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The First Time
“Stop! I’m ticklish!” MJ squeals, and Peter grabs her face and laughs into the kiss.
Although kissing is a very common, very frequent activity in their relationship, she never feels the urge to blurt out her feelings then. Sure, the feel of his lips make her dizzy and his soft hair between her fingers causes butterflies to surge through her stomach, but a good make-out session, she knows, is not the best thing about being Peter Parker’s girlfriend.
“You taste like bacon,” he comments, and she tries to shove him away, “Asshole.”
He pulls her back for more. She smiles against his lips.
When they pull apart, he asks her something over their little picnic on the roof of a skyscraper, enjoying the sun as it disappears in the horizon.
“What’s the best thing about being your girlfriend?” she repeats, still feeling a little woozy from his kiss.
He nods excitedly, “I bet it’s that I’m Spider-Man, and I can take you stories high and get you the best seats in the city for this gorgeous view!”
Peter turns to the colorful, darkening sky, painted with light dusty clouds and gestures with his arms open wide. She can’t help but agree about the view, but for the rest of the date MJ keeps her gaze on him, thinking yeah, she can get used to a view like this. After they finish their sandwiches and Cheetos Puffs, down the last of the Dr. Pepper and conclude their discussion about the season finale of Game of Thrones, MJ wraps her legs around his waist, and Peter lowers them to the ground. With a picnic basket in one hand and her hand in his other, they walk the rest of the way home.
He talks too much, MJ notes, as they pass by another deli, and Peter continues his rant about a new video game he and Ned are playing. His voice is a little high too, she realizes, listening to him imitate the sound effects of the lasers and guns that killed off his player last night. However, as talkative and as curious as Peter is, when they reach her building, he refrains from asking about her parents or wondering aloud if anybody is home. He simply kisses her goodnight and waits until she’s safely inside, closing the door behind her.
And she kind of loves him for it.
The realization scares her. It scares her so much that an hour later, when her phone blares Peter’s ringtone of “Umbrella”, she jumps like the sound electrocutes her; and maybe it did. Maybe everything about Peter Parker electrifies her in every way possible. Quickly, MJ decides that although she has grown fond of him, she is absolutely not fond of electrocution. Therefore, when the call goes to voicemail, she switches her phone to Do Not Disturb for the rest of the night.
This, she discovers the following morning, was probably not her brightest decision considering Peter’s anxiety and his history of losing the people he cares about.
“MJ!” the voice of a worried teenage boy carries over the usual, chaotic Monday noise of slamming lockers and morning announcements with Jason and Betty. She whirls to see her boyfriend making a bee-line towards her with Ned running and struggling to keep up behind him, pushing through the heavy crowd of Midtown high schoolers. She swears she can feel the electricity humming around her, waiting to shock her again, but instead of lightning bolts from Thor, the God of Thunder himself, it is Peter Parker when he reaches out to touch her.
“Are you okay? Are you hurt?” he holds her at arm’s-length, surveying and examining her body for bruises, scratches, or any signs of harm. Without warning, he opens her sweater and gently presses against her shirt around her stomach, watching her face to catch her if she winces. MJ squirms under his gaze. His eyes scan and study her, taking in every detail and just seeing her. Like, really seeing her. It takes everything not to break away from his hold. Once Peter is satisfied with the physically unharmed state of his girlfriend, he allows his eyes to find hers again.
She tears hers away, yanking the cord, yet the electricity is still pulsing.
“I was so worried!”
MJ detects distress in his voice as she pretends to be interested in the contents of her locker. She picks up her French textbook and flips through it, except nothing but Peter’s words register in her mind.
“When you didn’t answer my call, I called again ten more times, but they kept going straight to voicemail. I thought maybe your phone died, and I should call your landline. Then, I realized I don’t even know the number to your apartment. But I was also like, wait, you can just charge a dead phone. So then I wondered, Well, what if her phone didn’t die? Maybe she blocked my number or something, but I was like, no, you wouldn’t do that. There’s no way! So I figured, best case scenario you turned off your phone or put it on Do Not Disturb-”
Bingo, she wants to say but knows she will not get the chance. Peter has yet to take a breath, and this could go on for a while.
“But, of course, my brain started coming up with worst case scenarios, and I was worried because what if your phone died and something happened? Like you were kidnapped? Or someone broke into your apartment, and you were trapped hiding in your closet!” His eyes grow bigger, and his voice peaks higher with every word he says, “Or worse! What if someone broke into your apartment and was holding you hostage? And they had like guns and stuff?”
Peter finally sucks in a breath, and she takes the chance to look at him. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, and his normally gently swept hair oddly sticks out like someone’s been feverishly running their hands through it. Usually those hands are hers but not this time. A lump grows in her throat. The guilt starts to seep in. Instinctively, her hand reaches to caress his cheek, and she watches Peter lean into her palm, relaxing underneath her touch.
Ned lets out a soft, “Aw,” at the sight, and her eyes dart to him. The moment is over. She completely forgot they are not alone.
Peter sighs and reaches up to grip her hand on his face, “In the least creepy way possible, I swung by your place last night to check on you.”
Their classmates passing them in the hallway who might happen to overhear probably do not realize that he literally meant swing by.
“But your curtains were drawn, so I couldn’t see you. The spider in me didn’t detect any threats, so I figured you were fine,” he lowers his voice, “But the boyfriend in me... still worried.”
His voice is steadier, eyes less frantic, and he’s breathing normally, so that’s a good sign. However, MJ recognizes that look in his eyes. The boy she likes is a worrier. Always has been. He’s constantly carrying some kind of weight upon his shoulders. She wishes she could take all of that load off. Maybe carry it for him. Then, she realizes what her wish means.
As soon as the thought arises, she snatches her hand away from his face. The electricity struck her again, and although she was aware of its presence, the shock still managed to catch her off guard.
Could she be any more obvious?
“MJ?” Peter starts, fully attentive to her jumpy state, “What happened? Are you okay?”
I think I love you, and it scares me.
She shakes away the urge, pushing her feelings down into the pits of her stomach. No, not now. Not like this. She’s not ready for them to come up through her throat and out like word vomit.
“I’m fine,” eyes pleading with him to drop it, “I’m just really tired, and I had too much espresso this morning. You know how it is.”
If he knows she’s lying, he doesn’t say it. It seems to dawn on him that these walls MJ built around herself are too high for even Spider-Man to scale, so he backs off. Peter steps away, out of her reach, and takes in his surroundings for the first time that day. The air around the two of them is practically sucked out, and Ned awkwardly excuses himself. MJ can’t say she blames him. Suddenly, it became difficult to breathe. Slowly, she closes her locker and carefully eyes the boy staring down a trash can across the hallway and chewing on his lip.
“Hey,” she tries to break him out of his daze, “Peter?”
He whips his head at the sound of her voice, eyes wide and startled out of a trance, “Huh?”
“Wanna walk to class together?”
As if on cue, the bell rings. MJ holds out her hand, willing for him to hear what she doesn’t dare tell him.
He meekly nods, “Of course,” and laces their fingers together.
The Second Time
It takes a week for the air to fully return. It feels light and fresh, and Peter leaves a granola bar in her locker with a handwritten note on torn loose leaf.
Good luck on your AP exam! See you at lunch.
MJ grabs the snack and rips open the wrapper. She forgot to eat breakfast this morning and instead was too busy rummaging through her things to make sure she had everything she needed for the exam. Food had completely slipped her mind, and Peter must have known she would think of everything except basic nutrition. She bites into the bar, feeling her hungry stomach start to settle down. Still, her heart flutters.
At eleven o’clock, she finds a lonely corner at the back of the library, behind tall bookshelves and away from the noisy printers, and buries her head into her exam preparation book. The nerves nauseate her, clouding her mind and convincing her that she is anything but prepared. Reviewing will help calm the nerves, she tells herself.
AP season has the library littered with students, stress radiating off of every single one of them. On every table lies a pack of number two pencils and those high quality, latex free white erasers (also known as the best erasers). And at every outlet, laptops and TI-84s are plugged in and charging. MJ is no different.
At fifteen minutes past eleven, her stomach growls. Skipping lunch has its disadvantages, one being the dirty looks she got from the neighboring table, as if they can silence her stomach with their hard glares. Hunger cripples her again, but so does anxiety and nausea. Would she rather eat and throw up or skip a meal and starve? MJ hates the smell of vomit, so she stays put in the library.
Nearby, someone aggressively taps away at their keyboard, and MJ is briefly distracted and imagines them punching out an emotionally driven letter of resignation quitting their after school job at the supermarket. She thinks she should really get a job and earn some cash to pay for a prom dress and prom tickets. Then, she stops and realizes something. Are she and Peter even going to prom?
One of her pencils rolls off of the table and breaks her out of her thoughts, so she bends down to retrieve it. At that exact moment, a pair of sneakers decides to come into view, and as she grips the pencil, she thinks she recognizes those sneakers from somewhere.
“Hey, MJ!”
With a start, she bolts upright and bangs her head underneath the table.
“Shit!” she curses, and a chorus of Shhhhhh! erupts throughout the library. The death glares burn through her skin.
“I’m so sorry,” Familiar Sneakers frantically apologizes, “I’ve always had really bad timing, and I didn’t mean to scare you. Are you okay?”
They kneel down in front of her and delicately hold her head in both hands. Despite the pain, MJ smiles as she comes face-to-face with brown eyes and fluffy hair, “I think you gave me a concussion.”
His face drops, “Oh no, really?”
She giggles, “I’m kidding. You just took me by surprise that’s all.”
Peter came to share his lunch. At first, she refuses. The nausea is still prominent and eats away at her stomach as the clock gets closer to two o’clock. But then, Peter twists open his thermos and a familiar smell itches at her nose: spaghetti with meatballs cooked by Aunt May. One of the only meals his aunt can cook pretty well. He knows she can’t resist.
The red sauce stains both of their lips, and Peter accidentally spills some on his perfect white t-shirt.
MJ snorts, “May is gonna kill you.” Peter groans.
As a snack, he takes out a case of celery sticks and carrots, and immediately she reaches for them. She steals one from his hand and smirks when she pops it in her mouth.
“I was going to give some to you anyway,” he rolls his eyes as she steals some more.
With her mouth full, she manages a smile, “Thanks for this. And for my breakfast.”
He winks, “I always got you.”
When he holds two celery sticks between his teeth and pulls the most ridiculous face she has ever seen, her heart swells. Her skin heats up. He’s such a dork. One of them falls from his mouth as he sticks his tongue out. Before she knows it, she races to catch her words from slipping.
I love you.
“Nerd,” she quips instead, fighting back the blood rushing to her face as she says it.
Peter wiggles his eyebrows, “Your nerd.”
Although MJ scrunches her face in disgust, she reaches below the table and finds his hand, squeezes it.
“Ew, your hands are sweaty,” he teases, but he intertwines their fingers nonetheless. He’s sweet to her, she notes, but she knows that is not the best thing about dating Peter Parker. He grins at her, a silly kind of grin, yet still she swoons.
She thinks it just might be everything about him.
At two o’clock, she takes her AP exam. All that anxiety built up finally dissipated once she picked up her pencil and started the test; her hunger and nausea gone. When she’s finished, she treats herself to some chocolate and vanilla ice cream on the way home and admires the bright sunny day. The air feels like spring, and the ice cream melts on her tongue and drips down her hands. Her palms get sticky, but the stickiness does not stop her from grabbing her phone and texting Peter that she’s done with her exam. He sends back a picture from Spongebob with an abundance of hearts dotted all over. It’s stupid, embarrassing even, but her heart skips.
Later that night when she lies in bed, MJ calls and tells him she thinks she got a solid five out of five. She hopes it’s not too egotistical of her to say that.
“Definitely not egotistical,” he assures her, “I knew you would do well. I never doubted you, and you shouldn’t doubt yourself either.”
She can’t stop smiling, and it makes her feel silly. He makes her feel a lot of things, but she tries to bite back her smile. She would never tell him that.
On the wall across from her bed hangs a poster of Captain Marvel that Peter bought and gifted to her last month. She stares at the woman with blinding bright eyes and a glowing aura and imagines herself being just as powerful and as strikingly beautiful.
“I’m awesome,” MJ absentmindedly whispers into the phone.
“Hell yeah you are,” Peter answers.
The Third Time
That Friday afternoon, during her last class of the day, MJ asks to go to the bathroom. She grabs her backpack and rushes to Peter’s locker, skidding across the glossy floors. She’s got five minutes to blow up balloons and hang ribbons on the front before the final bell rings. In exactly one hour, the academic decathlon team departs to Washington D.C. for the national tournament, and Peter’s been preparing non-stop, even after club hours when it’s just him and her in his room. She puffs her cheeks and brings a balloon to her lips. MJ decides that it is her duty as captain of the team and as Peter Parker’s girlfriend to decorate his locker and make him feel appreciated. So, she pushes out a breath and gets to work.
Once class is over, the hallway floods with students as they cascade through the corridors and up and down the staircases. She waits by his dolled up locker, straining her neck to try and spot him through the thick crowd. Unfortunately, she finds Flash, and he finds her. Immediately, he approaches her.
“Aren’t you guys adorable?” he coos as he examines Peter’s locker. She shoves him aside, and he warns her, “Watch it. I bruise.”
Just then, Peter emerges from the crowd with three textbooks in hand. His shoulders are slouched, and he wears a flannel he stole from MJ’s closet. The stress and anxiety for the weekend must have caught up to him, because he’s got a wrinkle in between furrowed eyebrows. But then he lifts his head and meets her eyes next to his festive locker. His face breaks into a smile.
“Are you gonna bail on us this time?” MJ taunts Peter, as he flips off Flash pulling funny faces at him.
“Ha ha. Very funny,” he rolls his eyes.
Peter pulls the locker open, and out spills a dozen yellow and blue balloons. She bursts out in laughter and can’t help but notice that he turns to watch her laugh. She realizes he always does that.
“If you have any Spidey business, you should let me tag along,” she suggests while tapping a balloon and twirling a ribbon, “I throw a mean sucker punch.”
Peter pushes his books inside and hums in amusement, “Sure you do.”
“Yeah, wanna see?”
Before he has time to react, MJ retracts her arm and throws her fist into his abdomen. Not to brag, but she and Peter work out together sometimes. And a little muscle is starting to show in her biceps. He doubles over and cries out in pain. Peter squeezes his eyes shut and falls against his locker, groaning as he clutches his stomach and taking short breaths to calm him down. Several people in the hallway turn to stare at him oddly, and Flash sighs, “It’s like you’re asking for me to bully you,” from a few lockers down.
“Oh my gosh. You're so strong,” Peter chokes out, “That hurt so badly. I think I’m gonna die.”
MJ merely stares at him, unconvinced. The vein on his forehead isn’t even protruding, “That did not hurt at all, did it?”
Just like that, he shoots up, regaining his composure in a split second. Any signs of pain immediately vanish, “Nope, not one bit,” flashing a goofy grin.
“You’re cute,” she comments, grinning back, “I appreciate you for pretending.”
He leans in to peck her on the lips, and close by, Flash gags obnoxiously. Peter motions to the decorations with his hand, “I never took you for the cheesy type.”
“I’m not,” she purses her lips, “But I wanted to do something nice for you before the tournament. You deserve it.”
He blushes.
Gosh, he’s so lame.
“Thank you, MJ,” he shyly answers.
When Sunday rolls around, MJ had successfully led the team through events of objective and subjective tests and into the Super Quiz Relay. Beside her, Ned will not stop bouncing his leg, and on her other side, Flash keeps fiddling with the collar of his jacket. It’s distracting, to say the least, but she forces herself to focus on the voice of the announcer on stage as he reads the questions aloud.
“It’s C,” Ned declares just as Flash insists, “It’s D.”
MJ shakes her head, “No way. The answer is A.”
“The answer is equilibrium curve, so it’s C.”
“Equilibrium curve? That’s a load of bullshit,” Flash spits back, “MJ, press D.”
Ned nearly falls out of his seat when he leans across MJ to get up in Flash’s face, “No, don’t press D, because the answer is C.”
“You are so dumb. It’s obviously D.”
“I’m saying A,” she interrupts and hits the button to silence their bickering. Flash huffs, and Ned crosses his arms in defiance. MJ earns them two points and eventually the whole round.
Peter and two other team members are up for the next round. She watches as his eyes nervously shift around the gymnasium floor, taking in the competition. Thirty-five schools are present in the room, and Midtown School of Science and Technology is only one of them. She can tell that scares him. He buttons his jacket in five seconds, and then unbuttons it in the next seven. Then, he seems to decide that he likes it better buttoned, so he reaches to close his jacket again. MJ can’t watch him like this anymore and puts a hand on his shoulder to pause his movements.
“Hey,” she says, meeting his eyes, “You got this.”
He gulps and nervously twitches his fingers, “Do I?”
“I never doubt you,” MJ repeats his owns words back to him, “So you shouldn’t either.”
She gives him a couple of seconds before he takes a deep breath and exhales. He nods his head and the faintest of smiles finds its way onto his face.
“I’m just really nervous,” he confesses, “I don’t want to screw this up, and let the team down, especially you and Ned.”
The announcer calls from the stage for the next round’s participants to find their seats. A few feet away, Ned and Flash have stepped out into the hallway to buy from the vending machine and are now arguing over which snacks are better. She faintly hears them disagree about the best Dorito flavor.
“That’s not possible, Peter,” MJ shakes her head and looks him over, “Now, go get ‘em, tiger.”
A few hundreds of points later, and the final event of the academic decathlon wraps up. Flash killed it in the speech and interview event, and Ned took the lead with every chemistry question. Peter and MJ bounced off of each other with the mathematics. All of their hard work and months of practicing and reviewing have led them to this exact moment. A hush settles over the gymnasium. The results are in.
“About how many points do we have?” MJ asks the team, to no one in particular.
“I counted roughly in the nine thousands,” Ned answers, “I think we should be top ten at least.”
She sighs. It’s not good enough, “I was hoping for at least top five.”
As the announcer reads off the ten schools with the most points, Peter grips MJ’s hand as she braces herself for the numbers. He pulls her hand to his lips and kisses her knuckles. She will never admit it, but his touch calms her down a little. The tension in her shoulders releases, but she still finds herself holding her breath.
When the announcer gets to the top five schools, and Midtown still hasn’t been called, MJ nervously turns to Ned, “Are we out?”
He shrugs, “I don’t know the exact number. Maybe we didn’t place at all. We could’ve gotten in the low nine thousands.”
She bites her lip, “Please, I hope not.” Peter squeezes her hand.
“In third place, with 9,870 points is Eastfield Health Academy!”
Towards the back of the gymnasium, a group of students erupt into cheers. Flash eyes them in envy. MJ has a dreadful feeling that her team will never be them. It’s fine, really. Her first year as captain will be Midtown’s first year they don’t place. At all. It’s totally fine.
“Coming in second place, with a total score of 9,910 is Phillips School of Biomedical Sciences!”
MJ lets go of Peter’s hand, and instead holds her own, interlocking her fingers and bringing them to rest under her chin. This is it. Their last chance in the top ten slot. Is it naive of her to wish they place first?
Peter bends to squat down, too exhausted to keep standing. She gets it. Whatever happens next could easily knock them off their feet. For good or for bad.
The announcer flips to his next card. The air goes still. Ned’s hand shoots down to hold onto Peter’s shoulder, and he leans against his best friend. Peter places his own hand on top of Ned’s, silently comforting him. MJ stays put, hugs herself, and prays for a miracle. God knows she needs it.
“Finishing in first place, beating Phillips School of Biomedical Sciences by just five points, is this year’s national academic decathlon champion…” the announcer takes the longest, most dramatic pause. Ever. In the history of long and dramatic pauses. MJ pinches herself to refrain from jumping onto the stage and ripping the card out of his hands herself.
He takes a deep breath and then looks into the audience. She freezes. She swears he’s looking straight at her. Then, he flashes that announcer smile of his and with a booming voice, shouts, “Midtown School of Science and Technology!”
No. Freaking. Way.
Peter and Ned collapse into a hug and yell in each other’s faces over the thundering applause. Confetti rains over them, and a spotlight projects onto the team. It blinds MJ’s eyes, making her squint, but that’s okay. That’s more than okay. She imagines there’s a strong gust of wind that blows in and knocks her off balance, because now she’s crumbling onto the bleachers. Losing feeling in her legs. She can’t even hold herself up. The world is spinning, dizzying, and the euphoria catches up to her and rushes to her head. MJ can’t fight the smile that breaks out onto her face. It’s like straight out of a movie.
But then Peter turns to her, and he’s got that proud look in his eyes that makes her heart flutter and her skin tingle. He gives her a smile that can make the whole world stop and stare. And hell, MJ cannot stop staring. He moves towards her, and she feels that she loves him. He presses her into a kiss. She thinks he might know.
Nevermind, scratch that, she was wrong: It’s like straight out of a dream.
The trophy is bigger than her head. She beams at it in her hands and holds it up into the air. Standing with her team on that stage as they pose for their pictures, she feels like she’s on top of the world. Fanfare music. Flashing lights. Deafening cheers. She’s on a high that she never wants to come down from.
Just when she thought she couldn’t get any higher, Peter scoops her into his arms and lifts her into a hug. MJ squeaks in surprise, and he laughs at the sound. She’s happy. So he’s happy. He’s also extremely proud of her, and he won’t let her hear the end of it.
“That’s our team captain!” he cries out in joy, and when Peter brings her back to her feet, she smiles brightly at him.
“And your really smart, super hot girlfriend,” she proudly adds.
He stares at her for a moment, and her pulse beats rapidly. She fears it will beat out of her chest. How he looks at her has such a strong effect on her that it’s completely embarrassing.
“That’s my girl.”
Peter whispered it. Softly. Without a smile. But tenderly, delicately, breathlessly. Like the weight of those words was too much to be said any louder. It only matters for her to hear, and she feels it then. That annoying itch to tell him that she loves him. She wants him to know.
The jump is too far, however, and she is no Spider-Man. So instead, MJ brings the trophy between them and holds it beside her face.
“Face it, tiger,” she flashes a smug smile, and he holds his breath, stunned at how beautifully she glows, “You just hit the jackpot.”
The Fourth Time
Thursday evening, he invites MJ to a rooftop in Manhattan, overlooking the city. He wants to watch the moon with her, Peter confesses. She would love that, she admits. When they arrive, MJ expects to emerge onto a dark roof with nothing but littered cigarettes and bird poop. What she doesn’t expect are bright Christmas lights strung around them in the middle of May and a multitude of rose petals scattering the floor, perfectly spelling out the question, Prom?
She says yes, of course. Her first thought is how good he’s going to look in a tuxedo. No will ever know this, but she has dreams about it.
One week. Only one week to find a dress and possibly get it tailored. One week to buy the right shoes, figure out how to wear her hair, and maybe schedule a nail appointment. But she’s never done this before. Doesn’t know how or where to start. She is clueless when it comes to dress shopping, getting manicures and finding fancy heels, and she also does not have the money to spend. Which is why an hour before midnight, she calls her mom and asks her when she is coming home.
“I’ll be back in three days, Michelle,” she tells her, “Is there an emergency? Do you still have food? You need me to transfer more money into your account?”
No, not exactly, MJ wants to say, It’s just, my boyfriend asked me to prom, and I’d like some advice on what to wear. We can go dress shopping? That would be really nice. You can finally meet Peter too. He wants to get to know you, and I really want you to know him. And how have you been? I miss you. Like, a lot.
But her mom is already speaking to someone else, giving orders to her assistant probably. Asking to fill out paperwork, send out some emails, and fetch her a new cup of coffee. Her mind is far away from where her daughter is, so MJ doesn’t say any of that.
“Yeah, I just need a couple hundred,” and within a few minutes, a notification pops up on her phone about a transfer of two hundred dollars. Her mom never asks what the money's for, but MJ ends up buying a flowing maroon dress and sparkling silver heels.
“We’re wearing maroon,” she tells Peter at school.
He asks excitedly, “Should I wear a bow tie?” and her eyes widen, thinking about how cute he will look, and oh my gosh, “Yes, please.”
When the day of prom finally arrives, Betty invites MJ to get ready with her. Her room is extremely pink, like borderline annoyingly pink, with pillows of every pastel shade known to man, and a small pile of stuffed animals rests on her bed. It smells like a vanilla candle in there. They take turns sitting in front of the mirror to fix each other’s hair. Betty asks for bombshell curls, and after watching a short tutorial on YouTube, MJ heats up the curling wand and tries her best to deliver. To fill the silence, Betty connects her phone to a speaker and plays Taylor Swift for two hours straight. And MJ thinks it’s nice doing all of this with a friend.
“This one,” Betty insists as she waves a deep red lipstick in front of MJ’s face, “This is the one.”
MJ gulps, “But it’s so… bold,” and Betty smiles at that, “Exactly.”
They help each other pull their dresses on and adjust the straps. Then, they take pictures of themselves in the mirror. Their pink and red dresses compliment each other, and Betty insists that they take more photos when they get to the venue. MJ eagerly smiles. Pictures with Midtown’s sweetheart, Betty Brant. She would really like that. Then, her phone rings.
She looks at the call, “It’s Peter.”
Betty smacks a kiss on her cheek and giggles, “He is going to die when he sees you.”
Betty was right.
He does.
Not literally. Obviously. Because they do eventually make it to prom.
But when she and Betty step out of the apartment building and MJ stops to take in how achingly handsome he looks in that maroon tux, Peter slaps a hand to his chest and dramatically faints into Ned’s arms at the sight of her.
MJ rolls her eyes, “You’re such an idiot,” she pulls him upright with ease and checks him out again, “But I’ll forgive you, because your butt looks good in those pants.”
At this, Peter whirls around and tries to get a good look of his own ass, “Wait, for real?”
“Yeah, man,” she nods. She’s really impressed, “I didn’t think you had it in you.”
Off to the side, Betty tucks her hair behind her ears and nervously approaches the other boy playing on his phone.
“Hi, Ned,” Betty shyly smiles and gestures to his blue tux, “You look really nice.”
He looks up at her compliment and awkwardly laughs and adjusts his tie, “Thanks, uh. You too.”
“Do you have a date?” she asks. He shakes his head, “No, you?”
“Nah,” she brushes it off.
Ned nods, “Cool,” and averts his attention back to his phone.
Betty awkwardly looks around and repeats, “Yeah. Cool.”
MJ warily eyes Peter as he pulls a tiny box out from the car and pops open the lid, “What is that?”
“For you. By the way, if it wasn’t obvious before, you look really pretty,” he smiles cheekily and holds out a deep red corsage.
She sticks her tongue out at him when he slides it around her wrist. So what if he thinks she’s really pretty? She already knew that. And she already knew that he knew that. Still, MJ fights back a blush.
“You look pretty too,” and then realizes how weird that might have sounded, quickly adding, “I guess.”
At the venue, they dine on grilled salmon and sip on Shirley Temples. White lights and hundreds of twinkling stars dangle from the ceiling, making everyone and their attire glisten throughout the room. The DJ plays some of the staple throwback songs to get the highschoolers singing along, and suddenly, MJ wants to have a stern talk with whoever was in charge of picking their table. Because Flash and his date arrive forty-five minutes past seven, and he plops down into the seat next to her. Very obnoxiously, to be clear. Peter sheepishly turns to face her glare.
“Sorry, he asked if there was room at our table, and I said yes!”
MJ huffs. She ignores Flash the whole evening.
Sometime in the night, the DJ plays Michael Jackson’s “Pretty Young Thing.” Peter knows exactly how to embarrass her and what makes her tick, because he snaps his head in her direction and sways his hips as he moves toward her. He locks his eyes onto hers and mouths the words, and MJ feels her face burn up as red as her dress.
“You need some loving!” he makes a move to try and dance on her. He looks like an idiot, but she knows he doesn’t care as long as it makes her smile. And it does. She rushes away from him, laughing, “No thanks, I do not.”
He keeps trying to dance with her anyway. Occasionally, she’ll let him twirl her around. It works because whenever she stumbles, he’s there to make sure she doesn’t fall flat on her face.
Some more time passes, and a slow song begins to fill the room. It’s oddly familiar, a soft hum behind the swell of harps, and she’s taken back to when she was a little girl, standing on her father’s toes as they danced around their living room.
Except it’s ten years later, and she’s holding hands and dancing with Peter Parker at a Night Under the Stars. She tells herself that this time it’s different. This time she’s taller than the man in her life, and Peter is really nice to her. So maybe, this time the ending won’t be the same. Hopefully this time, there is no ending.
By now, she’s taken off her heels, so MJ comfortably rests her chin on his shoulder and turns her face away from him. She scans the room with its stars and its lights and thinks of her dad for the entire song.
It’s over as soon as it starts. The song is not even two minutes long, but it was long enough for her to remember the way he loved her. And it was long enough for her to recall how he left her.
First, there were weekly visits. He always had a bright smile on his face whenever she saw him, and it burns in her memory every time she thinks of it. Was his smile real? Was his love real? Was any of it… real? Soon, every week turned into every month, and every month turned into once or twice a year. But it has been four goddamn years since he last visited, and now MJ barely remembers what he looks like. She considers herself lucky if she gets a card on her birthday. Then, she’s reminded that her birthday is only three weeks away.
Without thinking, she breaks away from Peter and rushes outside into the lobby. It’s like she’s Cinderella all over again, but this is not a game of dress-up anymore. She’s just a scared girl, on the verge of her eighteenth birthday, coaxing herself to breathe. The clock is ticking. She doesn’t have much time.
Inhale. Exhale. Stop thinking about it.
Inhale. Exhale. He’ll come rushing out here soon.
Inhale. Exhale. Don’t let him see you cry.
“Hey, are you okay?” Peter runs after her like a knight in shining armor. He sounds worried. Of course, he is. Gosh, he is so predictable.
She struggles to steady her breath. Her plan is falling through and slipping through her fingers. She knows it as soon as she catches his eye.
“What’s wrong?” he immediately asks. There’s no fooling him. He can read her too well. He always has, “What happened in there?”
She almost chokes on her words but manages to stutter out, “The song…” trying to swallow down the lump in her throat, “It reminded me of something. Of someone. It triggered it, and... it won’t stop. I can’t. I can’t stop it. I can’t-”
Something must have changed in her eyes or in her voice, because Peter doesn’t think twice before he pulls her head into the crook of his neck just as she breaks down into tears. Is that his Spidey sense? An expert intuition? He presses his lips against her hair, and she trembles in his arms, shaking with sobs. Maybe he just knows her better than she knows herself.
He drives her home, and after he parks, he looks at her like he doesn’t want to let her out of his sight. She knows he would never forgive himself if he did.
“No one’s home,” MJ informs him. Her mom boarded another plane last night. Another business trip. Another week away from her daughter.
“Where are they?” Peter cautiously asks. He hasn’t asked her that in a while and is unaware of the fact that she has not seen her dad in years.
She shrugs sadly, unsure of how to give a reply without having it sound depressing, “I have no idea.”
There’s no way he’s letting her out of his sight after that answer.
“Can I spend the night?”
It’s the night after prom, and neither of her parents are home. If they wanted to, they could press against the door and kiss each other senseless, tumble onto the sofa, have fun until they’re beat. They could. They really could. There’s a million things they could be doing, she thinks as she watches Peter take his shirt off and climb into her bed.
But this was more intimate.
This was more real.
She’s never felt closer to him than she does now as she buries her head into his neck, and he pulls her close. The silence in her home is deafening, a silence they would usually fill up with curated playlists, flirty teases and laughter as they waste the night away. However, for tonight, all MJ needs is the sound of his pulse against her ears, luring her to sleep.
Just before sleep wins her over, she thinks to pour her heart out and bare her soul. It’s only him. And it shouldn’t scare her, but it does, “Peter? Can I tell you something?”
He shifts underneath her at the seriousness in her voice, “Of course. What is it?”
She takes a deep breath and frustratingly squeezes her eyes shut. Where is the script? What are her lines? How does she tell the boy she loves that this feeling makes her want to run away and never look back?
Please tell me you love me so I know I’m not falling alone.
“My dad left when I was seven,” MJ whispers against his skin instead, “It’s just me and my mom. Well, mostly it’s just me.” Then, she drifts off to dream of a love that promised it would never leave.
The Fifth Time
They don’t talk about last night, mainly because MJ asked him in the morning not to mention it. She’s got Peter wrapped around her finger, always giving her what she wants. So even though he wants nothing more than to talk about it, he pulls back and acts confused, “Mention what?”
Both of them failed to plan anything for prom weekend, neither of them rich enough to go to the Hamptons or the Poconos. So spontaneously they decide to explore boring old Manhattan. Like they always do.
“Let’s go to a museum!” MJ jumps out of bed excitedly and throws open her closet to find an outfit. Peter falls back onto the pillows and satisfyingly watches the hem of her shirt rise up over her bare legs. She’s unknowingly teasing him when she gets on her tiptoes and reaches for a sweater.
“I know you like MoMA, but we’ve been there before. Maybe we can see someplace new,” she bends over and pulls a pair of worn out jeans from the bottom of her closet, “Have you been to the American Museum of Natural History? I really liked it, and it’d be cool to go there together.”
MJ turns around to throw a shirt at Peter’s head and completely misses. She does, however, find him staring at her with a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes, making her self-consciously cross her arms over her chest.
“What are you looking at?” she quirks an eyebrow.
He shrugs like it’s so obvious, “You.”
Peter pulls back the blanket, silently asking her to come back to bed. His hair is deliciously tousled and extra curly in the morning, and his eyes look a little hungry. Her knees get weak.
They don’t do much, only leaving slow, lingering kisses on each other’s lips, necks, and chests. But it’s enough for the two of them, especially when she runs her fingers through his hair and tugs at the roots. Falling into the bed, they tangle their legs together and lose themselves in each other. It’s a good distraction. Focusing on how Peter’s morning voice sounds, whispering sweet nothings in her ear allows her to take her mind off of the night before.
Afterwards, MJ peels her body from his before they end up spending the entire day in bed. “Come on. We’ve got a train to catch.”
Peter sits up and pulls a shirt over the nail scratches on his back.
Once in Manhattan, they spend a couple of hours at the museum and wind up spending forty dollars on matching shirts from the gift shop. Not to be that couple, but they change into those shirts, and disgustingly lean into each other as they stroll around Central Park. They take pictures of each other whenever they can. It’s gross, but MJ doesn’t mind because it’s with him.
At sunset, Peter puts on the suit and takes her up to swing through the city. Usually it takes a lot of convincing to get her to agree to soar hundreds of feet over the busy streets, but today she willingly jumps into his arms and clings to him. In fact, MJ was the one who suggested they swing in the first place.
As always, she screams and has a death grip around Peter’s body. With how tight she’s holding him, she’s not sure how he hasn’t lost all feeling where she’s wrapped around him. But the rush of wind blowing through her hair and curling around her ears is a welcoming feeling. The adrenaline of knowing she can fall to her death at any moment but having the security of a superhero boyfriend allows her to fully enjoy the trip. So this time, MJ keeps her eyes open and takes in the view of New York City as she and Peter fly through the air, covering miles in seconds.
“Do you love it?” she hears him ask as they spin around the corner and jump off the side of one building and onto another.
“I’m not sure if love is the right word!” she screams over the city noise, the irony of the L word not immediately registering in her mind. When it does, MJ hurries to add an afterthought, “But I love that I’m doing this with you!” and she really means that.
It’s hard to breathe, and it’s not just because they’re speeding and diving through the air, skimming the roofs of taxis and barely dodging the traffic lights that they almost collide into… although, those definitely play a part in her loss of breath. But from way up here, the sky looks purple and the sun looks less intimidating, more attainable. Like if she held out a hand, she could reach it. Like if Peter keeps swinging, they would eventually catch up to its dying light. That, in and of itself, takes her breath away.
When the sun is completely gone and nothing but the stars and the moon light up the night sky, Peter brings her back to Queens. He takes her to the roof of her apartment and asks if she wants to watch the moon with him. For real this time. No prom proposal in sight. And MJ says yes, because watching the moon with him sounds really romantic, and maybe its healing powers will summon enough courage for her to finally tell him the three words that have been haunting her for weeks. Maybe.
As if she ever gets the chance.
Five blocks down, a building goes up in flames, and of course, Peter ignores her pleas and abandons her on the roof to swing right into the fire.
I hate him.
Or so she tells herself as she practically catapults down the stairs and out onto the street. MJ curses under her breath and runs and races and sprints until the heat of the fire is close enough to make her sweat. She stops when she reaches the gathering crowd of coughing people and crying children. MJ observes the stretchers and wheelchairs and IV infusions, and suddenly notices the gowns and scrubs that don the people’s bodies. Pushing through, she runs another block and turns right, already knowing what building is waiting just around the corner.
This is good, she tells herself. The best place to be for lightning quick emergency response is a hospital, but something must have gone terribly wrong. Because although most of the building remains unharmed and untouched by the flames, one wing is collapsing into itself, the fire mercilessly eating at the unit where the critically ill goes to get better. MJ knows exactly where Peter is. And fuck, he’s so stupid. Because he’s not a firefighter, he’s not fireproof, and the suit that he chose to wear today is only the spandex one.
She’s not allowed to get any closer, a policeman tells her, so she helplessly watches as the fire grows, silently praying for another miracle.
They should’ve stayed in bed. Why did they decide to do something else instead?
MJ hears the men shouting orders. Something about an electrical fire. Something about cutting the power. Something about killing the oxygen.
“We have to suffocate it,” she hears them say, “We can’t let it breathe.”
They’re talking chemicals and combustion. They’re talking like the ICU is evacuated, like not one living soul is in there anymore.
Then, she realizes with a start. Of course. They can’t hear things like a spider can. They can’t see the things a spider can see. They’re talking like this, because they don’t know. Someone is still in there, so Spider-Man went in to save them.
“You can’t!” MJ hears herself yell at the firefighters before she even knows she’s yelling. They turn to her in confusion, wondering why on earth a teenage girl is screaming at them in the midst of a fire. But the boy she loves is in there. The boy she loves is a hero. She has to save him and let him be a hero.
MJ frantically shakes her head, “It’s too dangerous. Someone is still inside.”
She had their attention before, but this holds it.
“Who?” one of them approaches her, the girl who knows something that can ruin their plan.
She gulps. They’re not going to like her answer, “Spider-Man.”
A sigh. A groan. Someone slaps a hand onto their mask in frustration. “You gotta be shitting me,” under another’s breath.
And then, part of the roof gives in, crashing further into the fire. Everyone’s yelling, because now they know New York City’s treasured superhero is caught in the fire. And everyone knows that Spider-Man is fairly young, but no one but her knows that he’s only a kid. He’s just a kid. Her stomach drops, and she can’t breathe. She can’t breathe. She can’t breathe.
“Fuck you, Parker,” she shouldn’t curse him out when he’s fighting for his life but she can’t help it. MJ hates him, despises him, wants to kill him if the fire doesn’t do the job for her, but fuck, she loves him. She loves him so much it consumes her. And it’s all too much watching the fire consume the building into ashes.
“We have to help him!” someone pleads, but a man who stands taller than the others denies them, “It’s too dangerous. The best we can do is hold back so he can get out as best he can.”
They stay silent. They don’t argue. No one asks, but everyone wonders, Will he get out?
“We can give him two minutes,” the man speaks again, this time only to her, “but after that, we need to put this fire out.”
Something in his eyes tells her that he knows how much this superhero means to her. And it’s with his eyes that he says he’s sorry, because what if Spider-Man can’t get out in two minutes?
Sure, he’s got super strength and all that, but fire is different. Burning is lethal. If he’s not out in two minutes, what will she do? How will she cope? Loving him is scary, but the thought of losing him shakes her to the core and turns her blood cold. It’s terrifying. And how she wishes she can turn back time and rewind to when she first realized her love for him. It was just a simple gesture, a small acknowledgement of her feelings, a blaring ringtone, and his worried voice when she failed to pick up the phone.
Is this how he felt? Did he think she died like his parents, his uncle and Tony Stark did? Was he clutching his stomach and gasping through this dreadful feeling like she is right now, counting down the seconds until the timer is up? Did his imagination get the best of him, imagining her slipping and falling to an unknown abyss where he couldn’t save her? Just like how she can’t save him in this burning, collapsing building? Does he love her?
Of course, he does, MJ scolds herself. Of course.
So she crashes against the brick wall at her back, and surrenders to the fall as she slides to the ground. Thirty seconds, and they have to suffocate the fire. Thirty seconds, and there’s no coming out through the wake of the destruction.
MJ brings her knees to her chest, and the entire crowd of emergency personnel, hospital patients, and scattered onlookers holds their breath as thirty seconds becomes twenty. And twenty turns into ten. Until finally, the ten seconds runs out.
The man looks at her, and he’s so sorry. She realizes that she is too.
The power cuts out, and the entire hospital goes dark. A chill runs down her spine, invading her body, creeping in an unwanted feeling that she never invited, and then, suddenly her face is wet. The night sky is void of clouds, and the firefighters’ hoses aren’t turned on. They’re only tears for Peter Parker and for whoever he had to rescue.
It’s like the universe is playing some kind of sick joke on her, because the moment she bursts into tears, a boy yells, “That was awesome!” and it’s the voice that, ten seconds ago, MJ never thought she would ever hear again.
Just as the rest of the unit caves in, New York’s pride and joy and MJ’s most annoying pest swings past the debris with a younger boy latched around his body. He performs three backflips in the air, putting on a show for the people to see, and the survivor he’s carrying is too happy to be alive to care. The crowd that has gathered around erupts into applause and someone even has the courtesy to whistle when Spider-Man sticks the landing on top of the fire truck. MJ sighs at the sight of him and realizes air has started to fill her lungs again. Her stomach lurches. She thinks she might puke, but in a good way. In the best way.
Spider-Man lowers the boy down into the arms of a medic before saluting the firefighters staring up at him in awe, “Take it away, boys.”
And she has to laugh, so even though she’s crying and her eyes are red, MJ hiccups into uncontrollable laughter. Because fuck you, Parker. I hate you.
He meets her in his room. Aunt May nearly passes out at the burns on his skin, but Peter consoles her by promising they would be gone in a few short days. She still pushes him into a cool bath and shoves a bottle of aloe vera in his hands. MJ helps him lather it on.
“You scared the shit out of me,” she whispers when they’re alone.
Peter flinches every time her hand brushes another burn, but at this, he freezes.
“I didn’t mean to.”
MJ applies another layer onto his skin and feels him hiss at the coolness.
“I thought you were going to die,” she admits, vulnerably, and he turns his body to face her.
Death is something they never discuss. It’s an unspoken rule they have. He goes out and saves the world, and she practices first aid on his minor to mildly severe injuries. It’s something they’ve mastered, a comfortable arrangement without any issues. But death is a topic they avoid, a topic that they dance around. Until now.
“I was there,” MJ confesses, and she can’t look him in the eye, “They told me they were going to suffocate the fire, but they had no idea you were in there. So I stopped them.”
Peter glares at her, “I told you to stay. I asked you not to come after me.”
“Well, if I didn’t, then they would’ve killed the fire with you in it!”
MJ didn’t mean to yell, but she did. He recoils at the rise of her voice, but she doesn’t wish to take it back. He needs to know that he could have died.
“You’re not invincible,” she starts. He counters, “I’m fine.”
“You can’t just go jumping into fires without telling anyone.”
She’s pacing the room, and he grabs her hand to steady her, “I’m fine.”
“You could have died, Peter!” and she’s screaming in his face now, because she wants him to know how much his life is worth. Peter closes his eyes, letting a tear slip free.
Instinctively, MJ reaches her hand to caress his cheek and wipes the tear away. Peter leans into her palm, and she relaxes, whispering, breathlessly repeating, “You could have died.”
He looks up at her, studies the quiver of her lips and the curve of her furrowed eyebrows, and sighs, “I’m sorry, M.”
Peter turns his head to press a kiss into her palm. It’s too much. She pulls away and shoves her hands into the pockets of her jeans. MJ wants him to get it, to understand, to know that his life means everything to her, because she loves him so badly that it hurts.
“I hate you,” she says, hoping somehow he’ll get the real message.
But he’s annoying and stupid, and she really wants to bang her head against a wall when he gives her a smug smile and retorts, “Yeah, I guess that’s justified.”
She groans and flicks his nose with her finger, “You know, it’s really hard to be mean to you when you just agree with everything I’m saying.”
Peter knowingly smiles, “Duh.”
Yeah, it’s decided. She hates him. MJ really, truly, absolutely hates him with every fiber of her being.
She’s just having trouble convincing her heart.
♡
In two weeks, their junior year of high school ends, and even though Flash doesn’t get along well with the group, he invites a handful of people to his house for a pool party. Ned and Betty accidentally brush hands in the bowl of chips, stumbling over awkward greetings and apologies, and Brad’s ever-growing crush on MJ is stumped once again when she and Peter take turns rubbing sunscreen all over each other. And it’s not only rubbing each other’s backs where they can’t reach, but it’s also rubbing everywhere else that they most definitely can reach. Like their stomachs, their legs, even each other’s feet. It’s sickening. Repulsing. Brad is insanely jealous of Peter Parker.
One week later, and MJ turns eighteen. Her mother is home, and MJ spends the day dragging her around the city to go shopping for new clothes and to buy a Harry Potter birthday cake. Even though their relationship still has a lot of repairing to do, she’s glad that her mom has never missed a single one of her birthdays. She receives a card in the mail from her dad, and it hurts, it really does, when the card fails to say I love you. But MJ knows that she can’t keep longing for a love that doesn’t exist. She can’t keep hoping for the return of people who never wanted to stay.
In the evening, Peter and Ned stop by to have dinner with her and her mom, and it’s mortifying how nervous Peter is since he’s finally meeting the mother of his girlfriend. He stumbles over his words and awkwardly fumbles with his fork. Ned has to nudge him to tell him to “Get it together. You’re embarrassing me.” At one point during the meal, Peter nearly loses his grip as he passes the potatoes and yelps so loudly that MJ almost stabs her eye with a fork. But Ms. Jones likes him. She even asks MJ after the boys had left why she didn’t introduce them sooner. MJ has to refrain from calling her out for never being home.
The next day, she and Peter properly celebrate her birthday. It’s a Monday, and Aunt May has gone to work from nine to five, so the two have their fun around his apartment during those eight hours. They have a repeat of the morning after prom, and then afterwards they binge Love Island, order pizza with pepperoni, and eat out of a pint of Häagen-Dazs ice cream. They are passed out on the coach when May returns.
They sneak out onto the roof, and this time, they finally get to watch the moon. There’s not a single cloud in sight, and the stars twinkle brightly despite the city lights. Peter rests his head on her shoulder, and MJ imagines the curve of her neck to be like the curve of the shining crescent that sits and gleams above them. The moon is beautiful, and so is she, so Peter leaves a kiss on her neck to let her know.
“So,” she breaks the silence, “Are you ready for senior year?”
He sits up. She ruined the moment, and she knows it. But he kissed her neck under the moonlight, so naturally, she panicked.
“No,” Peter shakes his head, “I just want to enjoy the summer for now.”
MJ nods, “Me too.”
That should be the end of the discussion, except now he’s moving to rest his head on her again, and her hands are getting sweaty.
“I think I’m going to start some of my college applications over the summer,” she blurts out, really killing the mood.
Peter looks at her. Like really looks at her. Something must tell him to give in, to let her have this, to play along and entertain her racing thoughts, because he takes the lead, “Yeah, I think I’ll do that too. I already have a few ideas about where I want to apply. A few college visits lined up for the summer.”
“Really?” she did not know this, “Where?”
He waves it off like it’s no big deal, but MJ is stubborn and presses on. He should know better.
“Oh, just the big shots like Princeton, Virginia Tech, and MIT,” he studies her face, trying to gauge her reaction.
MJ purses her lips, mentally calculating the miles of each of those schools from schools like Harvard and NYU, “Honestly, I don’t see you as a Princeton preppy boy, and Virginia Tech is a good school. It’s alright,” he leans forward, listening to every word because her opinion matters. It always will, “But you deserve MIT. They’re all a bunch of lame nerds, and you would fit right in.”
She expects him to playfully shove her, maybe even roll his eyes, but he keeps talking, “I really want to be an engineer.”
This information is not new to her. Well, he’s never mentioned it, but she always figured that’s what he would end up doing. Peter is obsessed with physics and math and is crazy, ridiculously smart, and she always tells him this. Always makes sure he knows how much of a nerd he is.
He continues, “I’ve been thinking about Mr. Stark lately and all the cool things he created. These inventions that are just mind-blowing,” Peter eagerly gestures with his hands, “And I want to do that. Not because Mr. Stark was an engineer. It’s because of me. I think I can create great things, and I don’t know, change the world in my own way.”
Hearing him passionately talk about his future makes her heart swell, and she looks at him fondly.
“I mean, Mr. Stark made a suit for me that I could wear to space! It’s so awesome!” he exclaims, and she swears the moon fondly listens to him too, “Wouldn’t it be awesome if I could make things for space? Maybe I’ll study aerospace engineering. Lots of physics. What if I end up working for NASA?”
MJ edges him on, “I can see you working at NASA,” because she loves seeing him like this, it makes her heart happy.
“Really?” Peter cries out in surprise.
She smiles an easy smile, never being more sure about anything in her entire life, “You’re Peter Parker. You are the coolest person I know. You would rock NASA.”
To prove her point even further about him being a nerd, Peter chokes on air at her words.
He composes himself quickly, and MJ catches him smile towards the stars. Just a month ago, Peter told her he could get her the best seats in the city for a gorgeous view. She stares at him, with glistening eyes and a lot of love in her heart, thinking, wow, this is the most gorgeous view she has ever seen.
“How about you?” Peter turns to her, and she averts her gaze, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of her fondness, “What about me?”
“I have some guesses,” he starts, “I was assuming economics or political science. I already know you’re going to be the best activist on whatever campus you go to.”
Somewhere in the distance, a siren blares, but Peter doesn’t go chasing for danger or for someone to save. Because they’re on the roof, watching the moon, talking about the future, and he wants nothing more than to hear what MJ’s future is.
“You’re half right,” she starts to play with his fingers, and ends up holding their hands up to see whose hand is larger. His hand is, unfortunately, but she’s got more height than him so it evens out, “Political science, hopefully on a pre-law track, with a minor in computer science.”
This interests him, “Computer science?” he questions, surprised.
MJ shrugs, a little unsure but it’s something she’s been researching, “I don’t know. There’s so much with computers, so I think it would be best to build some background with that.”
Peter intertwines their fingers of their hands she had been comparing.
“You’re going to be amazing at that, as you are in all the things that you do,” he says with so much confidence that she believes him, “There’s no doubt in my mind.”
Well, shit. She started this conversation, because the moonlight and a kiss on her neck were tugging at her heartstrings. But this is so much worse. So she baits him and says something that he can’t resist to latch onto.
“Yeah, I mean, it will be really valuable to any career to have some knowledge about software, and hopefully, I can also expand and learn how to handle hardware as well.”
A pause. It lingers.
It’s right there, Parker, she almost screams. Take the bait.
He takes it with ease.
“Oh, you and I both know you can handle hardware pretty we- Ow!” she hits his arm, and he flinches.
She shakes her head, disappointed, “Ew, you’re so gross. I could vomit.”
Peter tilts his head like a puppy, and he looks so cute, it’s revolting. But then he opens his mouth and out comes his teasing words, “You love me.”
A beat. The air escapes her lungs. What does she say? Should she just say it? It’s good bait, so should she just take it?
Fuck.
She’s doing this.
“Peter, I have to tell you something,” she gushes out so hysterically that the heat rises to her face as she says it.
He raises both eyebrows at her sudden outburst. MJ takes a breath and notices how dry her mouth has become.
Fuck. Fuck.
“Okay,” she nervously wipes her palms on her jeans. To get rid of the sweat or to push some feeling into her legs, she doesn’t know. But it’s not working. Her hands are still sweaty, her legs still feel numb, and fuck.
“I’m really bad at this,” and great, now she’s about to start rambling, “You know this. I have trouble getting close to people, and I’m bad at expressing my feelings. But with you, I think I’m doing pretty good. Except, I can do better. Like I know I can do better, but it’s just really fucking scary, um, to pour my heart out and confess my feelings like this. And you’re great! You’re so great to me, and it amazes me how someone can treat me like you do, because I’m not used to it. I’m still getting used to it, actually. Uh, sorry. I’ll get to the point soon.”
MJ avoids his eyes at all costs, because she’s so embarrassed. He’s usually the one doing all the rambling, but now Peter’s rubbed off on her. Gosh, this is so bad.
“It was after our picnic date, and you walked me home. And then, you didn’t ask me if my parents were home, and it made me realize something. The realization scared me, so I turned off my phone. Then, you were all worried, and I was like, oh shit, I probably shouldn’t have done that. And I almost told you something that day, but I didn’t. I almost told you in the library before my AP exam, and almost when we won decathlon. And then again, the night of prom when we just laid in bed and cuddled,” her heart is practically beating out of her chest at this point, and she’s sure Peter can hear it, “Then, the fire happened, and it was so reckless of you, and I told you I hated you, but of course, I don’t. I didn’t mean it. I don’t hate you. At all-”
“I know,” he interrupts, clear as day, and MJ finally looks at him. She had a feeling he knew at the national tournament, but now, he’s looking at her like the moon and the stars can’t compare. There is no doubt in her mind that he has always known.
“What I’m trying to say is, I love you.”
It’s a whisper. Barely. But it’s audible enough that Peter has a sudden intake of breath. His skin looks blue in the light of the moon, and it’s breathtaking. But MJ is so tired of not breathing, so she uses her words to throw the weight off of her chest, letting the air fill her lungs, consuming her.
“I love you,” she says it again and again and again.
Until he says it back.
Again and again and again.
He kisses her lips and her cheeks and her forehead and her nose. And they say it again.
“How much do you love me?” Peter tauntingly asks her when they finally stop being annoying and kissing and staring at each other to watch the moon again. The moon, she looks brighter now, the love feeding her light, the romance keeping her alive for the night.
“Don’t push it,” MJ warns, jabbing a finger into his ribs. It doesn’t hurt him, but he feigns pain to boost her ego.
“I’ll tell you if you tell me,” he offers, but she silences him with a glare, “Another day. I promise.”
Peter sighs contentedly, “Promise.”
An hour later, they creep back into his room. The apartment is dark, May has gone to sleep, and Peter and MJ crawl into bed, whispering I love you to each other as they nod off to rest.
MJ dreams of a love that loves her back.