Chapter Text
MJ’s hair was something Peter rarely thought about. In fact, MJ’s signature updo was such a staple by this point that Peter could only vaguely remember her wild, unkempt, mane from elementary school. To most her traditional out-of-the-face mentality was simply because she didn’t bother. She didn't try. Peter couldn’t say it was because she didn’t try, though. At this point in their friendship, Peter knew that the bangs often threatening to cover half of her face were easily long enough to pull back into her ponytail, but MJ always left them out. In fact, Peter had a theory that MJ tried, in her own way, to look good.
She wore odd dresses to parties and shoes that didn’t match her outfits, but clashed just enough to be stylish instead of awful. On normal days she chose mismatched clothes that upon closer examination matched through some backwards irony. As much as MJ wanted to seem detached and unbothered by physical appearance, she was trying, she just wasn’t conventional when it came to anything, including her style. She was different, and she knew she was different. That was why Peter found her so incredibly fascinating.
However, her hair, and overall how she looked physically, was something Peter only thought of on off occasions. Occasions such as decathlon practices that sometimes ran long and boring. The ones where MJ was literally right in front of him, grilling the team on questions, often huffing her bangs from her eyes. Sometimes he’d think about her outward appearance if the conversation was especially dry, and MJ were sitting directly across from him and Ned, as she always did now. So, he didn’t often think about her quirky sense of style, or the fact that she didn’t look like most girls when it came to hair and makeup. Instead, Peter always noticed her in other ways. Like when she immediately knew the answer a formula in AP Chemistry, one that he couldn’t figure out for the life of him.. He noticed her when she, after one too many snide remarks from Flash, twisted the guy’s arm behind his back so fast Peter had barely see it, and had Flash bent over a table begging for mercy. He noticed how she twisted some Oreos and dipped others with no apparent reasoning. Peter new that she drank coffee in the evenings because it made her drowsy and ate an apple if she wanted to stay awake. He knew that she was a genius in every one of her classes. She studied with him for every single one. She seemed like the type of person who might be into the whole vinyl, hipster type vibe, but Peter knew that she didn’t like records and preferred her digital music.
Peter noticed a lot about MJ, but her looks had never really crossed his mind more than a few times.
But now, at this moment, MJ’s hair was all Peter could think about. As she strolled through the doors of the cafeteria her hair was, surprisingly, loose of a hairband. Falling frizzy and kinky around her face, in between actual curls and coiled waves. It was some odd purgatory right in the middle, and it was totally wiping Peter’s brain of what Ned was talking about next to him. The wisps of hair floating around the main mass of MJ’s hair swayed, unbothered by gravity, as she plopped violently onto the bench opposite of Peter and Ned.
Ned, neglecting his and Peter’s previous conversation about the suit, started talking to MJ right away about something Peter could care less about. Because seriously, her hair was longer than he thought, and she looked, like, really great. In all his one-year time of being best friends with MJ he felt as if he was seeing her for the first time.
She laughed at something Ned said, her lips sliding back from her teeth, revealing a rare and infectious smile. But still, her hair commanded the attention of the room. Peter wanted to feel the coarse locks between his fingers and find the scent of her shampoo buried in her hair.
“Peter.” Her tone was sharp, and he realized that when she was talking about if someone wanted to come over and watch a movie that she had been talking to him. He blinked, keeping a close eye on her hair, wondering why it wasn’t literally tilting everyone else’s world sideways.
“Yeah, sure.” His voice cracked. He swallowed past the sudden blockage in his throat. “I mean I’ll try, Stark Internship and all.”
He still had yet to tell her about the Spiderman thing, something Ned was chomping at the bit to tell. But they had all barely been good friends for a year. No matter how much he trusted MJ with his secret, if he made an exception for her he’d feel obligated to make the same exception for Gwen.
Gwen…
His super amazing sort-of-girlfriend who he should’ve been thinking about instead of MJ’s hair.
“Hey, loser.” Said owner of hair barked, again bringing Peter back to reality. “What the hell, dude? You’re totally comatose today, what’s up?” In the minimal fraction of time before Peter could even start a reply she turned to Ned. “Loser Two, what’s up with him?” She brandished her plastic fork towards Peter before taking a large scoop of mac and cheese and shoving it in her mouth. Another thing Peter knew she secretly liked: the god-awful school cafeteria mac and cheese. Sometimes MJ was disgusting.
Ned shrugged at MJ before shoveling a spoonful of red Jell-O into his mouth. “He’s probably just thinking about Gwen.” Ned smirked, jabbing Peter in the ribs with his elbow. Naturally, Peter blushed, subtly ducking his head toward his food. Peter wasn’t embarrassed because of Gwen though, he was embarrassed because he should have been thinking of Gwen, not MJ and her stupid hair or her stupid face or her stupid likes and dislikes. Or the fact that she had a smudge under her chin that looked like charcoal. And suddenly he was looking at her neck and thinking about how he’d like to brush his lips—HOLY SHIT! WHAT THE HELL WAS HE THINKING?
“Bro, you’re a total loser, pull yourself together.” Peter felt the fire under his cheeks, traveling from his chest to his cheeks in a constant flow. He was Spider-Man Red, which was fitting for obvious reasons. Muttering an apology, he cleared his throat. MJ didn’t bother to reply, instead shifting focus back to Ned. “By the way, Leeds, I have a picture of the color I’m wearing so you can get a tie or whatever to match.”
Peter snapped from his stupor instantly. What color? Why would Ned need to match a tie to it? He’d get back to her freakishly perfect, tangled mess of curls later. “What?”
“And the loser finally joins the real world!” She smirked. “Tell us, what made you decide to come back to reality?” The whites of her teeth peaked through the smirk as she held her fork out like a reporter’s microphone.
Out of the corner of Peter’s eyes he could just barely see Ned smirk along with her. “Ha. Ha.” Peter deadpanned. “No, I just realized that you have a huge smudge of charcoal on your face. Sketching more distraught people, huh?” His eyes sparkled.
MJ didn’t even blink. “Do I really look like someone who gives a shit about charcoal on my face, Parker?”
Peter knew she did care though. That she was itching to scrub the spot off, but too prideful to admit it. “Just thought you should know.” Shrugging his shoulders innocently enough, he smirked, enjoying the subtle discomfort oozing off of her. He barely caught her quick glance toward the window, trying to catch her reflection in it.
Peter put a horrible spoonful of fake cheese and whole grain noodles in his mouth. “Anyways, what color thing were you talking to Ned about?” He attempted to play it off, tried not to seem overly interested. Tried to look like he was just making conversation.
“She’s just talking about Prom.” Ned stepped in. MJ was too busy sneaking her arm quietly up to her face until she could casually prop her chin on her hand, hiding the smudge under her palm.
“Prom?” Suddenly Peter felt like it was a new concept. Why in the world would Ned and MJ need to match colors for Prom?
When MJ’s hand pulled back from her chin a slightly red mark was all that was left of the smudge. “Yeah. Prom. It’s the thing you tried to ask Gwen to for like three weeks. Ringing any bells?” Peter shot her a glare which she promptly ignored.
“MJ and I have been going to dances together since last year.” Peter whiped his head around to look at Ned, a stricken look plastered on his face. Ned looked totally calm and unbothered. As if it was common knowledge him and MJ had been going dates to dances since last year. As if Peter could pull out his phone and google Ned and MJ and it would pop up giving a list of dances they’d been to. His world felt off axis.
It made sense, them going to dances together. He understood the logic of it. It was what friends did if they didn’t have dates, or if they wanted to skip the whole awkward first date getting to know people. Peter understood, crystal clear. Yet, suddenly he was really not ok with it. Like at all.
When Peter finally came to his senses Ned was giving him a look. A look that said, ‘Bro, why are you looking at me like that?’ Peter quickly recovered his shocked expression into one of aloofness. It didn’t fool Ned, but he didn’t bother pointing it out to Peter. Yet anyways. Instead Ned jumped back into the conversation. “I had to do a little more convincing this year though. She was being really reluctant about it.” Ned glanced over to MJ, giving her a chance to explain.
Her fingers were resting on the pages of a worn book, which she must have cracked open in span of the last few seconds. She realized the lull in the conversation, glancing up to see both Peter and Ned’s eyes on her. “Huh?” Her eyes, lazy, yet alert, switched between Peter and Ned.
“Just telling Peter about your sudden objection to Prom.”
Her eyes, still half lidded, rolled. “It’s a stupid social convention used as a smoke screen for teenagers like ourselves to have a popularity contest and give people the chance to get overly made up and fake, spending a ridiculous amount of money just for one night with some person you’re probably not even going to remember in twenty years. All that extra makeup and hair just to fit into the social box of normalcy. People literally spend months saving up money to look nice and have a fancy dinner. Then the idiots use it as an excuse to get drunk in the name of tradition and ceremony. It’s a stupid tradition that everyone thinks is amazing because maybe they get to be someone for like five seconds of their pathetic life.” She didn’t take a breath, nor did she move her eyes from her book. Even though both Peter and Ned knew she wasn’t reading.
“Then why are you going?” The question felt so reminiscent of sophomore year as it left Peter’s lips.
She finally looked up. “Because it’s what Ned and I do. We go to lame parties together—”
Ned interjected, “But—”
“And,” MJ steamrolled over him. “I might as well go anyways because I have nothing else to do. No mater how idiotic it is.” Her eyes returned promptly to her book.
“But you’re like, so against Prom. Way more than any other dance we’ve been too! You act like you’d rather die than go, but then you’ve got a dress and you actually want me to match some form of my own clothing to it?” Ned was sniffing at a trail. Starting down a path.
MJ turned back to Ned, her usual half eyed, monotone stare. “That’s what girls do Ned, we get dresses to wear to Prom.”
Ned jabbed his finger at her, eyes lighting like a fire. He looked like he caught her in a lie. “Ah! But you don’t!” He said. “I mean, you do, but you never hide your dress from me, and usually it’s a dress that you already have laying around your house. And, we never color coordinate our actual outfits! We’ve always just done the flower stuff.” That’s probably why Peter never noticed them coupled at the dances.
“And your point?” MJ replied, not bothering to look up anymore. She seemed like she was hiding.
“So, why would you put so much effort into this if you hate the entire dance as a whole? Why not wing it like we usually do?” It was a rhetorical question.
Peter tried to bring the conversation away from MJ, who seemed to be sinking closer to her book. “Ok, so what’s the point. She got a dress, it’s probably not a big deal.” If he knew MJ, she probably just picked a nice semi-casual dress from the second-hand store she shopped at.
“See, we all know MJ has this thing against, like, any normal teenage social activity. Right? But suddenly she’s bagging Prom every chance she gets. I mean I’d say she didn’t care, or like, didn’t want to go. But…” Ned smirked deviously. “She’s specifically requested that I match her dress this year, which means she’s not just throwing on some dress and heading out the door—”
Peter gave him a look. “The point Ned?” He said the same time MJ snapped, “Ned.”
It was a warning.
Ned kept going. “So, Peter, this means Michelle Jones is actually putting effort into spiffing herself up for Prom.”
Peter merely blinked in reply.
MJ glared through her lashes. “Leeds, I swear to God—”
Turning directly toward Peter, Ned’s eyes filled with excitement. Like he cracked the case. And Peter, well, he was hanging on to every word, at this point. If MJ was getting pissed, it meant Ned was on to something. Whatever it was he was on to. “From my professional opinion and expertise, I think MJ—”
“Screw it I don’t care, say what you want.” MJ’s head turned down again to her book. She was obviously fuming. Peter swore he could see the head radiating off her. Maybe it was just the wind catching her hair, making it look like the dancing waves of heat on asphalt.
“Peter!” Ned was snapping his fingers.
Peter fell back into attention. “Yeah, sorry. What about MJ?” Out of the corner of his eye, he could see her head duck minutely further into the book.
Ned smirked, leaning in as if to murmur a secret, however never changing his volume. “I think our own Could-Give-A-Shit-Michelle has a crush, and said crush must be going to Prom. And said someone must be going with someone else. Why else would she be so verbally against Prom and the social status of Prom, more so than any other dance, but also actually be making way more effort than what she usual does for such occasions.” Ned was so proud of himself. It was obvious from the way his brown eyes sparkled and the white of his teeth practically overtook his darker skin. “All we need to do now, Dude, is find out who this person is so we can totally wing man for her!”
MJ’s head flew up. Her usual chill eyes bulging, her jaw noticeably clamped over and over. Her knee hit the underside of the table, causing the entire top to shudder violently. Her hair concealed her expression and her hands quickly shoved her book into her bag before both hands clamped down on the edge of the table. It shuddered again, weaker than her first impact, but still enough to be threatening, as she lifted her withering glare to Ned.
Ned had a way of speaking before thinking. And any time he spoke without thinking he usually figured it out pretty quick. Right at that moment Ned knew instantly he’d fucked up. His smile dropped. ”MJ, I…”
“How about you don’t talk about me and my supposed love life like I’m not sitting two feet away from you. Also, even if I did have feelings for someone, it wouldn’t be any of your business.” The writhing heat of her glare steadied, calmed, if only slightly. “I have physics homework.” And just like that she was taking long, staccato, steps out of the lunch room. Her dejected lunch merely stared back at both shocked teenagers left in the aftermath of MJ’s fury.
Ned instantly scrambled from his seat, grabbing both MJ’s and his tray, dumping them into the dumpster by the table. He threw his bag over his shoulders. “So, I’m going to go and say I’m sorry because that was a way worse reaction than I was expecting. I mean I didn’t mean to like piss her off, I was just teasing.” Guilt was etched all over his face. “I’ll talk to you tonight, bro.” And he was off, left to trail her pouf of curls out of the cafeteria.
Peter couldn’t find any motivation to move. All he could think about was the fact that MJ had a crush. Or, ‘supposedly did’ if Ned’s theory checked out, and his theory made a lot of sense.
Staying still, Peter was trying not to fall into a mess of his impossibly tangled thoughts. A pile of confusion he often left for other times and other days. MJ was riddled throughout the knotted wires of his brain, and often her signals tried to awaken the dejected pile of cords in the corner of Peter’s psyche. The corner where he pushed all his confusing MJ thoughts.
Gwen, by contrast, was clean and orderly, wires never crossed, removed from confusion or stress. Suddenly Gwen seemed dislodged completely from Peter’s actual brain. She seemed so clinical and passionless. So….easy. Yet, MJ’s circuitry, while untamed and wild, was lighting up every corner of Peter’s brain. She was everywhere, even tangled ever so slightly into Gwen’s nook of his mind. Gwen, so ordered and calm against the exhilarating chaos that was MJ.
Peter could feel MJ’s tangled circles of wire running rampant, a perfect mirror to her unruly hair. Both demanded attention. The thought of MJ as a whole slowly consumed Peter as he replayed over and over the bounce of her hair as she’d marched away.