Chapter Text
There’s something about homesickness that truly doesn’t mess around.
Michelle wishes she could say she was more well-equipped to handle it, but that would’ve required leaving home for more than a weekend at a time. Impossible with a homebody like herself. When it hit like a truck around the second week of June, she wasn’t prepared and found herself watching reruns of Seinfeld with Anna after crying into her pasta bowl—much to her own embarrassment. Whatever.
When it hit again at the end of July, she felt as if she was handling it better—ergo, no crying. She found herself video-calling her parents, which lasted about three hours, and what she really wanted to ask them was if she could come home early. She didn’t. But they came to her for the weekend, which was a pleasant surprise.
It’s not as if she wasn’t having a good time with Anna because she really, really was. Her aunt did her research and found out what she liked to do for fun, so they went on museum walks and visited open art exhibits. They spray painted brick walls and crocheted and traveled to the Pine Barrens in search of the Jersey Devil because Michelle loves a good urban legend.
But that isn’t to say she didn’t miss the streets of New York, the pollution and rude passerbys, because chivalry really feels dead sometimes, and her friends and family. Especially her friends and family. They called and texted, but communicating over long distance wasn’t her forte, so maybe that led to her exacerbated homesickness.
When it hits yet again at the end of August, it’s not as hard nor as intense, which she’s inclined to believe is because she’s finally headed home.
“Do you have everything ready to go, Michelle? If you leave something here, I’ll probably mail it to you, but I wouldn’t trust the post to not break it along the way,” Anna calls from down the stairs, leaving Michelle in a borderline panic to make sure she’s got everything packed. She checks and double checks to make sure there are no loose clothes or cords underneath the bed before zipping up her suitcase.
“Yeah, I’m ready,” she responds, her suitcase thumping down two carpeted stairs at a time as she lugs it behind her. Her aunt raises an eyebrow as soon as they come face to face, amused.
“Someone’s eager.”
“Oh. Sorry, I’m not—I had a great time this summer. It was really...really nice to spend some time with you,” Michelle says genuinely, and she feels bad for how rude it may look with all the homesickness and excitement to leave. It was just a lot for her first real trip away from home and for a long period of time at that.
So even if she can’t lie and say she’s not eager because she misses her people more than she’d like to admit, at least she can tell Anna how much she enjoyed herself on the good days. And she tacks on that maybe she’ll be able to visit again in the future.
“Okay, okay, kiddo. I’m just messing with you, but come visit anytime. Maybe we’ll plan it out a little better. Something less last-minute,” Anna says with a laugh and hugs her tight. It sorta squeezes the air out of her lungs, so that’s neat. “We better get you in the car before it turns dark out.”
They drove the whole hour and fifty minutes to get to New Jersey, so they drive the whole hour and fifty minutes back to Queens. It’s borderline ten thirty by the time they make it to her place, but her parents greet them with unparalleled enthusiasm all the same. She can’t really stop smiling because it’s just that nice to be home again.
“You may as well stay the night in our guest bedroom instead of driving all the way back,” her mom tells Anna with a quirk of her lips, an elbow to the ribs. Sisterly love. “Good to see you.”
“You too, sis,” Anna says with a laugh, a smirk, and a good old fashioned hug.
“I know your friends are gonna be ecstatic that you’re back. Ned has been coming around lately to help walk Jasmine,” her father tells her with a cock of one eyebrow, crossing his arms over his chest. “And, uh, that Peter kid sometimes tags along. The one I don’t like.”
“The one you pretend you don’t like for no reason,” Michelle tacks on with a half smile, her heart racing when she thinks about him. She might have been a fool for thinking that habit would’ve been long gone within these three months apart. Maybe that was due to the fact that they could’ve parted on better terms, and yet, here her adrenaline goes again.
“You want to call them?” he suggests, rubbing the back of his neck, and she does appreciate the fact that her father is still very encouraging of her friendships even if he claims he doesn’t quite like them.
“Uh, maybe. I’ll think about it, yeah,” she says, chewing on her lower lip, and then quickly announces how she’s going to go to her room—probably even to bed. It’s been a long day, and even though it’s the weekend, they start school again on Monday. She needs time to mentally prepare, which includes not messing up her sleep schedule this time around.
Michelle drops onto her bed face-first, hearing the familiar jingle of Jasmine’s collar next to her. She stifles a small smile, watching as her dog pads around on the mattress, moving the blankets around with her nose to make it more comfortable before settling down with a content sigh.
She lies with her cheek half pressed into the pillow and takes her phone out, scrolling through old text message histories that just go to show how much she’s missed, making her heart beat in an unkind fashion.
The last message exchange between her and Ned had been from yesterday, something about not being ready for school to start again. Generic, boring, not something either of them really care about, but she blames the fact that they’ve run out of things to talk about after not having seen each other for a while.
The last message between her and Peter had been three days ago, much to her dismay now—him sending a blurry picture of Jasmine on their walk. She’d replied with a heart and that was that.
If she looks at their group chat, it’s an entirely different story. The chat had been relatively active the first few weeks that she was gone, the two of them filling her in on everything she was missing. There was no real action going on—that’s what Peter promised with Ned backing him up, at least. She believed them because she didn’t have any other choice.
But as the months went by, messages were starting to be sent by the week rather than the day. She didn’t mention it because she was part of the problem by not having much to say. Why would they care about anything happening miles away from them in New Jersey?
Especially when they were offering less in return about what was happening in New York, busy with their own lives but not talking about them—lest they make her feel left out. That was her assumption, at least. The other option in her head that she refuses to entertain, simply because it makes her feel worse, would be that they just don’t feel like telling her what’s going on.
She left and she’s missing out because of it, and yeah, maybe she’s bothered by that. But if she had said something, that would make her look needy, and she can’t quite stomach that either.
The last text in the chat was sent two weeks ago by Ned, a simple twelve words— ‘excited to see you again! let us know when you get back! ’ She didn’t respond then and she can’t bring herself to message the group chat now, fourteen days later, when there’s only been radio silence in between.
So she stares at her phone screen for another minute or two before her fingers lock up and she loses the courage entirely. Her phone goes on her nightstand and she closes her eyes, wondering if she’s overthinking per usual.
They’ve been her friends and they haven’t given any indication that they aren’t any longer, but her heart is running circles around her mind and she can’t stop herself from losing sleep over it for a few more hours.
Michelle doesn’t think she’s truly felt as nervous in the past four years of her life as she does right now—standing in front of the Parkers’ apartment door. There’s something especially cruel about the anxiety of inviting yourself over to someone’s house while not knowing if they really want you there.
She’s kidding herself, she knows. Trying to psych herself out, but it’s Peter and May, and she’d be a dumbass for not visiting them after knowingly crying over the fact that she missed her friends.
So she’s here, knocking on the door, waiting, rocking on her heels. Her stomach feels sorta like a bottomless pit, so Michelle tries to distract herself with the patterned carpet underneath her feet that she’s seen a million times over.
“Michelle!”
Her head whips up, realizing that the door was opened and May is now standing in front of her with a dish towel slung over her shoulder and a beam across the face. Her arms open wide, and before she knows it, she’s engulfed in a warm hug that smells like lemon cleaner.
“Hi, May. Sorry for the inconvenience, but I just wanted to visit before school started again,” Michelle mumbles, and May squeezes her tighter for a moment.
“Never an inconvenience. We’re so glad that you’re back,” May tells her firmly, pressing a hard kiss to her forehead as if she’s still family. Her rapid heartbeat settles a bit but doesn’t cease from the still-lingering worry. “Peter and Ned are somewhere—probably in his room, and I’m sure they’re going to be—”
Michelle glances over at the hallway to see the devils themselves emerging, voices lowered to a whisper like neither May nor anyone else is allowed to hear them. She shifts awkwardly on her feet, wondering if that pertains to her as well. Only three months gone and she feels like she’s intruding again.
But then Peter’s head turns towards her first, and she can’t quite gauge his expression. His eyes widen, his lips part, and that’s all she sees before he’s a blur, barreling towards her. She braces herself but is still woefully unprepared for the way he lifts her into a hug—a feet-off-the-ground, lung constricting, staggering type of embrace.
“You didn’t tell us you were back,” he whispers, voice muffled as he sets her down on the floor, and she notes that she’s still an inch or two taller. Good. If she can’t win in the broad shoulders or the firmness department, at least she can still tower over him.
“I’m back,” she offers wryly, and Peter nods, wetting his lips before bringing her into a proper hug.
“You’re back. Oh, my god. Do you have any idea how much I’ve missed you?” Peter mumbles, fingers bunching up the fabric of her top, and she suppresses the way she wants to smile as her own fingers tangle at the base of his curls. “Three months, my heart couldn’t take it.”
“Okay. You know what, you’re rude,” Michelle huffs, trying to shove him back, but he doesn’t budge. “I don’t need your snark, Parker.”
“I’m serious,” he insists, his voice earnest as he speaks into her shoulder.
“Then you’re even worse than rude,” she mutters, letting her eyes close and her stomach flutter for just a moment. You’re cheesy. “I guess I’ve missed you too, loser. And Ned—where’s Ned?”
“Ned is here,” Ned pipes up, enthusiastic, and she suddenly feels a second pair of arms constricting her airway—neat. But this makes her feel relieved, at least, knowing that maybe her overthinking, her doubt, her unrelenting anxieties had just gotten the best of her. It happens. “ Both of us have missed you, which you’d know if Peter stopped monopolizing.”
“I’m sorry!” Peter groans, and Michelle releases a burst of laughter that falters into a sharp inhale of breath. And then she suddenly has to bite her lip to keep from tearing up, but they notice when it doesn’t quite work.
“MJ? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she finally manages, and they look at her with owlish eyes—probably because she’s crying and laughing at the same time. She hates it but she really can’t help herself. “Nothing at all. I just...really missed you both.”
They chorus her name yet again, this time in that utterly sappy tone they both have, and then she really can’t breathe after being squeezed to death between the two of them. But it’s okay, she thinks, because they’ve truly reassured her in a way that makes her feel like she’s been properly welcomed home.
Michelle takes note of how closed up everything seems when she follows Peter into his bedroom, unsure of how he suddenly learned to clean up after himself. But she’s not complaining. Her eyes do catch on the black saxophone case that hasn’t moved from its spot since she left, and she’s itching to ask him to play for her again.
“Glad to see you’ve tidied up,” she says with a small smile, and he rubs the back of his neck, a flustered sort of expression gracing his face. The ability of still being able to make him blush has her feeling kind of relieved. “It’s nice not to have to see your clothes all over the floor and your closet open.”
“You’re so mean to me, MJ,” he teases in response, turning around to sit on his bed and playing with his fingers. He’s not really looking at her though, which she finds kind of odd. “How was Jersey?”
“Fine. How was it here in New York?” she counters, still standing, and he glances up at her with owlish eyes, parroting her answer back. “Just fine? No excitement?”
“No excitement,” Peter says with a slightly nervous laugh, and she narrows her eyes—especially when he abruptly changes the subject to school starting again tomorrow. Ned has already left for the night, claiming he needs to get his beauty sleep, but she didn’t miss his pointed look at Peter before he left. “I’m glad you got back in time for the beginning of the year.”
“Did you not believe me when I told you I would be?” Michelle hums, toeing at the carpet when she looks down.
“I was hoping, but you were cutting it close. Did you just get in today?” he asks, standing up so that they’re face-to-face, his bare foot accidentally knocking into her ankle. She chews her bottom lip, crosses her arms behind her back, and shakes her head.
“No, I got back yesterday.”
“And you didn’t let us know? Or visit?” Peter says with a slight frown—a pout if she tilts her head to the left a little bit. Her heart isn’t doing well in these conditions, really, and she’s embarrassed by it.
“It was almost eleven at night. Sorry I didn’t text,” she responds, feeling a bit guilty despite knowing she was completely valid. He shakes his head, eyes softening, assures her he’s just giving her a hard time. And yeah, tell her about it. “Did you, uh, get a new haircut?”
Peter smiles at the fact that she noticed and looks down. “Kinda. May tried her hand at trimming and chopping some of this away. Does it look okay?”
Michelle hums noncommittally, guiding his head with her hand so she can get a thorough look at it. His breath hitches for a moment when she jokingly tugs at one of the curls dangling over his mussed eyebrow, but that’s not what catches her attention. She frowns, brushing her thumb over his cheekbone.
“What happened here?”
“What?” Peter mumbles, distracted as he leans into her touch slightly, and if she didn’t think this was more important, she’d let the matter drop in favor of letting the moment go on. But instead, she swallows thickly before pressing gently into his cheek. He winces.
“You have a bruise forming here. Did you get punched in the face or something?” she asks, half joking, half serious. Her tone comes out flat but she knows he’s aware of the concern in her expression. “Peter Benjamin Parker.”
“You sound like May when you say that,” he replies weakly, suddenly shaking her off. “I’m fine, I just...got hit in the face by a picture frame falling off the wall before you got here, so my cheek is feeling kind of tender.”
“Pete.”
“MJ…”
“You used to never lie to me,” she finally says, feeling a tightness in her chest that’s almost identical to how she’d felt standing outside the door of their apartment, unsure if leaving the city for three months had done damage to her friendships. His eyes widen, and he starts shaking his head as if to defend himself, but it feels relatively futile.
The fact of the matter is, he can’t look her in the face, cheeks red and lip caught between his teeth. His tells are obvious, and she’s seen them before when he’s lied to other people—little white lies, though. Like about how he’d cleaned his room when he had just shoved stuff under his bed. But this isn’t a white lie.
It’s about a bruise on his cheek that certainly isn’t from a picture frame, and some things aren’t that hard to deduce when she remembers the last words they exchanged the evening before she left. She remembers the promise he made, and her heart stumbles as she wonders if he broke it—wonders how long it took for him to break it.
She doesn’t look around his room—knowing she’d probably find the very thing she doesn’t want to see—if only for the fact that it would take too much energy to be mad at him right now. Being purposefully ignorant for the night is in her best interest, but she still turns away when he reaches for her.
“Michelle, I...I’m not—” he begins, stammering, and yeah. He sounded exactly like this the evening before she’d left for New Jersey too. “It’s just a bruise.”
“Yeah. It’s just a bruise that you got from your picture falling on your face,” Michelle eventually echoes quietly, shaking her head. Her voice softens when she turns away. “Okay. I’m going to go. Goodnight.”
“Hold on, I just—”
No. She lets the bedroom door shut on him mid-sentence.
Michelle doesn’t think she’s overreacting. She knows both herself and Peter better than that, and she can easily tell when he’s lying because he’s just that much of an open book. But she decides she can give him a chance to explain himself. Maybe it’s not as bad as she’s assuming it to be.
His ‘good morning!!! :)))’ text is obnoxious in itself, most likely meant to be an olive branch, but she responds all the same. He must take that as a good sign when he keeps messaging her throughout the morning as she eats the strawberry waffles her parents had made for breakfast.
The news is on and muted in front of her, and she watches carefully—just in case she sees anything out of the ordinary. But nothing. Her heart settles for now.
On the way to school, Michelle doesn’t think about the way Peter and potentially Ned are keeping her out of the loop—mainly because it makes her heart hurt a bit, but partially because she thinks she deserves it.
She shakes the thought from her head when she makes her way to her locker, the same she had last year, or when Ned greets her with a perky smile and a hello.
Her memory blanks when she goes to remember her combination, which is great, so Michelle stands there with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. Ned is going on about how he and his Lola kept up the tradition of first day photos, but she’s not really paying attention. Feels like deja vu.
“Hey, guys,” comes Peter’s voice from behind her, and she glances over to see him there with his hands gripping his backpack straps. He smiles at her, his voice inadvertently softer. “Hey. Is your locker stuck?”
Michelle stares at him for a moment, eyes flicking to his cheek where she notices the bruise is already healed. Just smooth, pale skin left in its place. He gauges her expression, wetting his lips and rocking on his heels a bit nervously.
“You’re not allowed to break my lock,” she finally tells him, and his mouth falls open a little. He manages to tell her that he wouldn’t , he would just jiggle it a little. “I don’t think that’s how it works. I’ll, uh, just get a key.”
It doesn’t take long to find a teacher and get a key, which means both Peter and Ned are still standing there when she gets back. Her locker unlocks with ease, and she’s reminded of her combination anyway when they’re handed their schedules. That’s a nice reassurance at least.
“So…us three at lunch, right?” Ned asks, closing his locker, and she wonders if there ever was any other option. It’s always been just them.
“Yeah. Yeah,” Peter says immediately.
“No band practice or robotics?” Michelle asks, looking at Peter and hoping he really didn’t quit the band. But the look on his face says otherwise, that band and robotics are a thing of the past. He claims he wants to have more free time outside of school. “So that means no AcaDec either?”
“What? No, I, uh—I still wanna join decathlon,” he stammers, lips pressed into a small smile, and she refrains from trying to find the logic behind his decision. No band or robotics, but decathlon works despite it taking up just as much time. “Who do I talk to?”
“Harrington, probably. Or Liz Toomes,” she says, shrugging. “She’s our new captain this year, so one of them would be your best bet.”
“I’ll talk to Harrington later today,” Peter decides, and she nods slowly before turning back to her locker. He and Ned start chatting shit, and she listens—just in case they mention something she’s not supposed to know. But all they speak on is the new Star Wars movie they want to go see in theaters.
The bell for first period finally rings, and Michelle blows a strand of hair out of her face, partially relieved. She thinks she needs to focus on anything else besides what’s going on with her friends, but as she walks away, Peter trails after her.
“Um, are you—”
“I’m going to English Lit,” he clarifies, and she grabs his schedule to compare with hers. And, well, they have the same first period. Great. “Oh, nice! We can walk together to class.”
Michelle doesn’t say anything, just ducks her head and starts walking again, ignoring the way Peter’s by her side with his arm brushing against hers. Maybe it was a joke, thinking he would explain himself to her at the first chance he got, when it’s clear he’d rather pretend last night never happened.
Apparently, the only class that Michelle shares with Peter is first period, which she hasn’t decided yet whether that’s a good thing or not. But she has at least three classes with Ned—so far—and that is definitely in her favor. That means she can walk with Ned to lunch, reserve their table like they did last year.
But by the time lunch does roll around, none of them even have the chance to sit down before the fire alarm goes off. The teachers claim it’s all protocol, that they need to have drills at least once a month.
Peter hasn’t even arrived at lunch yet, so it’s just Michelle and Ned. She brings her pasta salad outside with her because a fire drill isn’t going to stop her from eating. She shovels forkfuls in her mouth, biting around the bits of cucumber and eyes the way Peter emerges from the building a minute after.
He’s standing tense by the shrubbery and doesn’t even seem to notice them, his eyes locked on the doors. She briefly wonders if his senses are overloaded due to the mass amounts of students outside, along with the high pitched frequency of the alarm.
Her concern is bulldozed over by the sound of Ned whistling to gain his attention. Peter’s head whips around, and she thinks he may just be relieved to see them as he pushes past other students to make it over.
“Hey,” he greets breathlessly, nodding at the two of them, and she wonders if it’s just an automatic move at this point when his hand lightly touches her elbow. She waits for him to touch Ned’s as well—just for science—but he doesn’t. Interesting. “I didn’t see you guys in there, so I was just worried that maybe…”
“Isn’t this just a drill?” Michelle asks flatly, chewing her rigatoni with vigor.
“No, uh…someone leaving chem just knocked over some flammable chemicals that were sitting on the counter and…you know. Sparks.” Peter trails off, making an explosion gesture with his hands. Dramatic.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in an AP class?” she deadpans, seeing as this is his second year of chem and he should maybe know what he’s doing by now.
“It wasn’t me who knocked it over,” he defends.
“But you’re not gonna… help ?” Ned asks, something pointed to his tone that Michelle doesn’t quite like. She isn’t aware of any other reason aside from the obvious as to why he’d suggest that Peter help douse a chemical fire, but they’re not even coming clean to her with that obvious reason.
“No, I…uh, wouldn’t be allowed. Besides, they’ve got it handled,” Peter responds cagily, though Ned seems to understand just fine when they both look at her in unison. She stabs at her pasta salad, meeting both of their gazes evenly, and they’re the ones who end up shrinking away—the fuckers. “Also, sorry that I was late. I found out that Liz is in that class—the Liz you said was in decathlon? So I was talking to her about joining the team.”
“Okay.” She doesn’t really care anymore if he joins the team or not, her mood dampened severely. There’s a meeting on Thursday for new members, so she simply does not have to show up.
“Are you…going to finish that?”
“What?”
“Your cucumber,” Peter says sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I left my lunch in my locker so I’m kind of starving, and I know you hate cucumbers—”
“Here,” Michelle responds, shoving the half-empty container of pasta salad to his chest before stalking over to Flash and taking a seat next to him on the picnic bench. He doesn’t say a word, offering her a clementine instead—a good man.
As the week goes on, Michelle tries to keep her thoughts from spiraling any further than they already are. She doesn’t have any concrete proof about her conclusions at the moment. Just the power of common sense and the knowledge of the last thing they’d talked about before she left for New Jersey.
She remembers when Peter had dropped those two rolls of fabric onto her dining table with a sheepish smile and asked if either of them knew how to sew. It was an odd request at the time, but when he explained what he wanted to do, not only was the idea reckless—it was also completely terrifying.
“Look, I have these weird powers, right? And they’ve been going to waste with me. Every time I watch the news and see all of this shit happening, I feel like I could be doing more,” he had said quietly. “I want to do more, even if it’s small like this.”
“That’s not your job, Peter. There are other people out there who can take care of this,” Michelle had responded, turning away from him and running a frustrated hand through her hair. “The Avengers exist for a reason.”
“They’re not looking out for the little guy, though. They’re too preoccupied with, like, aliens and robots and self-destructive egos to care about us. But I care about us, so I can’t just sit back and see someone else get killed because no one was there. Not like—” His voice had faltered. “I just can’t.”
“God, Peter…right before I’m about to leave, huh?” She didn’t ask Ned what he thought because he already looked eager about the idea of their best friend taking up the whole superhero gig. Yeah, sure, getting your face pummeled into the concrete sounds like a blast.
“Whatever you want to do, Pete…I’ll support you. Even though I do agree with MJ about the fact that this shouldn’t be your job, I mean…it’s your choice,” Ned said with a shrug.
“Ben said this thing once…like, with great power comes great responsibility. And I think…this is the right choice. Right?” Peter asked, and he was looking at her with a type of expression she didn’t need right now—as if her blessing was the last one he needed.
“If you do this, if you go out there…I’ll never forgive you,” Michelle had finally answered, aware that this was the most selfish decision she could’ve made. And when he matched her gaze with a look that said she was breaking his heart, she thought, fine . At least they were even—because he was breaking hers too.
Out of fear for him, for her heart, for whatever it was, Michelle didn’t really care. She couldn’t imagine May was okay with this either, or she didn’t even know—but her bets were on the second option.
“Fine. Then I won’t,” Peter eventually said, lips pressed together, like he was forcing the words out.
“Promise?” she asked weakly.
“I promise,” he replied, and she didn’t really believe him. But she told herself that he was telling the truth anyway—for her sake. For the fact that she would be gone for three months and wouldn’t know any different.
But now she’s here, right in front of the television with the news on—one hand brought up to her mouth as she watches the shaky video footage of a car being stopped from slamming right into a bus. The movement is fast, a blur of red and blue swinging through the street and away from the near-wreck.
In the back of her mind, Michelle had always known he wasn’t going to listen to her. But that doesn’t make it any easier, the fact that she now has evidence of what she’s been fearing this past week. It rattles against her rib cage, and she doesn’t know whether to feel more terrified, heartbroken, or furious.
When she calls Ned, he doesn’t answer his phone. She doesn’t even bother trying Peter, instead heading straight to his apartment with no plan of action. Just the force of her emotions, really.
Her knocking is in rapid succession, not giving the atmosphere time to breathe, and when May opens the door, her expression is a mask of concern.
“Michelle? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing…I, uh, was just wondering if Peter was in,” Michelle says with a half smile, biting the inside of her cheek, nails digging in her palm.
“Yeah, he’s in his room with Ned. Why? Is there something…” May trails off, twisting her lips slightly in what feels like sympathy. “If he’s done anything to upset you, let me know. I’ll give him a stern talking to. Take away his video games and all that jazz.”
“Haha, thanks, May,” she responds quietly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and ducking her head as she’s let inside. His bedroom door is closed but it isn’t locked, so she doesn’t knock when walking in.
“What the—oh, my god. MJ, hey,” Ned greets with wide eyes, startled. He spins around in the desk chair, trying to act as nonchalant as possible. Even goes so far as to kick his legs up, hands behind his head. “What’s…up?”
“Where’s Peter?”
“Oh, you know…just had to stop by the bodega for some milk and gummy worms,” he says with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Maybe you could stop by again later? Or—even better—tomorrow?”
“You don’t have to come up with this whole elaborate lie anymore,” Michelle says with a wave of her hand, biting back her frustration. “I know that you two have been keeping this whole plan running for a while. I know that he’s out there right now.”
“Yo, thank god for that,” Ned exhales in relief, massaging his temple as he sits up. “I’m really bad at lying, so I’m glad he finally told you the truth. I’ve been saying to him that you’d come around—”
“He didn’t tell me. I figured it out,” she interrupts dryly, and his expression falls. “It’s all over the news, you know. Did he experiment to figure out he could stop 2,000 pounds? Or is this all just a…flying by the seat of your pants kinda thing?”
“Shit,” he groans. “We didn’t mean to keep this from you…not really—”
Ned is cut off by the sound of the window scraping open, Michelle twisting her head to see the sight of someone wearing what looks to be a very poorly sewn suit made from the fabric he’d bought. He doesn’t seem to notice her off to the side at first.
“Bro, you saw me stop that bus, right? That was so epic and someone caught it on tape—” Peter stumbles a bit, foot catching on the windowsill, and he finally looks up. She can’t see his expression, eyes hidden behind a mask, but his voice falters. “MJ…”
“Welcome back,” she greets evenly, swallowing her anger for just a minute to take in the sight of him okay, in one piece, alive .
“I can explain,” Peter says tentatively, removing his mask so that she can see his face clearly. His throat bobs when she approaches, wringing the fabric between his hands.
“I’m sure you can.” Michelle drops her gaze and doesn’t say anything else as she wraps her arms around his middle—surprising him. His breath hitches before he pulls her closer, resting his chin on her shoulder, hands rubbing up and down her back.
“You’re not mad?” he asks quietly.
“I am mad,” she responds, pulling away from him, and his face falls. She doesn’t know what he expected. “I’m not even sure…what to say right now, Peter.”
“You have to understand, MJ—”
“No, I get it. You’ve explained it all before,” Michelle interrupts, her voice somehow remaining steady, and she thinks that scares him more. “This was something you had to do, and you did it…and you lied to me about it. Guess that’s what I get, right? For asking you to not put yourself in danger.”
“You didn’t ask. You—you told me that you wouldn’t forgive me if I did this…knowing how important it was to me. So can you blame me for not wanting to tell you?” Peter counters, an edge to his tone that she’s not really used to.
“Well, I found out anyway, so I guess it doesn’t really matter,” she says flatly despite the way her heart is beating hard, and she shakes her head, moving towards the bedroom door. “I’m not going to try to stop you, don’t worry. But I’m not just going to sit around and watch you fling yourself into danger either.”
“MJ,” Ned tries while Peter remains eerily silent, and she doesn’t have anything left to say.
When she leaves, the door closes behind her with a finalizing click, and Michelle doesn’t linger. She inhales sharply on her way out, feeling the way her eyes sting, and her heart is lost somewhere along the way home.
The video starts to make its rounds.
Everywhere Michelle looks, there’s at least one person staring at a grainy image on their phone of a kid in a red and blue suit, stopping a car with his bare hands. She hates that she can’t escape the constant reminder of him.
Just another masked vigilante that won’t let the cops do their jobs—an offhand quote from J. Jonah Jameson in a recent Bugle article before the topic was brushed aside. Her parents had half-heartedly agreed with the statement, disliking Jameson while at the same time saying there was no need for more reckless superheroes.
Michelle had bit her lip to keep from saying anything, to keep from instinctively defending Peter—despite the way she barely likes to think about what he’s doing out there.
She starts sitting on the far side of their lunch table now, a last minute decision. She can tell that Peter and Ned weren’t really expecting her to move, the two of them whispering about it and casting hurt glances, but this is called strategically distancing herself.
Her books and mindless sketches are more than enough to keep her entertained at lunch, but sometimes Michelle finds her gaze drifting over to them. Most of the time, they’re not looking back.
But there are a few occasions when she does look over and accidentally meets Peter’s eyes, which is the last thing she wants. She’s always the first to turn away, her breath catching in her throat half the time. And when she sneaks another glance after, she usually sees him staring at the place she used to sit, his fork poking absently at his salad.
Ned is frustrated with it all, she can tell. They’re dancing around each other, avoiding each other, their friendship bordering on the dangerous edge of nothing. It’s the easiest remedy.
And yet, Michelle hates it. She hates that despite the fact that she’s trying to distance herself, she’s still keeping tabs on Peter through the news—just in case. She hates that she misses her friends, maybe even worse than when she’d been out of state, because they’re right there.
But this is her own choice, as selfish as it may be. He’s not stopping on her account, but at least she doesn’t have a front row seat to any potential injuries. She thinks it’s well within her right to not want to see her friend killed during some patrolling mishap.
That is, until lunch one day when Michelle takes her seat on one end of the table and notices that it’s only Ned at the other. No Peter. She hesitates, her eyes flicking over to him at least five times within the span of ten minutes before she finally thinks fuck it and slides back to her original seat—for now.
Ned looks up from his soup and sandwich, a surprised look on his face. “MJ?”
“Hey,” she greets tentatively, tapping her fingers against the tabletop. She doesn’t offer anything more for the next few minutes because she isn’t really sure what to say, but Ned is staring at her like he’s waiting. “Um, what’s up?”
“What’s…up with you?” he counters, raising both of his brows, and she bites the inside of her cheek. “I mean, you’ve been avoiding Peter and I for weeks now…we figured you didn’t want anything to do with us.”
“Fair enough…”
Ned stares at her for a moment longer before his lips curl into a conspiratorial smirk. He leans forward a little. “You want to know where Peter is?”
“Well, I wouldn’t say...” Michelle inhales sharply, stretching out a thin smile at his significantly knowing expression. He doesn’t even offer her an answer—as if he’s waiting for her to say something else. “Is he, uh…doing…you know—”
“Spider-Man stuff?”
“Spider-Man?” She thinks that’s a little on the nose for a name seeing as he got bitten by a radioactive spider. But she knows he’s leaning into the name, seeing the webs in the videos that he probably formulated during chemistry, the way he swings around the city because everyone’s got a gimmick. It works. It’s not catchy, but it works. “Okay. Fine, is he doing Spider-Man stuff?”
“Well, what’s it to you?” Ned counters, and okay, she thinks she deserves that, her heart sinking. But she’s only curious and if he’s going to start skipping school for this vigilante shit, she’d like to know. It’s not as if she’s invested or anything. Not…at all. “Nah, I’m just giving you a hard time.”
“I’ll say,” she mutters, ignoring the way Ned laughs but unable to ignore the way she’s missed him, this, the easiness and comfort of their friendship.
“He’s in Germany, actually,” he says, completely nonchalant, and that throws her.
“What? Why?”
“Something along the lines of…Tony Stark dropping by his apartment after seeing the video and dragging him to Germany with no real explanation.”
“What,” Michelle repeats, less of a question this time and more of a ‘ you’re kidding me, right? ’.
“There is that whole…thing going on with Captain America. Maybe it’s related. He’d probably be a good asset after all,” Ned murmurs, thinking out loud, and she massages her temple, closing her eyes.
Oh, fuck that .