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Michelle tries to pretend that night never happened.
She tries to pretend not feeling just a little bit hurt to wake up the next morning to the bed perfectly made and a long thank you note placed on her pillow. She tries to pretend that she doesn’t have the urge to call and yell at him for being so stupid when she sees the segment on the news.
She doesn’t know why she cares, anyway. It’s not like they’re close.
They’re just friends. She thinks.
She hardly sees Peter in the week after. He waves at her in the hallway and contributes during decathlon meetings, but their contact remains limited to those brief interactions. He doesn’t mention it, and Michelle doesn’t mention it, so.
She moves on. She keeps busy helping her sister with her homework in the afternoons, studying in the evenings, and spending absolutely no time thinking about Peter. At all. In fact, whenever he threatens to pop into her head, Michelle replaces his head with cauliflower, which she hates.
Then he leaves a note taped to her window Friday after school, leaving her no choice but to acknowledge the fact that an arachnid boy is part of her life now.
It’s short and sweet: JJ’s Pit Stop tomorrow 8am
She plucks the note off, only mildly impressed that he made it to her house before she did. But she’s also miffed because they’re sixteen for God’s sake and getting a little too old for this secret admirer’s crap.
(Not that it’s that big of a secret - Peter’s handwriting is so horrendous she could recognize it anywhere.)
Briefly, Michelle entertains the idea of not going at all. It would serve him right for thinking he can just command her places à la anonymous notes and expect her to show up. And, if she’s being honest with herself, she really doesn’t want to talk to the same guy who makes her brain so cloudy.
But blowing him off would be a dick move, even by her standard of unpredictable behavior. So she sets an alarm for seven and spends the rest of the night listening to Beyoncé and Missy Elliott for confidence.
Not that she has a reason to be nervous. (Which she absolutely is not.)
They’re just friends.
Maybe.
Eight in the morning is just late enough to avoid the morning rush of people getting food on their way to work. The place is nearly empty when Michelle walks in, save for a pair of joggers at the counter and a couple of college students scattered through the tables. She slides into a booth by the window, pulls out her book, and waits.
It takes three chapters for Peter to rush in, wind tousled and panting as he looks around the diner. Michelle lets him spot her, head swivelling and seeing her just behind the fake fern in front of the booth.
“You invited me here and you’re still late,” Michelle says in lieu of a greeting.
Peter huffs as he slides into the booth. “I was up late and slept through my alarm.”
She wonders if that means patrolling or nightmares, but that seems like question they aren’t close enough to ask yet.
“It’s incredibly early and you still haven’t told me what we’re doing here,” she reminds him. She reaches over and plucks a menu from behind the condiments rack.
Peter follows suit, shrugging as he casually skims his menu. “I’m buying you breakfast. To pay you back for last weekend.”
Michelle raises her eyebrows. “You couldn’t have told me that at school? Or in a text? You had to leave a creepy note on my window?”
“I was trying to be quirky,” Peter grumbles.
“Leave that to the kidnappers and psychopaths.”
A waiter comes by, a little too chipper for the early hour, and takes their drink orders. Peter looks at her skeptically it when she asks for coffee and a bowl of creamers.
“I thought you drank tea?” he asks as the waiter disappears behind the counter.
“I like both,” Michelle answers dismissively. And JJ’s happens to have some damn good coffee - maybe the best in the neighborhood.
“It’s bad for you, you know.”
Michelle purses her lips. “This coming from the guy with stock in Monster and Redbull?”
Peter scoffs. “That’s different! My body is more enhanced than yours.”
He lowers his voice and leans forward, but Michelle doubts the lackluster morning crowd cares about what two teenagers are bickering about so early in the day.
“I’ll try not to say I told you so when your heart explodes,” Michelle says.
“Coffee is just as bad,” Peter insists as Michelle methodically lines up Splenda packets.
“But people aren’t depending on me, so no one will notice if my organs spontaneously combust.”
She looks up when Peter falls silent. He’s staring at her with massive doe-eyes, head tilted in something akin to sympathy, which tells her she just said something a little more telling than she was going for. Oops.
“Hey, I’m not the superhero here,” she mutters.
Peter opens his mouth, but the waitress returns with their drinks and asks if they’re ready.
Michelle orders a plate of waffles with a fruit salad; Peter gets the breakfast special with an extra order of pancakes. Michelle bites her lip to keep from laughing as the waitress’s eyebrows disappear into her hairline. She writes his order down without comment, but eyes him skeptically as she takes it back to the kitchen.
“I have a really fast metabolism,” Peter says defensively.
Michelle tears the top off a couple Splenda packets and tips them into her coffee; she licks away the crystals on her fingertips. “I didn’t say anything,” she responds around a smirk.
Peter watches as she dumps seven Splenda packets and a handful of creamers into her coffee and stirs it with a spoon. She eyes him over the rim of her mug, daring him to question her further.
Peter wisely says nothing and sips his orange juice.
“So what’s on the agenda for today?” Michelle asks. “Rescue a few cats from trees after breakfast, stop an armed bank robbery before dinner?”
“Okay, I know you’re mocking me, but doing all of that in one day would be awesome,” Peter says, so genuinely into the idea that Michelle can’t even conjure the wits for another crack at him.
She changes gears instead, stirring another creamer into her coffee as she casually tells him, “You didn’t have to do this, you know. It’s not like I’m gonna turn down free food, but you didn’t have to repay me for being a decent human being.”
“I want to,” Peter insists. He looks so earnest that it makes Michelle’s mouth go dry a little. Because, shit. This is real emotions territory. Uncharted waters.
“And I would notice,” Peter adds. Michelle raises her eyebrow. He goes on to amend, “I would notice if your organs spontaneously combusted.”
Michelle wants to say something, but thank God the waitress returns with their food before she gets the chance. She still looks incredibly suspicious as she sets three plates worth of food in front of Peter, who just say smiles and thanks her as she leaves.
It’s kind of an amazing thing to watch - in a totally bizarre, appalling way. Michelle cuts into her waffle with surgeon-like precision, taking care to spread the whipped cream and chew each bite. Peter shows no such restraint; he slathers his pancakes with butter and syrup then proceeds to wolf as much as it down as he can in one bite. Michelle wants to be disgusted, but she’s mostly impressed he’s manage to do it without spilling a drop of syrup on his shirt.
“What?” Peter inquires, a strip of bacon lifted halfway to his mouth.
“Nothing.”
He shrugs; Michelle averts her eyes, focusing all her energy on spearing a piece of strawberry with her fork.
“Is this a date?” she asks abruptly.
Peter sputters, eyes bulging frantically. Michelle leans back as a bit of pancake lands on the table.
“What?” he gags. His face is red - whether from the choking or her question, she isn’t sure.
Michelle takes the time to swallow the fruit. “This. Boy asks girl out. Boy insists on paying. There’s a bit of unspoken tension. Some would call that the makings of a date.”
Peter coughs, taking a swig of his juice.
“I don’t, um - I don’t not like you,” he mutters.
Michelle raises her eyebrows. “Romantically?”
“Do you like me?” Peter counters, still flushed.
Michelle pauses. On one hand, it’s Peter. Not that there’s anything wrong with him, but it’s the same kid she’s known since kindergarten. Until a few months ago, she wouldn’t have even considered them friends, let alone a couple. And he’s a superhero, which in itself complicates things beyond the typical drama that ensues all high school relationships.
On the other hand, it’s Peter. He’s not the worst guy Michelle’s ever met. Smart, nice, friendly, charismatic to an extent. And he isn’t horrible-looking. Quite the opposite, if she was one to care about that kind of thing.
Michelle shrugs. “I could do worse.”
Peter seems surprised by her answer. Michelle waits as the gears in his head turn at full-speed. She pops a grape in her mouth.
She’s beginning to think she caused something in him to short-circuit when he finally comes up with a reply.
“Wanna come back to my apartment and watch Parks and Recreation with me?”
And it’s maybe one of the nerdiest things he could have said in that moment, but it’s so genuinely Peter that Michelle lets the golden opportunity slide right by her.
“Fine. But you should know, I fast-forward through the intro.”
Peter gasps, genuinely put-out. “But that’s part of the experience. It’s not authentic binge-watching if you skip parts of it, MJ.”
“It’s the same thirty-second clip each time, Peter. And the theme music gets annoying after hearing it for the billionth time.”
“It’s part of the ambiance.”
The argument last well through breakfast and into the walk back to his apartment. But Peter keeps his arm linked through hers the entire walk back and he bumps their hips while they stand on the bus. It makes her feel exasperated and fond, bubbles floating in her chest.
They might have a good thing starting here.