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The bell rings thirty seconds before the clock hits three.
Around him, a sea of other kids are running around, hurrying over to extracurriculars or hiding under the bleachers.
There’s something comforting about the familiarity of it all, like he could close his eyes and accurately predict what the rest of his school day would be like.
Ned will be the first face he sees when stepping through the doors of the gym, and MJ the close second.
His friend will flash him one of his toothiest smiles, and MJ a slightly smaller, but infinitesimally more nerve-wracking one.
Abraham won’t notice him even as Peter takes the chair next to him, Cindy will nod, and Flash will give him the finger.
Betty will push her hair out of her shoulders before announcing the order of the day, which, much like its occupants, will not vary a lot from one session to another.
He won’t listen, distracted by the fact that once again, MJ will be sitting in front of him, sketching in her notebook, and his leg will invariably jump up and down as he tries not to notice her looking at him.
She’s always drawing him anyway.
It makes him curious. She’s admitted she won’t sketch people in crisis anymore, because in this new world, everyone’s pretty much always having one. But she hasn’t stopped sketching him.
In a way, he’s almost envious of her, because he can’t even hold a pencil right, but when he looks at her, he really wishes he could.
Because she’s really pretty.
It’s not something he’s shared with Ned, or God forbid, with her, but it’s a thought he’s become well acquainted with over the course of the year.
MJ’s a lot of things. She’s driven, well-spoken, observant. Some would even say caring, if you were to look between the lines. It makes her an excellent friend, and an obvious crush.
The pretty part, though, makes it a painful one.
If he had to explain it, he’d say it boils down to the way she carries herself around them. It feels… different, like she’s not hiding anymore.
She sits front and center in decathlon practice, her hair carefully tucked behind her ears as she fires questions so fast he sometimes wonders where she finds time to breathe.
‘ Good Job, Peter !’
Some things feel different, like MJ being nice to him. To his face.
And every time she does so, he stares at her. Which is a problem, because she stares back, and then he makes that ridiculous strangled sound that’s usually accompanied by a blush creeping up on his cheeks, and followed by a strong need to jump out of a window.
Did the others notice? If they have, they’re too scared to say anything.
‘Earth to Peter, are you with us?’
‘Huh?’
She’s looking at him, eyes squinting as if he were a puzzle in need of solving. He knows that look, he’s been on the receiving end of it quite a lot lately. She’s worried. She’s not foolish enough to ask, though. He’d probably lie -badly- anyway.
Besides, it’s nothing. It just happens more and more these days. He loses focus, gets lost in flashbacks. Another side effect from Thanos’ little stunt, one less visible to the naked eye. Coming back when you’ve been… scattered, for lack of a better word, tends to do that.
He clears his throat.
‘Yeah, uh-Sorry, I was up late last night.’
‘Busy getting some, Parker?’ Flash interjects, all too happy to place a sexual innuendo in the middle of what was, otherwise, a pretty standard practice.
Some things stay the same.
‘Eugene, jealousy doesn’t go well with that blazer,’ Betty retorts, and Peter shoots her a thankful smile.
Betty Brant is quite possibly the best thing that could have happened to the team, and by the team, he means Ned, who he knows is holding her hand under the table.
He sighs, meeting eyes with MJ for an instant before returning to the flashcards she’s placed in front of him.
‘Alright, let’s get back to it. Peter, focus on Physics. Cindy will handle Algebra for now.’
In her mouth, his name almost sounds like a term of endearment. He tries not to read too much into it, even if he himself is one pencil short of filling his notebook with hers.
MJ. He gets to call her that.
His heart skips a beat when her shoulder brushes against his as they’re walking together to catch the train home.
At this point, he’s sort of accepted it.
It’s a change that’s welcome, for once. A small thing, a pebble rippling through the course of his life, resulting in a multitude of new things. Like his fingers acting of their own volition, inching closer to hers, painfully aware of the space between them, or his knee angling towards hers.
A Sunflower, always turning towards the light.
She’d probably laugh at the comparison.
All he knows is he needs her in his life. It’s almost funny to think he used to function without her dry sense of humor, conspiracy theories, and constant book recommendations.
Her writing’s everywhere, from the crumpled notes in the bottom of his backpack to the birthday card pinned on his wall. He wonders if she’s going to draw another one this year.
To think he’s going to turn eighteen in August freaks him out a little.
He’s had a rough year, and to say he’s had trouble adjusting would probably be the understatement of the century.
Some changes are harder to deal with than others.
When he looks at his friends, he wonders if any of them remembers. According to Banner, they don’t.
He tries not to let it get to him, but it’s a lot. Having one secret identity is a thing. Having half of your senior year rebooted after fighting for your life, losing, disappearing, only to be brought back and asked to fight again… is a whole different ordeal.
Yet the earth keeps spinning, and criminals don’t stop roaming the streets.
Pepper’s left with a multi-billion company and no one to hold at night.
She’s given him the key to his part of the compound, along with a whole fleet of suits waiting for him to put them to the test.
One of them is still there, on his desk, torn to shreds. The last remains of a ghost he stares at in the night, mouth dry, brows furrowed.
Ned has seen it, MJ’s seen it.
He can’t touch it, can’t move it out of the way. It just… lays there.
The iron suit.
She’s known for a while. Way before he’d stumbled in the ER, paramedics cutting into his suit, unable to know where his skin began and the fabric ended. She’d been there, by chance or providence, waiting for her dad’s shift to be over.
He remembers his skin tingling where her fingers had pushed his hair away from his face, and the worried tone in her voice, making his throat tight, too tight.
MJ is the one friend who doesn’t seem to care or like that he’s Spider-Man.
Is he, still?
He hasn’t patrolled for weeks. The new suit is too tight and makes it hard to breathe. Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.
Too much has changed around him, and he isn’t ready yet.
For now, he’d rather focus on the parts of his life that still make sense.
The bell rings thirty seconds before the clock hits three.
It’s Friday, which means there’s no practice, and in their case, no school game to attend. Instead, Ned is going to pick up gummy bears, MJ’s reluctantly bringing the soda and Betty’s going to drop by after her AV club duties resume.
It’s a low-stress movie night, like they’ve done a hundred times this year.
MJ’s going to sit on Ben’s chair, and he’ll sit on the floor, his back against it, all too happy to feel her foot tapping on his shoulder every time she laughs at the movie. And so what if he’s a little uncomfortable for two hours? It’s worth it.
As soon as she steps in, he sucks in a breath.
She’s pretty. She’s always pretty. But somehow, between the time they’ve left school and the time he sees her again, she manages to catch him off guard.
MJ pulls out a monstrously sized Mountain Dew Bottle out of her bag, a wry smile as she pretends to shake it.
‘Picked your poison.’
‘Why do you always talk like you’re a mobster from the 1930’s?’
She shrugs, brushing past him to set the bottle on the kitchen counter.
‘My dad is a big gangster nerd. I dressed up as the Godfather for like, three Halloweens in a row.’
‘Ouch.’
‘Wanna talk about the Spongebob costume you’re wearing in that family pic, Peter?’
He laughs.
‘You know, Spongebob only has lovely things to say about you.’
She smiles, softly, secretly, and it feels special. His throat gets dry, and he’s pretty sure he looks like a complete idiot, staring at her like that in silence. His heart is pounding, and he wants to tell her, so badly, how much of a mess she makes him feel inside.
She’s so, so pretty.
‘What are you two doing ?’
The question barely phases her, but Peter jumps out of his skin. Literally and figuratively, it seems, because he bangs his foot on the side table just as Ned enters, multiple bags of junk food in his hands.
‘Nothing,’ she says innocently.
‘Nothing,’ he replies, much less innocently.
‘Sure, Jan,’ he thinks he hears Ned mumble.
‘Give me that.’
Grabbing the plastic bags out of his friend's hands, he frowns at him. Ned just grins, all too happy to play pretend, the jerk.
For once, just once, he’d like to not be disrespected in his own house, but both MJ and Ned seem to take notes off each other in that matter. And as if to prove him right, MJ grabs one of the sweaters resting on the back of the couch, pulling it right over her head.
‘Uhm, what?’ is all he manages to say.
Good Job, Peter.
‘I’m borrowing your sweater. It’s cold in here, but you’d know that if you weren’t a super mutant spiderling.’
He wants to roll his eyes. He wants to, but the sight of MJ wearing something of his makes him feel all sorts of things inside, and none of them are entirely unpleasant.
‘It’s Spider-Man,’ he adds in a small voice.
She shrugs, taking her spot on the armchair, and that’s the end of That.
They sit in comfortable silence, passing the bowl of popcorn between the three of them as Harry desperately tries to drive a flying car to Hogwarts.
‘You’re sure Betty won’t mind us starting before she gets here?’ Peter asks, shoveling M&M’s in his mouth like he’s the protagonist of a romantic comedy in need of a love interest.
Ah, there it is. The light foot tap on his shoulder.
‘I’m live-texting her the movie. She says she’s gonna be there in ten. And that Ron wishes he could pull the middle part like Ned’s.’
Said middle-parter beams, even going as far as letting his shoulders sway.
‘She lo-ooves me!’ he sing-songs.
‘Hey, leave some for the rest of us.’ MJ pouts.
‘Please. I bet you twenty bucks that you won’t be single by the end of the year,’ Ned says, eyes darting quickly in his direction.
There’s a knock on the door before he gets the chance to enact any kind of revenge, and Ned springs up, a large smile on his face. A Cheshire cat in the making, if he’s ever seen one.
‘Speaking of love…’
As he disappears in the hallway, MJ grabs another fistful of popcorn before pressing pause on the movie.
He wonders if she caught Ned’s look and if she cares. Around them, the living room is quiet, May’s cat clock ticking, taunting him. He can feel MJ’s eyes on his neck, and nearly covers it with his hand.
Oh boy, this is uncomfortable. He needs to say something, anything. And what’s taking Ned and Betty so long? How much kissing are they actually doing in the hall?
‘Are you still cold?’ he asks after what feels an eternity.
‘Hm, no. Why, do you want your sweater back?’
She sounds disappointed, and he turns to her, eyebrows knitted together.
‘What? No! Keep it, it suits you.’
She smirks, sitting back in the chair, foot tapping against his shoulder.
God, she’s pretty.
So she takes his sweater home. Friends do that, right?
‘Dude.’
‘Ned.’
‘Duuude.’
‘I know. It’s bad .’
Peter falls back on his bed, trying not to replay the events of the night. His eyes dart in the direction of the suit, abandoned on a chair in the corner of the room. He should patrol tonight. He’s almost certain he won’t.
Again, being snapped away from an alien planet does that to you.
He closes his eyes, a familiar pang of guilt in his guts.
‘I think I like her. Like, like-like her.’
Ned is spinning a basketball he’s found God knows where, barely showing any sign of registering what he’s just said.
‘Well, duh.’
‘You don’t seem surprised, like, at all.’
‘Well, Betty said that would happen, so…’
‘Betty said what now?’
Pivoting in the chair, Ned turns to him.
‘I’m sorry, man. It’s just… it’s pretty obvious at this point. You guys even finish each other’s-
‘Sentences?’
‘Sandwiches.’
‘Hey, that was one time!’
‘You’re both ridiculous, you know that ?’
Peter exhales deeply. They’ve had this conversation a thousand times.
‘What if she doesn’t feel the same way ?’
He doesn’t have to turn to know Ned’s rolling his eyes.
‘Peter. Everyone knows. Everyone but you two.’ He swivels in the chair, gesturing to the screen. ‘ I’m editing our decathlon team pictures, and you’re staring at each other in every. Single. One. Of them.’
He sits up.
‘What! No, we’re not!’
‘Funny, that’s exactly what MJ said.’
Peter groans.
‘I just... I don’t want things to change,’ he admits, taking a deep breath.
In the span of two years, he’s broken more bones than a stunt actor in a kung fu movie, saved New York, the world, the universe, but he hasn’t kissed the girl. And they both know why.
He’s been to Tony’s funeral. He’s seen Pepper’s face, quiet, polite tears, and a clenched jaw barely concealing her absolute despair. Tony had joked about retirement, still coming back, time after time, to protect everyone and make amends. Until he didn’t.
And Peter knows, deep down, That’s what’s waiting for him down the line. He’ll be lucky if he gets ten years out of this, and there will be a day when he gets hit, but won’t get back up.
Yes, he loves her. It’s the real thing, too. He’s restless, heart pounding, stomach twisting, at the mere thought of her. When she really looks at him, without the guise of gentle mockery, her eyes soft and smile even softer, he can feel the words slipping away from him.
But then he remembers her face at the hospital. She acts tough, and she may not wear her heart on her sleeve, but it’s still there, beating, and he doesn’t want to be the one to break it. So if he does this, he needs to do it right.
‘Are you going to do something about it?’ Ned asks.
Staring down at his hands, he thinks about the suit. About Tony. About changes, the big ones and the little in-between.
‘Yeah, I am.’
His phone buzzes in the middle of the evening, and he knows it’s her.
‘So I’ve decided I’m keeping your sweater.’
She never says hi, or goodbye. Their calls are a one of a kind, stream-of-consciousness exchange, and he likes it that way.
‘...Congrats?’
‘Don’t be cute.’
He smiles.
‘And stop smiling, you dork.’
‘You called me cute .’
There’s a sigh on the other end of the line.
‘Sorry. What were you saying?’
‘I need a break. Winter break can’t come any sooner, I swear. My parents are driving me insane.’
‘Wanna take a swing around the city to change your mind?’
‘I’m afraid of heights, remember?’
He grins. Boy, does he remember. He’s lucky he heals so fast, because the way she dug her nails in his neck, he’d still have marks by now.
Spider-Man, 1. Michelle Jones, 0.
‘I thought you were scared because ‘ the webbing makes no sense and no, Peter, knowing you made it does not make it any better.’?’
‘Fine. You got me, I don’t like heights. At least my secret doesn’t involve wearing tights.’
‘It’s spandex.’
She laughs a little, and he closes his eyes, basking in it. He wonders what’s worse: accidentally being a dork, or being one on purpose just so MJ can tease him about it.
Definitely the second one.
He sighs.
‘Speaking of which, I should probably try on the suit, tonight. Our neighborhood is getting less friendly by the minute.’
‘Lookout, here comes the Spider-Man.’
‘You promised you wouldn’t say that anymore.’
She laughs again, and he really, really doesn’t want to hang up. But he can’t ask her to stay on the line just because he feels lonely and besides, she’d probably distract him.
‘Alright, I’m hanging up now. New York needs me.’
‘Want me to play girl in the chair? I’m done with Sylvia Plath for today, you know.’
‘I’m good! I have Karen to keep me company anyway.’
‘Damn, replaced by a machine. That’s rough!’
‘No one can compete with you, MJ.’
He can hear her suck in a breath, and he’d be proud, were it not for his resolution not to cave in to his feelings and confess his undying love for her without a solid plan. He adds :
‘But you’re allowed to get some rest... Plus, I kind of… put the superhero thing on hold for a while, and I need to get back into it.’
‘I noticed. What’s that about?’
He opens his mouth, but once again, words won’t come out. All he manages to say is one crappy :
‘It’s senior year, SAT prep.. you know.’
She hums, unconvinced.
‘Fine. I’ll put that in the ‘to talk about later’ box, then. Maybe when you come back?’
He nods.
‘Maybe when I come back. ‘
She pauses, and he’s about to hang up when she finally asks:
‘Hey, what are you doing next Friday?’
‘Why?’
‘Flash’s throwing a party.’
‘Please don’t do this to me, MJ.’
‘Come on, it might be fun. There’s gonna be tons of food. Don’t you wanna see me in the sparkly dress my mom will definitely make me wear, slapping Flash with a Branzino?’
Peter laughs.
‘You got me there.’
‘You’re so easy, Parker.’
‘One of us has to be.’
He can hear her smile and look, he’s just a man. A teenager, really. There’s only so much he can do to prevent himself from trying to get the girl. Besides, he knows Ned is working behind the scenes like the quirky old man from a Hallmark movie to get them together.
‘Are you going to take my sweater to that party ?’
‘You know what, I might. I’m still wearing it by the way. Hope it wasn’t your favorite.’
He groans.
‘I guess it’s yours, now.’
‘You’ll have to pry it off my cold, dead hands.’
He grins, a lopsided smile that she would probably hate if she could see it.
‘Wouldn’t dream of it.’
The clock hits midnight when Peter finally puts on the mask.
It still feels weird, like he can’t breathe properly. Which he knows to be an illusion, because all of his Stark suits have felt like nothing if not a second skin.
It’s hard, being a friendly neighborhood Spider-Man in a post-Thanos world.
He used to think the furthest he’d go in his suit would be Long Island.
As he climbs through his window, his legs turn into jelly, and he can basically hear the bells ringing in his ears.
They’re not real, he thinks as he stares at the night sky, and the starless sky stares back at him.
He’s not on Titan anymore. He can do this.
Breathe in, breathe out. A thwip of the wrist, a sarcastic line thrown at the Bad Guy du jour, and voilà, here comes the Spider-Man.
God, he really needs MJ to stop saying that.
He stands up slowly, facing the night, gravity, and the rest of Queens. He’s given Peter Parker time to heal. Not nearly enough, if the weight in his chest is any indication, but the more he waits, the worse it’s going to get.
With every police siren unanswered, with every criminal he senses in the streets, New York becomes a more dangerous place, and there’s a pledge he’s sworn to honor.
He thinks about Ben, who trusted him when he shouldn’t have, and May, who trusts him in spite of it all.
He thinks about Ned, fast asleep, and MJ, who’s most likely still reading.
His legs are still shaking when he launches himself from the building, but his breathing is steady.
He authorizes himself a thin smile.
Look out, here comes the Spider-Man.
Nothing major happens. He doesn’t get stabbed, or beamed away to a planet he shouldn’t be able to breathe on.
Instead, he stops two muggings and one ATM robbery.
And it. Is. Thrilling.
He’s back. He’s back for good, and he already knows it’s only going to get easier every time. He can do this, and he will keep doing it.
So, and without even thinking much about it, he ends up tapping on her window. Her light is still on, and it only takes a minute or so for her to slide the window open.
‘So, you’re back.’ She smiles, sleepy eyes and messy hair.
‘So, I’m back.’ He replies.
‘You wanna come in and talk about it?’
‘Thought you’d never ask.’
He takes the mask off the minute he steps in, throwing it on the ground. He sighs, sitting crossed legged on her fuzzy carpet, gently pushing the four books on postcolonialism that are sprawled all over it.
MJ leans on her windowsill.
He has so many secrets to confess, and he doesn’t know where to start.
‘I haven’t tried on the suit since Titan.’
It’s telling, he thinks, that this is the easiest one to share.
‘I thought so.’
He sucks in a breath. This is like unraveling a ball of yarn, he just needs to keep on pulling.
‘It just feels… wrong, like I’m taking advantage of him or something.’
She scoffs, and he looks up, puzzled.
‘Try the other way around, Peter. You were a kid when he gave you that suit. Hell, you’re still a kid.’ She adds.
‘Hey, I’m a man!’
‘You’re a seventeen-year-old boy who’s failing gym class. On purpose.’
He grimaces.
‘I can’t have everyone knowing how easy push-ups are. I’d end up in the basketball team, or worse. Do you really want me to be a jock, MJ?’ He turns to her, pouting.
‘God, no! No one needs to see those pasty frog legs.’
‘I thought I was Frogmouth.’
‘Both can be true at the same time, Pete.’
She smiles, her eyes not quite meeting his.
‘How was it, then? Going back to it? Are you okay?’
He winces, and she lets herself slides down the wall.
‘I’ve been better. But I’m closer to ‘okay’ than ‘really, really not good’.’
‘Takes time to recover.’ She responds absentmindedly before grabbing his discarded mask.
Her fingers start toying with the fabric, and she asks.
‘Those eyes are freaky. Can you even see a thing in those?’
‘Yeah, well, try looking at a thousand different things at once and not knowing on what to focus, and you’ll get why I wear that.’
‘Oh, right.’
MJ stays silent for a while, and he takes the opportunity to observe her. She’s still wearing his sweater, which makes his heart grow about three sizes, and she’s chewing on her lip.
Peter never drinks, because he’s too scared to see what could happen with his powers, but he imagines that’s what it feels like to be inebriated.
They’re alone, in her room, sitting close enough that he can smell her conditioner, but not too close that her presence is overwhelming.
‘What do you see when you’re not wearing them, then?’
You, he wants to say.
‘A lot of things.’ He lies.
‘Like what?’
She inches closer to him. Uh-Oh.
‘Like… details other people don’t pick up on. Possible threats… Heart rates…’ he rambles as he tries not to look at her. He’s failing, of course. And how can he not, when she’s staring at him like, like...
She might like him more than a friend?
Come on, Peter. Come on, Spider-Man.
‘Like how you stopped breathing just now.’
She tilts her head to the side.
‘Oh.’
Could she? She wouldn’t. And yet, there’s a spark in her eyes, something he wants to explore, or at least ask about.
She’s still not breathing. Guess he’s not either. She runs her tongue across her lips, and for once, he knows just how she feels, because he’s a hundred percent sure his mouth is dryer than the Mojave desert.
‘MJ?’
‘Yeah?’
‘Do you-’
Someone’s coming.
He can hear the distinct sound of footsteps, and he curses under his breath.
Talk about bad timing.
He has just enough time and reflexes to jump up and hide on the ceiling before her bedroom door opens to reveal her father.
The man actually terrifies Peter, and not just because he’s twice as big as he is. Any guy having enough gall to sew people back up should be looked at with respect and the slightest hint of fear.
‘Hey, what are you doing up? Is everything okay?’
‘Yeah, just doing some light studying, you know how I roll.’ She lies straight through her teeth.
He’s always been envious of her capacity to lie when needed. He’s an open book himself, and she never fails to remind him of that fact.
‘Alright, well don’t stay up too late.’
They’re almost out of trouble. Almost.
‘Wait, what are you wearing?’
‘Oh, uh… I borrowed a sweater from a friend in study group yesterday.’
Right. He’s her friend. One of her closest ones, by her own admission. MJ’s had a hard time opening up to them, and every day he thanks his lucky stars that she’s decided to do so.
MJ isn’t just pretty. She’s breathtakingly beautiful, inside and out.
She’s a forest fire, a class four hurricane. She’s a poet, a painter, a writer. She’s the smartest person in the room, in any room. When she speaks up, the world quiets down.
He can’t remember if he’s ever told her any of this.
Maybe he should start with that.
‘Alright then. Good Night’ her father says as he closes the door.
‘’Night.’ She replies.
When she turns back, her window is open, and Peter’s gone.
If there’s one thing that Eugene ‘Flash’ Thompson does well, it’s throwing a party.
They’re all supposed to prep for their last decathlon tournament, but he’s decided, in pure Flash fashion, that they should all ‘go out in style.’
Peter’s not sure Flash understands what that means, but he’s promised MJ he’d be there, so he is.
Ned taps on his shoulder, sporting a hat bigger than both their heads.
‘Betty got it for me, what do you think?’
‘It’s… ‘he starts before noticing Betty waving at them from the other side of the room, her two thumbs up in direction of Ned. ‘something, alright!’
‘I know, right?’
He takes time to take it all in. Not Ned’s hat, obviously, but the rest of the room. For such an unpopular kid, Flash’s managed to get a surprising amount of people in.
Everyone from their grade is here. Everyone but…
‘Have you guys seen MJ anywhere?’he asks casually.
(There’s nothing casual about this.)
Betty shrugs, pulling her phone out of her skirt.
‘She didn’t say anything about not coming. I’m sure she’ll be there soon, Peter.’
He’s a little antsy, so he decides to do the opposite of what he always does. He walks around, trying to locate the kitchen in this… what is this, a castle? A mansion?
He doesn’t really know where one starts and the other ends, but one thing’s for sure, if MJ’s here, there is a hundred percent chance she’s eating Flash’s cereal.
Unfortunately, there’s no MJ in sight near the marble countertops.
He sighs, shoulders slightly slouching.
‘Looking for me?’
Oh, thank God.
‘Hey.’he says, shoving his hands in his pockets.
‘Hey.’she replies, her hands perfectly in sight.
One of them is holding a jar of peanut butter, and the other what resembles a hamburger bun.
‘Is that…?’
‘Yup.’
‘And are you…?’
‘Yup.’
‘Woah.’
She eyes him up, and he realizes he could have made more of an effort to dress up, but he only has one non-checkered shirt and it’s about two sizes too small. Still, there’s no pun on his tee-shirt, his hair is combed, so it could have been worse.
MJ, of course, looks great. His lips can’t help but form a smile.
‘You’re still wearing my sweater.’
She rolls her eyes.
‘I think you mean my sweater.’
‘Right, my bad. I just hope you’ve washed it, you’ve been wearing it for a week.’ he grins, trying not to look too pleased.
He does, he so does. But she’s wearing his sweater, and t it kind of gives him hope that the thing they haven’t discussed, and therefore are both actively pretending didn’t happen, actually did.
He expects her to fire back, like she always does. Instead, she just smiles, and that’s way worse.
‘Hey, Pete, there’s something-’
‘Who’s ready to PARTY ?!’ he hears Flash yell behind him.
‘I’m sorry, you were saying?’
‘Let’s bail.’ MJ replies, grabbing his hand.
She doesn’t let go, not when they walk right past Flash shouting from the top of his lungs, not when they cross paths with Betty and Ned, not even when Kenny wriggles his impressively thick eyebrows at them.
She walks them straight to the top of a flight of stairs, way past the ‘no guests allowed’ sign, to finally stop once they reach the last step.
‘I don’t think we’re supposed to be there, MJ.’
‘How are you both a member of the Avengers and such a stickler for rules?!’
‘I’m very good at compartmentalizing.’
She frees his hand, and that’s when he realizes she still has both the hamburger buns and the peanut butter jar in the other one.
‘Are you seriously going to make yourself a sandwich in the middle of a party?’
‘Correction, I’m making us a sandwich, and we’re technically sitting above the party right now.’ She states matter-of-factly, sitting down on the steps.
‘I… Don’t know if I should be impressed or terrified.’he admits, taking a seat beside her.
Her eyes glisten in the dark when she whispers.
‘Both. You should always be both.’
This is so unfair. Is she aware of the power she holds over him? She’s already messing with him enough as it is.
And there he goes again with the staring. It’s a miracle, really, that she hasn’t called him out on it yet. He watches, mesmerized, as she hands him half of the bun.
‘So…’ She starts after biting down a piece of hers.
‘So…’
‘There’s something I wanna talk about with you.’
Right. His heart is beating out of his chest, and he feels nauseous. Looking down at his makeshift sandwich, he freezes. Does peanut butter expire? Is he experiencing the early stages of food poisoning?
Maybe he’s having a heart attack. Maybe MJ’s going to tell him to back off. Either way, the band-aid has to come off.
She’s looking straight ahead, careful not to meet his eyes.
‘I was wondering.’
‘Yes?’
She pauses for what must be a second, but definitely stretches over time, leaving him a nervous wreck.
‘Doyouwannadancewithme?’
Oh so, that ’s what a heart attack feels like.
‘What?’
She clenches her jaw, staring down at her half-eaten toast.
‘I said, do you want to dance with me?’
He must be dreaming. He pinches himself. The good thing is, it doesn’t hurt. The bad thing is, that doesn’t help him.
‘You mean like, now?’
She exhales, loudly, closing her eyes before standing up.
‘ Nevermind, this was a stupid idea.’she says, dusting imaginary breadcrumbs off her sweater.
‘No, wait! I-Yes. Please.’
She turns to him, and he does his best to smile earnestly, his hand tugging on the hem of her sweater. He hopes he looks cute, because that’s what he’s going for.
She stands there, staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face, and he can feel his stomach make a turn with each one of her breaths.
Her fingers slide into his.
‘You’re an idiot.’
‘Yes, Ma’am.’
They’re dancing, if you can call barely moving to the tune of Last Christmas dancing. His head is pressed against hers, one hand on the small of her back, the other one holding hers.
It’s funny how, from up close, she doesn’t seem so tall. Sure, her cheekbone is set against his eyebrows, but he wouldn’t trade places for anything in the world.
The moment is perfect. He can feel if, the energy radiating between them, the world holding its breath before one of them takes a leap of faith.
She lets her nose brush against his, and he’s sure he’s never wanted to kiss anyone more in his life. He tenses up.
‘You’re a terrible dancer.’she whispers.
‘Oh, is that what we’re doing? I thought we were just standing way too close to each other.’ He half-jokes, and she tilts her head, eyes squinting.
‘You sound nervous. Am I making you nervous?’
‘What, no! I mean, yeah… Maybe?’
This is a big change. At this point, he’s about eighty percent sure MJ likes him. Like-likes him. And he’s a hundred percent certain he’s in love with her.
MJ gently places her head on his shoulder, and he closes his eyes, heart humming.
‘Is that better?’ She asks.
‘Yeah.’
‘Good.’
They stand there for a while, the floor below them pulsating with what seems like a hundred teenagers dancing their hearts off. It doesn’t really matter.
They’re two slow dancers in the dark.
‘I really like you.’ he breathes against her.
‘I know.’she smiles.
He could reply with a quip, or another question.
Instead, he just kisses the top of her hair, and when she lifts her head up, he doesn’t hesitate.
Sometimes, when the winds get too strong, and he feels like he’s losing his step, he exhales slowly and enumerates the things he knows to be true.
He’s five foot eight. May’s favorite color is mustard yellow. Ned’s his guy in the chair, and MJ is the most incredible girl he’s ever met.
He’s not good with change.
But when they kiss, it doesn’t feel new, or scary.
It feels like coming home.
The bell rings thirty seconds before the clock hits three.
Around him, a sea of other kids are running around, hurrying over to extracurriculars or hiding under the bleachers.
There’s something comforting about the familiarity of it all, like he could close his eyes and accurately predict what the rest of his school day would be like.
Ned will be the first face he sees when stepping through the doors of the gym, and MJ the close second.
His friend will flash him one of his toothiest smiles, and MJ a slightly smaller, but infinitesimally more nerve-wracking one.
Abraham won’t notice him even as Peter takes the chair next to him, Cindy will nod, and Flash will give him the finger.
Betty will push her hair out of her shoulders before announcing the order of the day, which, much like its occupants, will not vary a lot from one session to another.
He won’t listen, distracted by the fact that once again, MJ will be sitting in front of him, sketching in her notebook, and his leg will invariably jump up and down as he tries not to notice her looking at him.
Then, when no one’s looking, she’ll stretch out her hand on the table, and he’ll reach out for it.
She’ll smile when their fingers brush against each other.
Some things stay the same.
Some things are different.