deny if she were to call him out on it, but that’s what it is. He sips at his drink to mask his growing smile, a tactic she has always seen through, and pulls her arm around his shoulders.
******
Peter only has one more drink after that. Surprisingly, despite his superhuman metabolism, it’s still enough to leave him feeling a bit sloshed. Must be the lack of sleep getting to him, he supposes.
A few hours have passed, and while the party picked up, Peter’s personal issues that had tried to force their way into his spare time have wound down. He and MJ had found their way to a large recliner chair together, balancing a bowl of puffy Cheetos between them and spending the remainder of the night absorbed in lighthearted conversation. She had sketched him, and then an older version of him with a few scars and some patchy facial hair (even that much would be unrealistic, but Peter doesn’t tell her that), and then a few potential new designs for the Spider Suit. All in all, Peter had assumed it would be a fairly calm evening after the earlier confusion.
He should know by now never to assume.
MJ is in the middle of sketching Flash if he had a dick for a nose, when someone throws something at Peter. He catches it, of course, before it hits him in the temple, and holds it up to his face. It’s an Iron Man keychain. He recognizes it -- 3D printed with purple filament because they had run out of all other colors for the 3D printer someone had donated to their tech shop at school.
Ned.
As if on cue, he hears Ned yelling across the room.
“See, I told you! Peter can catch anything. It’s freaky!”
Peter lunges out of the chair, not hearing MJ’s startled protests, and runs towards Ned.
“Dude, what the hell are you doing?” He hisses, grabbing Ned by the arm. Someone nearby chucks an empty beer bottle at them, which Peter catches instinctively in his free hand.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking--”
“Look, you’re fine,” he says, dropping Ned’s arm to catch a pack of gum someone off to their side hurls towards his face. “I’m gonna get out of here, though. I’d prefer not to have to dodge glass bottles for the rest of the night.”
“Alright. I’m so sorry, dude, I swear I don’t know what I was doing when I brought that up.”
“Hey, don’t sweat it. Catch you later, yeah?”
“Yeah. I’m still sorry, though. See you later.”
Peter runs back to MJ, pocketing the pack of gum and grabbing her hand.
“So, we need to leave. Like, now.”
“What’s going on?”
“Ned blabbed to half the party about how I can catch pretty much anything.” Someone takes the opportunity to throw a framed picture of Flash’s family at him, which Peter catches an inch away from the back of his head as if to demonstrate a point.
“Get to the car,” MJ says, pushing him towards the door ahead of her.
Peter follows her instruction; he drops the picture and darts out of the room.
"Hey, Penis Parker! Catch this, bitch," someone shouts from behind him, and Peter barely catches another beer bottle that flies past him and almost hits some poor drunk girl in the face.
"Don't fucking call him that, shitbrain," Peter hears someone -- Flash? -- spit at whatever douchebag is following him.
"Since when do you have a problem with that? Why are you defending it anyway? It's disgusting."
It takes a second for Peter to realize he's stopped running. His knees give out momentarily when MJ's hand finds his and pulls, forcing him to move. She all but flings him into the car, and Peter is too shocked to feel any relief as MJ buckles in and slams on the gas.
They end up at the coffee place not far from the school, the one MJ raided before SATs. For a shop that isn’t part of a chain, it’s lasted an impressive amount of time. It’s well-deserved, of course -- this place makes some of the best coffee Peter has ever had.
MJ takes him by the hand again when they get out of the car. He allows himself to be led inside, nodding idly when she orders two hazelnut lattes.
"Feeling alright?" MJ asks as she collapses back into the plush seat of the booth. He watches the way her curls bounce against her shoulder and doesn't answer, instead focusing on the feel of his binder against his skin as he breathes.
"Thought so," she sighs, leaning forward against the table between them. "Peter, listen. You're one of the coolest guys probably ever. The whole school thinks so, even if they don't know it. We had a whole day of spirit week dedicated to you after the incident in D.C., and our actual physics class has had debates over you. You. How fucking cool is that?"
Peter remembers that -- they had spent an entire class period during their unit on pendulums discussing different explanations for Spider-Man's ability to swing around the city without ripping his arms off.
"You're Spider-Man," says MJ, voice hushed now. "Since when does a literal Avenger give a shit about the opinions of some drunk jock who probably hasn't brushed his teeth since the Bronze Age?"
He's not sure when MJ's hand crept across the table, or when she had laced their fingers together. His free hand fidgets with the salt shaker, an excuse not to make eye contact more than anything else.
"You're right."
"When am I ever not?" She lets herself be smug for just a moment before the waiter, the same man who had taken their order and likely the only employee there at this hour, brings their coffee over.
"Two hot hazelnut lattes for a Mr. Peter Parker?"
MJ nods and thanks the man while Peter simply beams. When the waiter leaves, Peter turns to her. "Thanks."
She quirks an eyebrow in acknowledgement, leaning her head back too much in her coffee drinking to nod. Pulling the sleeves of MJ's bomber jacket down to cover his hands, and holding his latte close to his chest with both hands, Peter lets his tensed muscles relax. MJ, even just the thought of her, has a way of always making him feel better.
They spend hours there, sharing lattes one after the other for old times’ sake, playing increasingly stupid rounds of two truths and a lie, and chattering with the tired barista, who seems glad to let them keep him company until his shift ends. Peter is surprised by how late the cafe stays open -- by the time they’re kicked back out onto the street, there’s almost no one else around.
MJ drives him back to his apartment at around 1:45 in the morning. They don’t say much after they leave, content to just listen to MJ’s music together in silence. When they pull up and she turns off the car, the music goes with it, and suddenly the whole world is so quiet, Peter can hear the blood pumping through his veins.
“Here we are,” she says, offering Peter her arm as he steps out. “Shall I escort you to the door?”
Everything is dark -- the only light nearby is the one Aunt May had left on in his room several floors up. It streams down and bounces off of MJ’s face, her eyelashes casting shadows over her cheekbones. The way she smiles at him calls up a storm of restless butterflies in his stomach. She’s beautiful.
“Actually, I was thinking -- can I show you something?”
“If it’s anything Spider-Man related, you probably shouldn’t try anything since you’ve been drinking.”
“Nah, I’m okay. It’s been a good few hours, and I have a weirdly high metabolism. I feel fine. Plus, it’s nothing huge. I’m not gonna take you swinging around the city in the middle of the night, especially not without my suit.”
“Ugh, alright. I’m trusting you with my life. If I die today, I’ll never speak to you again.”
“You won’t die,” he says, leading her by the hand towards the apartment building. “Here, put your arms around me. Hold on.” MJ does so, and Peter starts to climb. It’s a slow process, him being extra careful so as not to scare her, but they make it to the top without incident.
She looks around for a second once they’ve reached the top, as if confused. “Why did you bring me up here?”
“I dunno,” he shrugs. “This is where I go when I can’t sleep. It’s nice, quiet. It seemed like the kind of place I might stumble across you with your nose buried in a book.” She nods, catching all of the implications of that statement -- I’ve been thinking about you and it keeps me up at night.
Peter lets himself fall onto his back, fingers locking together over his stomach. MJ pauses for a second, and then lowers herself into a spot next to him. They soak in the silence, MJ staring up at the night sky, and Peter staring out of the corner of his eye at her.
“You know,” MJ says, turning one of Peter’s web shooters over in her hand, “out of all the things I guessed were going on with you, this was maybe number six on the list.”
“What was number one?” Peter props himself up on one elbow to look down at her, grinning.
“The evils of capitalism forced you into an underground fighting ring to provide for yourself and your aunt. That, or drug dealing.”
“I’m glad you think so highly of me.”
“It was nothing personal! We live in New York, those were both pretty likely!”
“I’m not hurt,” Peter says, feigning serious insult, “just glad that now you know better.”
“Also, I thought you were too clumsy and dumb to be able to do some of the stuff Spider-Man does. I still have no idea how you pull that off. You’re kind of a dumbass.”
He laughs at that, breathy and light. MJ shifts slightly, leaning a bit upwards in the process, and suddenly, Peter is transfixed. The glow of the city around them reflects ever-so-slightly off of her lips. It looks like she’s wearing lip gloss -- it’s so uncharacteristic that he has to question why he didn’t notice earlier -- and he catches himself wondering how it tastes. Then he’s leaning down and she’s moving up, and time skips forward a few seconds, and then his hands are on her back and her hands are gripping the front of his jacket, and her nose is next to his and his lips are on hers.
The touch is barely there at first, almost overshadowed by Peter’s heartbeat echoing through his entire body -- he wonders if MJ can tell how panicked he is, he wonders if she feels the same -- but then his tongue grazes her lower lip, and it tastes like the smell of blooming honeysuckle after a spring rain, and that’s all forgotten in favor of her.
Her jaw lets up, and her arms are around his shoulders, behind his neck. The moment is so warm, soft -- Peter is afraid to move too quickly, that he might do something wrong, and that everything would shatter. But he doesn’t. He just holds her close, not noticing how he lifts her up. By the time they break away, both of them are sitting upright.
She doesn’t say anything after, not right away. MJ’s lips stay open slightly, parted out of surprise and perhaps uncertainty about how to proceed; it makes Peter want to kiss her again, a thought that astonishes him as much as he is satisfied by it. The butterflies that had earlier settled in his stomach took flight again, some escaping to spread the jittery feeling through his limbs.
Peter rolls his shoulders back and stands up, offering her a hand.
“You should probably get home, it’s pretty late.” After a second, MJ nods and takes his hand. He pulls her up, and then picks up his web shooter where it had fallen, discarded during their exchange. Attaching a web to the edge of the building, he lets MJ wrap her arms around his shoulder, and he holds her up with one arm around her waist. Slowly, they glide back to solid ground, and he releases the web.
When their feet touch down, MJ turns towards her car. Peter grabs her wrist gently, and she looks back to him again. He tugs her closer and gives her a peck on the lips.
“See you tomorrow?”
MJ grins at him. “Tomorrow,” she agrees.
Peter kisses her once more for good measure.
And then she’s driving away.
******
He doesn’t sleep that night. His thoughts have been overtaken -- the only thing on Peter’s mind is seeing her again.