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Peter and Ned moved in together halfway through their sophomore year of college. It was a little two bedroom shoebox a few blocks off campus. It had one bathroom with a leaky shower and the whole thing constantly smelled of burnt Indian food, but it was bed bug free and they could afford it.
Of course affording it meant forgoing certain niceties like cable, internet, and a fridge that stayed closed without having to prop a chair in front of it, but they made do.
Besides, if you sat in the corner by the window, you could link up to the café’s free wifi down the street.
Which was pretty cool.
Peter’s “bed” was just a mattress on the floor with a blanket balled up on top and the same pillow he’d had since middle-school.
Ned wasn’t doing much better.
He had two pillows.
But whatever.
Honestly, they thought they were doing pretty well for themselves. They managed to keep the lights on, paid their rent on time, and hadn’t pissed off any of their neighbors.
But money was still tight and between school and work and the whole Spider-Man thing, Peter needed a way to save money wherever he could.
“What if we cooked?” Ned suggested.
Peter just frowned. “What?”
“You know, cooked here instead of eating out,” Ned explained. “My mom always says it’s cheaper.”
May had said the same thing. Maybe that was the best idea.
Except Peter wasn’t the best at cooking, and while Ned could microwave the hell out of some instant mac and cheese, Peter wasn’t holding out a lot of hope for his best friend’s culinary skills.
Then there was the other problem…
“Dude. We don’t have dishes.”
And they didn’t. Not real ones. They had a couple of cereal bowls, some plastic spoons and sporks they’d saved from months of take away, a single Hello Kitty mug that had just shown up one day, and these little plastic party cups with Star Wars characters on them Ned had found at the pharmacy for fifty cents each.
So, Peter snuck off to Queens, politely borrowed one of Mays cooking pots, and he and Ned googled how to cook spaghetti.
And life was good.
And then life got better because MJ made her way back into their lives.
It started out slow, the way everything with MJ did, but eventually progressed. At first it was all “Hey, sorry we’ve lost touched. We should totally hang out” to “Hey, are we watching movies at my place or yours?”
Then things kept progressing because one day after catching up on a month’s worth of TV, MJ decided to spend the night.
And she was totally cool with the fact that Peter basically slept on the floor. At least, she didn’t comment on it.
But that might have just been because she was otherwise distracted.
The next morning found them sitting at the counter, eating cereal and trying to simultaneously pretend that things weren’t awkward but also trying not to smile and spill sugary milk all down their chins.
That’s how Ned found them.
Peter in his boxers.
MJ wearing one of Peter’s old Midtown t-shirts.
Both looking guilty as fuck.
Ned just stared, his sleep addled brain taking a moment to put two and two together, but the boy was smart and he eventually added it all up to four.
Then his eyes went wide and he had to suck his lips in to keep from smiling like an idiot.
He cleared his throat, very casually said, “Good morning,” and waltzed into the kitchen.
Then he looked at the empty cabinet and frowned. “Dude, she’s got my bowl.”
“We’ll get you another.”
Ned sighed, poured Lucky Charms into May’s old cooking pot, and tried to act like his OTP hadn’t just become canon.
They did get another bowl. And another mug. And MJ found a frying pan with minimal scarring at the thrift store and they suddenly found themselves introduced to a whole new world of culinary possibilities.
Also, MJ was a better cook than the boys. So that helped.
It took Peter a while to notice, but they had, at some point, acquired actual utensils. As in, they weren’t plastic.
“When did we get these?” Peter asked, scooping a large spoonful of peanut butter from the jar and stuffing it in his mouth.
“MJ bought them,” Ned answered. “Also, I don’t want to be that guy, but I really think if she’s gonna be living here now, she should start helping with rent. It’s only fair.”
Peter frowned, took a large swig of milk, and then said, “MJ doesn’t live here.”
Ned paused his game and looked up. “Dude, she sleeps here more than I do.”
“Yeah, but—”
“She has her own bowl, she does most of the cooking, her laundry is mixed in with both of ours, and we have a box of tampons under the bathroom sink. She lives here, dude.”
Peter wanted to argue, but he was often wrong.
So, he put away the peanut butter, found a pair of shoes, and calmly went to the library where he knew MJ would be studying.
“Do we live together?” he asked in greeting.
She pulled out her headphones and frowned. “What?”
“Do we live together?” Peter repeated. “Ned was talking about you paying rent and tampons, and I just…”
“We don’t live together,” MJ told him.
And okay, good. Peter was almost certain she was smarter than him when it came to things like this.
But then she frowned some more, the little crease between her eyebrows deepening and her nostrils did that little flare thing that only happened when she was mad or when she was thinking.
Then she looked up, her eyes wide. “ Do we live together?”
“That’s what I’m asking you!”
She looked away, and there was that thinking face again.
Peter looked around at the other students, licked his lips and leaned in. “Okay, let’s look at the facts,” he whispered. “You do sleep over a lot.”
“That’s because my roommate throws a fit when you sleep over at my place,” she pointed out.
Which was true, but still…
“And you kind of keep a lot of your clothes at our apartment. Ned found your bra in his hamper last week.”
It wasn’t like she had a drawer. She just sort of had a few extra pairs of underwear stuffed in next to Peter’s boxers in the laundry basket at the bottom of the closet, an extra work uniform hanging between the Spidey suits, and a few pairs of jeans draped over the chair in the corner.
“I do eat dinner there almost every night. Even when you’re not there,” she admitted, her face looking a little worried. “Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“I think we live together.”
“Fuck.”
This turned out not to be a bad thing. They were all smart, and even an idiot knew that a month’s rent was a hell of a lot easier to pay when three people contributed than when just two.
So not only could they now afford wifi, but Peter suddenly had a lot more pillows on the bed because MJ decided if she was gonna live there then she was gonna live there.
Peter borrowed May’s car and he and Ned spent one drizzly Saturday morning moving all of MJ’s stuff from her old apartment to the new.
And while extra pillows and extra money were big perks, so was the fact that MJ had actual furniture.
Peter’s mattress no longer rested on the floor and they could eat dinner at an actual honest to god dining table.
Things were going smoothly.
Up until Peter came home one night to find Ned and MJ staring angrily at their cooking pot on the floor.
“Um…whatcha doing?” Peter asked, pulling off his mask and walking towards the angry huddle.
MJ, still staring daggers at the pot, just pointed towards the ceiling. Peter followed the direction of her finger and…
Gross.
There was a yellowish stain rimmed in brown right in the middle of their kitchen ceiling.
“The pipes must be leaking or something,” Ned said, frown intensifying as another little drip dropped into the pot. “Came home to find a puddle.”
“D’you call the super?” Peter asked. Drip .
“He said he’d look into it,” MJ said.
Which was good.
Except it wasn’t.
Three days later and the pot was still sitting on the floor, only now it wasn’t alone. Two of the cereal bowls, three mugs and an emptied out plastic tub that usually held video games was spread out along the floor, soured towels dispersed in between to soak up any overflows.
It took another two days before the building’s super finally decided to pay them a visit.
An angry phone call from May probably had something to do with it.
That, and the fact that part of the waterlogged ceiling was now laying on the floor.
“All I’m saying,” Ned moaned as he stuffed his clothes into his old backpack, “is that if Spider-Man had paid the guy a visit, we might not be homeless right now.”
Peter could hear MJ’s sigh from the bathroom.
“Ignoring the dramatics,” she began.
“Let’s not ignore the dramatics,” Peter begged, catching the toothbrush she tossed his way.
MJ grinned and tossed Ned his. “Okay, then. Dramatics it is. One, we are not homeless. Just temporarily displaced.”
“Same thing,” Ned pointed out. Or tried to. MJ ignored him.
“Second,” she pointed her finger in the air as she made her way back to her and Peter’s room to grab her bag, “Peter can’t just be intimidating the building’s super like that. How the two of you have managed to keep his secret identity a secret is beyond me.”
“It wouldn’t have been intimidation,” Ned defended.
“Yeah, we had May do that,” Peter said with a grin.
Ned’s eyebrows rose in agreement, but he continued. “It would have been a friendly bout of persuasion via the neighborhood superhero.”
“Like a PSA,” Peter added.
“Like a PSA!” Ned agreed.
MJ stepped out of the room and dropped her bag and two pillows on the floor. “I just want it on record, that I’m going to enjoy my week away from the two of you.”
“Lies,” Peter and Ned hissed together.
MJ grabbed her bag, tossed a peace sign in the air, and left with a loving, “Later, losers.”
Peter and Ned shared a cab and bitched the entire way about the building’s super waiting until the little problem became a big problem and they were forced to either go a week without water or scram until the contractors and plumbers finished their job.
MJ refused to go without water and Peter wasn’t really comfortable having a bunch of strangers roaming around his apartment with his Spidey suits tucked away in the closet and spare web shooters rattling loose in the kitchen drawers.
Ned didn’t want to be left alone.
So, they hid or packed anything that shouldn’t be seen, made sure they grabbed enough underwear, and left to their respective corners of the city to camp out with their parents for a few days.
A week tops.
If the plumbers weren’t lying.
That’s how Peter found himself reclining on May’s old couch while Ned tried to think of something interesting about himself that didn’t include the words Star Wars or Spider-Man.
“Maybe they won’t ask,” Peter offered.
Ned rolled his eyes and collapsed on Peter’s feet. “They always ask, Peter. It’s like number one on the interview questionnaire.”
Peter couldn’t really argue.
“Just be yourself, dude,” he said instead. “People like you.”
“But do they like me enough to hire me?” Ned asked just as May waltzed in.
She tossed her keys on the table, shucked her coat, and offered the boys a warm greeting as she made her way to the fridge.
When she pulled out a half-empty bottle of wine and reached for a glass, Peter cocked his head to the side and asked in a friendly tone, “Hard day?”
“Fucking awful day,” May corrected, popping the cork and pouring a generous amount. “And we do not judge.”
“Totally not judging,” Peter promised.
May gave him a grateful look then took an even more grateful sip. She then glanced at Ned and frowned. “Okay, why are we fretting?”
Ned just frowned right back. “What?”
“You’re fretting,” she said, gesturing to her face, “You’re doing that thing with your forehead. You’re fretting. What’s wrong?”
Ned’s frown deepened. He turned to Peter for clarification. “What’s my forehead doing?”
“This weird little…” Peter sighed and just sort of gestured to Ned’s whole face, “it does this wrinkle thing when you’re stressed.”
“And it’s doing it now,” May pointed out. “So I’ll repeat, why are we fretting?”
“I have a job interview in a couple hours,” Ned explained. He fell back on the couch, neck bending as he looked up at the ceiling dramatically. “And it would mean real actual money and I want it so bad.”
May took another sip, nodding knowingly. “Just go in with a positive attitude. What happened to that go get ‘em confidence you had back in high school?”
Ned didn’t even blink. “It got squashed by the overwhelming and soul sucking world of capitalism.”
“Dude, you’ve been spending too much time with MJ,” Peter moaned before looking at May and, in an attempt to explain Ned’s dramatics, added, “This is his fourth interview in two months.”
“Ah.” May nodded, took another sip of her wine, then ordered, “Alright, Leeds. On your feet.”
Ned gave Peter another confused look, then clambored to his feet.
May stepped forward until she was standing toe to toe with him. One hand still holding her glass, the other on her hip, she tilted her chin and asked, “Tell me, do you think any of the other candidates can say they react well under pressure?”
“Probably,” Ned shrugged.
May nodded. “Good at multitasking?”
“Most people are.” Ned narrowed his eyes, waiting to see what May was getting at.
“Think any of them could have hacked into Fisk Enterprises, pulled a shipping manifest, and found a vault’s blueprints while helping Spider-Man avoid security cameras?” May asked with a smirk.
“All while ordering a pizza?” Peter added. It had been double-pepperoni, extra-cheese and thanks to Ned, he’d made it out, stolen files in hand all without raising the alarm.
Ned just smiled, the tips of his ears turning a slight red. “Thanks, May.”
“Anytime, sweetie,” she said, her smile twisting and nose wrinkling as she pinched his shirt’s elbow. “Is this what you’re planning on wearing?”
“Um...yes?”
“Hmmm.”
A few minutes later, Ned was back on the couch, sitting in his undershirt as May grabbed the starch and made sure the iron was hot.
“Dude, we should totally get one of those,” Ned whispered as May carefully avoided melting the buttons.
May snorted and flipped the shirt. “Don’t tell me you’ve been going to these interviews in wrinkled clothes?”
“Nah,” Ned said, paying close attention to the way May laid out the sleeve and pressed the iron to it, more steam hissing out as she flattened the cuff. “I’ve been using a hair straightener.”
May frowned. “You’ve been using--why do you own a hair straightener but not an actual iron?”
Ned shrugged, then oh-so-helpfully added, “Peter had a girl over and she forgot it when she left.”
May looked up over the rim of her glasses. The steam from the iron just added to the effect.
“It was before MJ,” Peter clarified.
May arched one eyebrow (the left one) and went back to working on Ned’s shirt. “You ever think of, I don’t know, buying an actual iron?”
“Yeah, we’re trying to limit how much money we spend on non-necessities,” Ned told her. He’d grabbed the starch can and was now reading the instructions.
“We can just borrow yours,” Peter suggested, figuring it was the best option.
He apparently figured wrong.
May pointed the still steaming iron at him and stated, ”Only if you come here, and use it here, and it doesn’t leave here.”
And okay, that was a bit harsh.
“How often do you actually iron things?” Peter asked, thinking back to all the times May had him toss things in the dryer to ‘shake out the wrinkles’. “I don’t remember that being a big part of our weekly chores.”
“Just because you weren’t aware of it happening doesn’t mean it didn’t. And that’s besides the point.” May went back to Ned’s shirt, focusing on the hem for some reason. It was just going to get wrinkled again when he tucked it in. “You’re adults now. It’s time for you to start growing up and buying stuff on your own.”
“We buy things,” Peter defended.”We got a pot--”
“That you stole. From me ,” May pointed out.
Ned turned away, suddenly finding the light switch oh so interesting as he surreptitiously scratched the back of his neck.
“--and bowls and real silverware,” Peter continued, regretting mentioning the pot. “We buy things all the time.”
May crossed her arms. “You don’t even have a dresser. You keep all of your clothes in a laundry basket.”
Peter crossed his arms as well. “Saves room and makes laundry day easier.”
May tried to keep a straight face, but the corner of her mouth eventually quirked up in a reluctant smile. “Fine,” she said, admitting defeat. “But my ironing board better still be here when you leave.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
May unplugged the iron, kissed Peter on top of his head, and muttered, “But you can take the casserole in the fridge. You even have my permission to keep the dish.”
When May disappeared into her bedroom, Ned turned to Peter and whispered, “What the hell are we gonna do with a casserole dish?”
The answer was a lot.
When they moved back into their small apartment, MJ started a Pinterest board just for recipes and added both boys. In no time at all, they figured out the glory that was cooking a lot of food on Sunday and eating on it until Tuesday.
It was a handy little trick, especially since MJ’s new job left her little time to breathe in between shifts and classes, let alone cook, Peter barely had enough time to go on patrol when he was trying to make sure he met enough deadlines at the Bugle to ensure he could pay his share of rent, and it wasn’t exactly fair to rely on Ned to do all the cooking.
Especially since he had just as many classes as the others and a less than understanding boss.
That and the fact that he had a new girlfriend as well meant he wasn’t exactly doing a lot of eating at home.
And that was totally fine, because it meant more alone time with MJ and Peter was more than okay with that.
Of course, just because Ned was suddenly absent the majority of the time didn’t mean that Peter and MJ miraculously had more down time. If anything, they just became busier.
That probably had more to do with midterms than Ned, but whatever.
Peter took his third cold shower of the week, wiggled into his suit before pulling on a pair of jeans and a hoodie, and checked to see if there was any more of that cheesy rice casserole in the fridge.
There wasn’t.
So he grabbed his phone and sent a quick text to MJ and Ned, asking if they were up for getting something to eat.
Ned was with his girlfriend, so that was a no.
MJ was at the library, and if Peter knew her, she’d probably been there a while, surviving off cheap coffee and a box of granola bars.
He grabbed his wallet, made sure he had his web shooters in his pocket, and went to see if he could bribe his girlfriend into taking a break long enough to grab some pizza with him before he went out on patrol.
MJ was nothing if not a creature of habit. She was in her usual spot, head buried in a book, green highlighter stuck between her teeth as she glared at her notes. She had her hair pulled up in a bun, headphones in, and her feet pulled up in her chair.
“You know, some people might think all the staring to be kind of creepy,” she greeted, disrupting Peter’s thoughts as he watched her study.
“Hardly staring,” Peter lied. “I was testing you.”
“Testing me?” she said with a challenging grin. She pulled her headphones out and started gathering her pens and highlighters.
“Just making sure you’re paying attention,” Peter clarified, “That you’re aware of your surroundings.”
MJ scoffed and stuffed the last of her notebooks in her bag. “My taser is fully charged, my back to the wall, emergency exits are behind the book stack and near the vending machine, and my phone was within reach, your number on speed dial.”
Peter narrowed his eyes and tried not to look impressed. “You know, some people might think you’re paranoid.”
“Some people haven’t been attacked by a psychopath in a rhino costume,” she countered, pulling her book bag out of Peter’s reach and sliding it over her shoulders. “I’m not paranoid, just prepared,” she finished, placing a quick kiss on Peter’s cheek.
“Either way, I’m impressed,” he admitted.
She looked pleased, but didn’t comment on it. Instead, she gripped her book bag’s straps and gestured towards the exit. “We getting tacos?”
“Pizza?” Peter offered.
MJ frowned. “Chinese?” she suggested. “You can gorge yourself on dumplings with that spicy sauce you like.”
Peter pretended to think it over, at least until MJ elbowed him in the side and gave him a look that let him know he was fooling no one.
An hour later, Peter was glaring at his fortune cookie in disappointment. “This is bad luck, right?”
“It’s just a mistake.”
“No, I distinctly remember you telling Flash our senior year of high school that getting a cookie without a fortune was bad luck,” Peter said, waving the empty cookie pieces in the air. “Something about not having a future to predict or something.”
MJ rolled her eyes and snatched one of the cookie halves out of his hand. “I don’t remember saying that, but if I did, it was Flash,” she said, popping the cookie in her mouth. “I was probably just messing with him.”
And yeah, that made sense. Flash might not have been a complete asshole by the time they graduated, but he still wasn’t exactly their best friend.
Peter ate what was left of his fortuneless cookie and it wasn’t until they were nearly a block away that he realized MJ had reached out and grabbed his hand, their fingers tangling together easily like it was a habit.
It was, but one they hadn’t practiced in a while.
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, considered how bad it would be to put off patrolling one more night, then asked, “Do you want to see a movie?”
MJ frowned, like the thought of a movie was something foreign to her.
Then again, she was a college student on a budget in the middle of midterms, so maybe it was.
But then she grinned, her head tilting just enough that the loose bun atop her head wobbled to the side. “Peter Parker, are you asking me on a date?”
“More like I’m asking you to continue our date,” he said, pulling her towards the opening of a small alley and out of the way of foot traffic. It was late out, and there was hardly anyone around, but still, a little privacy would be nice. “But yes, Michelle Jones, will you like to go out with me?”
MJ made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a cross between scoff and a giggle, but she squeezed his hand in return and didn’t fight when he gently backed her into the nearest wall. “I get to pick the movie?” she asked.
Peter tried to think of what was in theaters, realized he couldn’t remember the last time he’d paid attention to an ad or preview and figured he’d take his chances. “Sure, you can pick the movie.”
MJ didn’t bother hiding her smile then, and for the first time in weeks, Peter felt a sense of excitement that wasn’t linked to jumping from a building or dodging bullets.
That feeling only grew as he felt MJ’s fingers hook into his belt loops and drag him, hips first, further into the alley.
Once they were a little deeper into the shadows, MJ let her fingers trail up to the strings of his hoodie and gave a gentle tug, pulling him forward so she could kiss him.
And then she kept kissing him. And he kissed back.
Up to the point that he felt the distinct nudge of her leg between his, her fingers teasing along his zipper.
He moved back just enough to say, “I’m about ninety percent certain this is illegal. Public indecency or...something.”
“Only ninety?” she asked. And yep, his zipper was officially down.
“Maybe seventy-five,” he mumbled. And there went his button. “I changed my mind. Forget the movies. Let’s go home.”
“No, you said I could choose the movie.” He could feel her grinning. “No backing out.”
And there was her leg again. All up between his.
“MJ….see, now you’re just being mean.”
And she must have agreed, because she stopped teasing.
Or tried to.
“Are you seriously wearing your suit right now?”
“Okay, this wasn’t exactly on the calendar okay?” Peter defended. “If I had known you were gonna be sticking your hand down my pants, I promise, I would have dressed appropriately.”
“Okay, yeah, we’re going home.”
“Now?” he asked.
“Now,” she answered.
And yeah, that sounded like a good idea.
New plan: zip pants and get MJ back to the apartment.
But because the Universe was an asshole, the sound of breaking glass and a scared and panicked scream echoed through the alley.
Peter was still in the process of pulling up his zipper when MJ took off running towards the noise, because why not?
“MJ!” Peter yelled, stumbling forward and grabbing her arm, pulling her back. “Wait!”
She stopped but her eyes were still on the sidewalk across the street.
And yep, that was a robbery. Or what looked like a robbery. With a...knife?
Jesus.
“Stay here,” Peter ordered, pulling off his hoodie and stepping back into the shadows of the alley.
He pulled his web shooters out of his pocket, fired a web up, and climbed to the roof.
Then he dropped his jeans, kicked off his shoes, and pulled on his mask.
The whole thing only took about ten seconds, fifteen tops.
But that was apparently too long, because by the time Peter jumped off the roof and swung his way to the bodega across the street, it was to find an angry looking shopkeep yelling into her phone at 911, a confused looking guy hugging a baseball mitt, and a triumphant looking MJ smirking while she held a baseball bat above her head.
There was also the dazed bad guy lying on the ground, but he wasn’t exactly Peter’s concern at the moment.
“I was literally on my way,” Peter pointed out. “You could have waited for me.”
“Well, I was already here,” MJ panted, her grin a little surprised like even she couldn’t believe what she’d just done, “and you were taking too long.”
Peter just nodded, because rude , and asked, “Where’d you get the bat?”
She just grinned, took a deep, steadying breath, and tossed the bat to Peter.
“Uh, that’s my...bat,” the guy with the mitt mumbled, but he trailed off when he realized no one was paying attention.
Because MJ was just walking away.
“Where are you going?” Peter called after her.
“Home,” she called back. “I’ve got plans and if my boyfriend doesn’t hurry, I’m not gonna be waiting for him then either.”
Peter blinked and then realized what she said. “Oh…”
He handed the guy back his bat, fired a few too many webs at the bad guy securing him to the ground, and promptly turned to leave.
“Whoa, where are you going?” the bat guy asked. He looked a little panicked that he was about to be left alone with an angry shopkeeper and a dazed criminal.
“Uh…,” Peter didn’t really want to answer that. “I mean...the cops are on the way, right?”
The guy still looked confused but nodded. They could hear sirens in the distance.
“Okay, and you have your bat back, so…”
“What about him?” Bat guy asked, pointing said bat at the bad guy.
“Oh, he’s not going anywhere,” Peter assured him, firing another web at the guy just in case . “You’ll be fine.”
The guy didn’t look convinced.
But that wasn’t Peter’s problem.
“Bye,” he said, then shot a web and he was gone.
He made it home before MJ.
Barely.
But only because he’d left his clothes on the roof back at the crime scene.
Eventually, Ned got a new job. It came with more money and actual health insurance and a 401k that none of them really understood but knew was a good thing.
It also had a longer commute.
A longer commute that wouldn’t be so long if he moved in with his girlfriend…
It was a big debate, one that Peter honestly thought would take a while to decide on because, you know, big life decision. But it turned out all it took was one week fighting rush hour for Ned to make the decision.
He let them keep the couch only because his girlfriend already had one.
That was where Peter and MJ found themselves, each camped out on opposite ends of their hand-me-down couch, a small buffet of Chinese take-away spread out on the cushion between them as they tried to figure out what Ned moving out meant for them.
MJ emptied half a bottle of soy sauce into a container of lo mein and shrugged. “I mean, we can’t exactly get a new roommate unless we’re willing to share the whole secret identity thing.”
Peter chewed on an egg roll and frowned. “That’s not happening.”
“You know, in theory, we can still afford this place, just the two of us,” MJ pointed out. “Get rid of the internet again, give up take-away.”
“What if…” Peter began, only to stop when he realized exactly what he was about to suggest.
“What if what?”
“What if...we...I don’t know, what if we got a new apartment?” He grabbed the nearest chopsticks and looked for the cup of spicy sauce he’d ordered.
“We could probably find something cheaper if we get a one bedroom instead,” MJ mused. Like it was nothing.
Peter stopped looking for his dumpling sauce and glanced up to find her stirring her noodles, looking decidedly unbothered with the idea.
Peter, apparently, did look bothered, because when MJ looked up she frowned.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Peter.”
“It’s just, I mean, we’ve never lived together before,” he attempted to clarify.
MJ narrowed her eyes. “Peter, we’ve been living together for an entire semester now.”
“Yeah,” Peter agreed, “But that was the three of us. It’s never been just... us. ”
MJ pulled her foot up onto the couch so she could rest her chin on her knee as she gently stabbed her noodles. “Does the idea bother you?”
“Hell no,” Peter quickly assured her. “I just think it’s a big step, you know? I mean even Ned and his girlfriend have a roommate.”
MJ took a bite of noodles, chewed as she thought. She looked like she was about to speak when a cacophony of sirens filled the apartment from the street below.
From the sound of it, it was a combination of policemen, fire engines, and ambulances.
Not a small call.
Peter realized he was in the middle of an important conversation, but…
“On a scale of 1 to 10, how mad would you be if I…” he gestured towards the window and sirens in the distance.
MJ shrugged, cocked a little smile, reached towards his plate with her chopsticks, and said, “I won’t be mad as long as you understand that there will be no dumplings left when you return.”
Peter grinned big, snatched the dumpling out of her chopsticks with his fingers and plopped the entire thing in his mouth before jumping out of her reach.
“Parker!” she screeched, laughing as she tried to stop the myriad of sauces and fried rice containers from dumping onto the floor.
“‘Orry,” he apologized.
She huffed a heavy sigh, righted the soy sauce bottle and said, “You’re an idiot, but you’re lucky, because I still love you.” Then she immediately froze, her eyes wide.
Peter had stopped moving too. He had been heading for the bedroom to grab his suit, but...that was new.
He turned, dumpling still in his mouth. “‘Ou ‘ove meh?” he asked, needing clarification he heard correctly.
MJ tried to look like it wasn’t a big deal. She grabbed another dumpling with her chopsticks and delicately dumped it in the sauce. “Maybe,” she shrugged.
Peter swallowed his dumpling and fidgeted with the edge of his shirt. “That’s cool.”
“It’s cool?” MJ looked up and she looked worried. Maybe a bit embarrassed.
“Well. Yeah,” Peter said, taking his turn to shrug. He reached up and rubbed at the back of his neck. “Because I maybe love you too.”
MJ’s face softened and she grabbed the now soaked dumping with a bit more confidence. “Peter?”
“Yeah?”
“Go be the hero,” she ordered, pointing towards the window and fading noise of the sirens.
“Oh shit!” Peter hissed then darted into the bedroom.
And if MJ decided to google one bedroom apartments for rent in Queens...that dumpling stealing idiot couldn’t judge her.