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Having freshly climbed through her window not even two minutes ago, Peter Parker continues to stand as still as a statue in the middle of MJ Jones' room.
They had only exchanged a currency of three words through these past two minutes and counting.
Two of them were from her, startled, as she closed her book and got up from her bed.
You okay?
One of them was Peter's.
No.
Her mind has been running a mile a second, taking him in: he's been staring blankly at the floor, his hair in wet ringlets, hanging loose in front of his nose and dripping on the carpet. He has a cut on his left cheek, and blood stained from the cut dragged diagonal to his mouth, as if he had tried to wipe it away.
The green light of her lava lamp on her side desk makes it look more horrific than it probably is.
She swallows.
The only sound was the rain drumming against the now closed window pane, and the sputtering of the incessant AC.
Then after a solid thirty seconds of tense silence she blurts, unsure.
"You wanna watch a movie or something?"
It takes another ten for Peter to finally clear his throat. He shivers and sniffs, already making his way toward MJ's bed, "Yeah, yeah. That - That sounds good."
"Whoa, hold it there, cowboy." She slings an arm over his shoulders and turns him toward her bathroom. He gives her a quizzical look over his shoulder. A question. She stops. "You're soaked, dude. I'm not gonna have you laying on my bed wet. I just cleaned these sheets. And besides," she adds, now stepping away and rummaging through her Peter drawer. "You'll feel comfier in PJ's anyways."
Ever since they started dating, she realized he had a really bad habit of having a change of clothes while he was gallivanting through the city. There was more than one occasion where he would call his aunt, Ned, or her, begging to pick up clothes from home or to borrow theirs. There had been way more than one occasion where Peter had donned MJ's or Ned's hoodies, jackets, sweats, you name it. Then, the Peter drawer was born.
"Where did you even get this?" Peter had said the first time she threw one of his own hoodies at him.
Her face was turned, busying herself with rummaging through the drawer to hide her blush. "I have my sources," was all she said.
In actuality it was just MJ stealing clothes from Peter's closet when she would spend the night doing school projects with him. With mid-terms just last month it had grown exponentially.
Though now, as he stands with the halo of the bathroom light behind him. Something of a smile ghosts his lips. His voice raw. Touched. "Okay. Thanks, MJ."
She throws his clothes at him, a light action to dispel the heaviness of his words. He catches them with ease. "No problem. Anything for you to stop dripping all over my carpet." A teasing lilt in her voice.
With those words he quickly looks down at himself, as if realizing just how soaked he is.
"Oh, jeez." He mumbles, as he quickly skirts back towards the bathroom. "Sorry, MJ."
She shrugs, a small chuckle sighs through her mouth. “Peter. I’m teasing. I don't actually care that there's water on the carpet. It’ll dry.”
He shakes his head, as if that suddenly just occurred to him. Confuzzled. "Yeah, yeah. Right. Sorry, I was just -"
"There's no reason to apologize."
He bites his lip then, to hold another apology back, she's sure. God, she knows that's what that is. They've had this same conversation at least six times in the past two weeks. He would apologize for the most random things that would fall in (mostly) three categories.
1) When he's speaking about his passions.
"Sorry for talking so much."
2) When they accidentally start talking at the same time.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to talk over you. You go."
3) When they even accidentally bump shoulders or shoes.
"Sorry."
She had stopped him three weeks ago when it was the case of number one, looked him in the eye and said: "There's no reason for you to apologize. The reason to apologize is if you hurt or upset someone, which I can assure you Peter, you've done neither. And besides," she added, as she bumped his shoulder sheepishly. "I like to hear you talk."
He had shrugged, taking a sudden interest in the sidewalk then, his ears red. "I thought I was just annoying you."
She shook her head as she stared at his profile. His freckles splayed on his cheeks. "You weren't."
Now she simply narrows her eyes at him as he stands in the bathroom doorway.
"You're-You're right. I'm -"
He presses his lips together, catching himself, before slowly saying. "I'm gonna go shower, be out soon."
She nods, approving. "Okay."
He nods. "Okay."
With that he shuts the door.
-
She's read two and a half pages of her book when she hears the faucet turn off. He was in there for a while, but she’s not gonna lie, seeing him like that made it hard to concentrate. She doesn't look up as she hears him start to clunk around her bathroom, surely rifling through the first aid kit. She notes it's the seventh first aid kit she had to replace in the past month.
She's used to hearing the hisses of pain and seeing the limps and winces as he would crawl in her bed only to be forgotten about by morning. There would be a lot of times when she would offer to help, and for the most part he allowed her. But there would be some days when she would knock on the door in worry, and with a strained voice he would beg her not to come in.
She could tell it was one of those times. And during those fleeting times, she felt a war rage in her chest. Part of her wanted to storm in there and patch him up herself, reassure him that he's not alone. To kiss his forehead and hold him close.
But the other half knew that that closed bathroom door was the only thing that was keeping him together. She knew it was his own twisted idea - illusion of what control was. That if she didn't have to see his pain, she didn't have to ache for him. To hurt for him. In his head, he already caused so much pain and she knows he never wants to add to that if he can help it. She knows that Peter is hard on himself and expects nothing but the best, and she also knows that the more people know about him the more potential danger they could be in.
But sometimes, MJ can't help but wonder if it was the consistent scratches and bruises that wear Peter down, or if it was the expectation of what he should be.
Just as the thought enters her mind, she hears the knob twist.
(She knew it was the latter.)
She quickly props herself up on her bed, popping her laptop open and begins to scroll through Putlocker (MJ doesn't endorse subscription-based streaming sights).
She feels the edge of her bed dip. She looks over her screen.
"Hey."
"Hey."
"How was your shower?"
"Good."
"You didn't use all the hot water, did you?"
He scoffs a little, now recognizing her teasing tone. "Oh yeah, used all of it."
She smiles, and kicks at him. "Oh, shut up."
He clenches his teeth as her foot makes contact with his side.
She immediately bolts up, her laptop forgotten on the bed as she hovers over him. "Oh shit, Peter. I'm so sorry. It was out of habit, I wasn't thinking, I - I -"
Her hands hover, not quite touching him, at a loss for what to do. He's already endorsed so much pain, and she just added on to that, she -
"Shit Peter, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Shit, shit, shit, I’m sorry I -"
He grabs her hand. "Hey." He swallows thickly, his voice weak, "It's okay. You're fine, MJ. It's fine."
She shakes her head. "No, it's not. It’s not fine. You came here to feel safe, not for me to . . . I don't know, cause you even more pain."
She doesn't even realize she's crying until she feels his thumb graze her cheek. She sniffles and looks away. It takes a moment for her to find words. "God, this is so embarrassing. How do I even call myself a good girlfriend when I'm supposed to be the one comforting you and all I'm doing is -"
"Hey, hey, hey." He whispers, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. "I won't tolerate this slander, okay?” A light smile grazes his lips, the grimace of pain long forgotten. “You're a great girlfriend."
She scoffs and rolls her eyes. "Sure. A great girlfriend that just kicked the shit out of you."
Peter just shakes his head, laughing lightly, "You are. For real."
She small smile tugs at her lips. "'For real'?"
He nods, deadly serious. "Yes. For real." He cups her face in his hands. "Don't you ever doubt that, okay? You're - You're amazing, MJ."
She can’t help but feel her heart stutter at the sincerity of his words. Knowing Peter, he probably heard it too, but if he did, he doesn’t comment. In the next moment all she knows is that his face is close. So close, and then his lips are moving against hers.
When they pull away, her forehead rests against his, and she can’t help but feel tears still welling in her eyes. Her breath is shaky against his lips.
She covers her face with her hands, “Shit, Peter, I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me, I just –“
She feels him shake his head. “MJ, hey, really it’s okay.”
Her hands still cover her face.
“Hey, look at me. Look at me.”
She sniffles behind her hands but finally raises her face. He holds her hands to his chest. She feels his heart beat thump behind his skin.
He smiles softly and shakes his head slightly as if he can’t believe it. “You don’t have to apologize, okay? I’ll heal quick, I’m fine.”
MJ can’t help but protest, “But –“
Peter presses a finger to her lips. “No buts.” Then boops her nose. “Look who’s telling who not to apologize now, huh?”
All she can do is roll her eyes in return, but she doesn’t look away.
“God, you’re such a sap, Peter.”
He shrugs, as if that never occurred to him. “Just ‘calling it like I see it, MJ’, as your beloved aunt would say.”
MJ groans as she leans back, and Peter follows her.
“Oh, God. Don’t remind me.”
-
When MJ introduced Peter to her aunt, she didn’t mention that he was her boyfriend. She simply said they were lab partners and that was that. However, like aunt like niece, her aunt was, if not more, preceptive, than MJ. It was a silly notion, really. To think that she could outsmart her aunt, or even just ignore the very possibility that she would know.
It’s not that she didn’t want her aunt to know, it’s just she’d rather not have any type of Talk regarding a boyfriend. She’s read the pamphlets and took the health class (not that the health class was much help).
However, one night after Peter left late cause they were working on a project, MJ stepped into the kitchen to find her aunt washing dishes from dinner.
“Oh, hey. I didn’t know you were still up.”
Her back was to MJ. “When were you gonna tell me, ‘Chelle?”
MJ gave her a look as she picked up a dish from the sink and began washing, “Tell you what?”
Her aunt didn’t look away from the pot she was scrubbing, but a sly smile lifted her mouth. “About that boyfriend of yours. He’s cute.”
MJ couldn’t help but let her mouth fall open. “What? Pshh, no. He’s not -, that’s ridiculous, where did you even come –“
She stopped scrubbing the pot and put a hand on her hip. One eyebrow raised.
“Just calling it like I see it, MJ.”
Oh shit, she caught me, MJ thought. No one in her family called her that.
“Okay . . yeah.” MJ gulped. “He is. My boyfriend, I mean.”
She nodded. A shit-eating grin on her face. “Oh, I knew it! I knew it! I knew it!” She gave a hearty laugh.
“But also,” MJ defended, “I wanna make it clear, my friends call me MJ too, it’s not just him.”
But she just smiled.
MJ had told Peter the next day that her aunt now knew they were dating (but she omitted to mention the three hour talk that commenced afterward). She remembered Peter perking up at that. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.”
Peter nodded. “Cool.”
MJ only revealed later how her aunt found out. Peter had felt very apologetic afterward, MJ just rolled her eyes and took his hand in hers.
-
A silence has grown between them as she regards him now. His right cheek pressed to her stomach, eyes were still red and puffy, but the cut on his left cheek is healing and surely would be gone by morning. His eyes shift to her desk.
“What book are you reading?”
MJ stretches her arm and grabs the book. “I don’t know, something for class. It’s kind of boring. Why?”
“Oh,” Peter hesitates, voice unsure, “I was just wondering, could you, uh . . .”
MJ looks at him. “Yeah?”
He swallows roughly, his voice small. “Read it to me?”
MJ doesn’t hesitate. “Sure. Here, actually,” she says, “let me sit up, and you can lay on my lap . . . if you want,” she adds hastily as she sits up.
Peter does in fact take her up on the offer. The back of his skull presses against her thigh.
As he settles, he shivers. “I forgot how cold you always have it in here.”
She shrugs. “You know I can’t stand the heat; I can never sleep when it’s hot.” She takes a breath, then frowns as she looks down at him. “You really want to hear me read? You don’t want to uh, I don’t know, watch a movie or do something else?”
“No, I’m good.” Peter opens his eyes as he looks up at her. He nudges her thigh with his shoulder. “Besides,” he says, “I like to hear you talk.”
MJ can’t help but blush at hearing those echoed words. But with her face hidden behind the book, she saves face and scoffs, flicking him on the forehead. “You’re such a dork.”
He makes a face, barely reacting to the offense.
You’re a dork, Peter wants to reply, but the only thing that comes out is a slurred. “Your – dork.”
MJ can’t help but laugh a little. “You ready, dork?”
He nods, eyes already drooping. He thought of speaking, too heavy. “Mm-hmm.”
He doesn’t even realize he’s asleep before the first words even fall out of her mouth.
-
He wakes up and it’s warm. He feels limbs wrapped around him, and for a split second he thinks that he’s under attack, that someone is trying to choke him out. But quickly his ‘Peter Tingle’ alerts him that that’s not the case. That the heart beating next to him is MJ’s, and that no one is out to get him. At least for now.
But fuck, it’s hot. The body heat radiating from the body next to him just amplifies it. It was in the middle November. The cold from the night would be seeping into the building, the temperature in MJ’s room always a chilling sixty something -
He licks his lips. Gah, gross. His mouth felt like sandpaper. He takes a deep breath and wipes building sweat from his forehead.
“Jesus,” he mumbles as he untangles himself and sits up, careful not to startle MJ as he slips from the bed to get a glass of water. The room consumed in darkness as he fumbles to the kitchen. He stumbles and opens the cupboard and takes one of the glasses. As he holds it underneath the tap, he cocks his head. “That’s weird.” He mumbles to himself. “Ms. Jones must’ve gotten new glasses.”
He doesn’t think twice about it as he takes a sip. The water oddly warm, but he’s so thirsty he doesn’t think twice about it.
He makes his way back to the room slowly, the floorboards barely creaking under his feet. Careful not to wake up MJ, she was a really light sleeper.
He was never too worried about Ms. Jones though, as far as he was concerned, she could sleep through a hurricane.
As he opens the door to MJ’s room the next thing he sees is a blood stain on the window and MJ passed out cold on the carpet.
He hears glass shatter on the floor, and the next thing he knows he’s at her side.
“MJ?!”
From the light from the window he can see blood had caked the side of her face and stained her hair. He shakes her shoulder and kneels close to her face. “MJ, hey. Wake up. Wake up, wake up, please.”
The streetlight looming from the window blinks out. He looks up and sees a figure backlit, floating in the window.
Raw fear shoots through his veins. The words fall out of his mouth on their own accord. “Mysterio?!”
His face is clouded as he hovers through her window as if it wasn’t there at all.
Hello, Peter .
Peter gulps as he stumbles back.
Long time, no see, huh?
“Peter?” a voice croaks. He looks down to see a figure on the floor reach out to him. MJ. That. That was MJ. Right?
And then the figure launches forward, like a twisted jack in the box, inches away from his face screamed the distorted face of Ned.
He screams back. His throat raw. A laugh circles around him. Shadows slide across the room. The room is empty.
Oh, Peter. Mysterio sighs, green smoke now beginning to billow around him.
Mysterio appears from the thick fog of green smoke, hovering just above the ground. Peter feels a harsh weight on his chest. He can’t get up, he can’t stand, he can’t fight.
He uses all his strength to just push back, push away.
Mysterio swims through the air toward him, Peter panics, pushing his hands and feet against the floor. Away, away. Away.
His back hits the wall. He’s trapped. He can’t move. He can’t move.
Mysterio catches up to him with ease, no rush as he hovers around him. His swirling helmet now the only source of light.
Peter. Peter. Peter. He tsks, seeming unimpressed.
He shuts his eyes, trying to control his breathing, trying to control his damned ‘Peter Tingle’, just something -
He feels fingers underneath his chin.
You’re just a scared little kid. You can’t even face me.
Suddenly a face begins to emerge from the clouds of the helmet.
Peter can’t breathe.
You never learn, do you?
The last thing he sees is the face of Tony Stark.
-
There was another category of apology that MJ doesn’t count. Because in moments of Peter trembling in her arms, her lap, barely able to breathe, it’s all he can manage to say.
Apologies.
He chokes them out, his voice barely a hoarse whisper. He mumbles it in her shoulder, holding her tight to his trembling form.
With a heavy heart she knows for the most part that those apologies aren’t for her. They’re for the people he’s lost, the people he’s convinced he let down, for the people in the echo of the nightmare he just dragged himself out of.
All she can do in these times is hold him.
And that’s what she’s doing now.
Her hand combs through his hair, the other wound firmly around his back.
He murmurs incoherently, his wet face mushing against her neck. His shaking hands latching tightly on the back of her shirt.
Silence consumes them for a long time before she feels Peter finally take a big breath.
“You’re with me, you’re with me.” She repeats, not sure if he’s even hearing her as she rubs his back. She swallows, trying to keep her voice sound as she takes a breath. “I was reading that boring book to you,” he emits something of a chortle, she smiles, “and,” she pulls back, finally taking a good look at him. “I totally, like kicked the shit out of you earlier, remember?”
He takes a shaky breath, a glimpse of a smile, and nods. “Yeah. I remember.”
She holds his face delicately in her hands. She smears his remaining tears from his cheeks. The cut barely a scab now. He leans into her hand unthinkingly, pressing his lips to her left palm. Even after four months of dating the sudden boldness still takes her off guard.
He then takes another breath, then hastily rubs his eyes with his hands. “God, I’m sorry, MJ.”
MJ sighs softly. “Peter –“
Peter tenses. “Oh, no. I wasn’t supposed to say that was I? Sorry – gah! This all is just kind of really confusing, I just – “
“Peter, I-“ she swallows, biting her tongue. “If it helps,” she whispers, trying again, the words foreign on her tongue. “I forgive you.”
He stills.
Then his lips begin to tremble.
The silence is deafening, and all MJ wants to do is shake him by the shoulders and scream. To not be so hard on himself. That it’s unfair that he has to carry all this weight on his shoulders.
He opens his mouth as if to say something, but all that comes out is a shaky exhale.
“I forgive you. Okay?” MJ tries again tearfully, wanting him to truly hear her. Without hesitation, she now bundles him up in the blankets, and pulls him toward her. His body seeming more malleable than putty, as his face sinks into her shoulder. Peter mostly sitting in her lap now as she slowly begins to rock them back and forth.
“I forgive you, I forgive you, I forgive you,” she whispers. And somehow Peter still has more tears to offer. But she’ll say it, she’ll say it as many times as it takes for Peter to believe her.
-
He finally settles an hour after that. No more words exchanged between them as MJ wraps her arms around Peter’s middle, her face buried in his neck. Feeling bold, she presses her lips to his nape. As she does so, she feels him melt against her touch.
Peter’s voice breaks the silence. She feels his voice vibrate through his bones. Soothing.
“Wanna watch a movie tomorrow?”
MJ yawns. “Yeah, that sounds good.” She feels him reach for her hand, as he does, he pulls her arm toward his chest. She feels his lips press against her knuckles. Their fingers interlocked and resting on his sternum.
The last thing she feels before falling asleep is his heart beat. That is, until she feels Peter’s leg suddenly jolt, nailing her in the shin.
MJ doubles over. “Oh, shit!”
Peter twists around, mouth agape as he reaches toward her. “Oh, MJ! Are you okay? Are you hurt? I’m so –“ he suddenly stops himself.
In the wrought of exhaustion and all-around-feeling-bad-ness Peter had felt in the past twelve hours she could understand his confusion. But that doesn’t stop her as she narrows her eyes, her mouth turned in a grimace.
They both nod, MJ in expectation and slight annoyance, Peter in understanding.
“Sorry,” they say at once.
“Good,” MJ huffs good-naturedly. Then she punches him in the arm.
“Ow!”
“You better be.”