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He knows he shouldn't be here.
Peter has spent the past few months convincing himself that keeping a distance between them and him was the good thing to do. They were happy and healthy and safe and clearly not looking for the hazards of being a FOS.
Of course, that conviction started to thin out as time moved forward for everyone else but him. As he woke up every night in a cold sweat and wet eyes with the voice of May whispering that she needed to catch her breath in the back of his head. As he shakes and tries to calm down, a heavy sadness weighs down on his chest when he reaches out for his phone to call Ned or Happy or MJ before catching himself because he can’t, he is alone.
He did his best to keep his night busy, chasing down small criminals, saving cats from trees or even helping old ladies cross the street, but apparently criminals, cats and old ladies decided to stay at home—giving him nothing to do but swing down Midtown High School one last time.
Watching the school that used to be his from the rooftop he used to go to when everything felt like too much, when the cameras flashed in front of him and accusatory fingers pointed his way, when everyone knew who he was, has the same effect than before, tranquility settling on his bones, a small amount of the weight on his shoulders dissipating.
His mind drifts for a second to one of the nice memories, to palms pressed together, soft smiles and promises of a fresh start far away.
Laughter catches his attention on the ground below, a few of his old classmates going back inside the gym, wearing long dresses and fancy jackets, glowing under the white lights that should do nothing but cast cold shadows on the pavement but only makes them glow brighter as the sun with the happiness of prom.
Maybe in another life, he would’ve joined them like he was meant to just a few months ago with the love of his life in his arms.
But that’s just an impossible dream now.
Peter hasn't seen either Ned or MJ arrive—he's not sure if he is ready to see her coming here with someone else, as selfish as it might sound. But he was the one who asked first, during their only week of normalcy. He asked and she said yes, and they had that promise that prom would be for them.
Then again, he’s always been good at breaking his promises.
It’s impossible to miss Flash wearing a red and blue tux, a "rendition" of the new spidey suit—it was terrible but such a Flash thing to do that Peter can’t help but smile. At least some things have never changed.
He sees a few students pointing at him from a distance, waving or whistling, because all they know him as is the ‘friendly neighborhood Spider-Man’. And that’s what he wanted, but it gives him a feeling of detachment instead of the feeling of solidarity that he misses.
Even just trying to imagine himself down there with all his friends makes his heart sink even further because Peter Parker could never.
Peter Parker doesn’t exist.
He feels the familiar ache of that reminder sitting heavily on his chest, knowing that even as time passes, that feeling will never fade. The feeling that he doesn’t belong anywhere anymore, unless he’s Spider-Man. And Spider-Man only belongs to the city.
It’s difficult and lonely, and he doesn’t know how to escape his feelings. But he just has to live with it, because he did this to himself—just so they could be safe. That’s all that matters.
And then he hears it, that familiar fluttering.
It would be hard to pick up a heartbeat over all the noise without his powers and yet he will always find a way to catch his best friend in a crowd.
Ned went back to the fedoras, wearing one proudly with a suit that fits him perfectly well, and somehow it's the perfect combination. Only Ned could do that.
He’s also back to gazing at Betty like she hangs the moon and the stars in the sky judging by the way he walks towards her with bright eyes and a dreamy smile, almost in a trance. He stops suddenly a few feet away, head spinning, eyes searching. Until they lock with his.
May used to joke about how in tune Ned and Peter were with each other, how her nephew would run to the door, jumping out of his skin with excitement seconds before Ned knocks on the door of their apartment, before the superpowers and the text messages. How Ned would unpromptedly drop by with food from his lola when Peter wasn't feeling so well on the weekends.
He feels seen, for the first time in so long and just by a simple wave and smile from his best friend Peter feels like someone sees him. Him and not the masked vigilante, not the tourist attraction.
Peter waves back and turns around, holding back tears that thankfully no one witnesses. Flopping to the floor, back against the wall and head between his knees, he hopelessly tries to catch his breath and stay right there because suddenly the pull to swing down, take his mask off and just tell everything to Ned is excessively strong.
This is a terrible idea. He shouldn’t be here.
“You okay, Spidey?”
A frantic laugh escapes him because of course she will be here in that exact moment he’s feeling the most vulnerable. Because the universe hates him and loves to fill every waking hour of his life with the most difficult challenges imaginable.
He is not ready to see Michelle, even though seeing her was the reason why he came here in the first place, so he lifts up his gaze cautiously, repeating in his head to not crush her in a hug and whisper in her ear how much he misses her, how much he loves her.
Michelle is the prettiest girl in the world, he has no doubt about it. She’s always been beautiful but there is something special about how she looks under the night sky, like the few visible stars decided to shine only on her skin and her eyes, waking sparkles of gold on every inch, like she is something ethereal.
I love you, he wants to answer. I love you, I love you, I love you . He goes for, “I’m good, yeah,” instead.
She simply nods, disbelief clear in her frown and the barely there pout of her lips. How smart is she that even with his face behind a mask, she still caught onto his lies?
"Okay. Cool."
"Yeah."
There's nothing that Peter wants more at this moment than to cut with all this insignificant chat. He doesn't want stilted words or the soft cadence of her voice soothing on his soul. Because if he lays too much in it, how is he supposed to swing away from here?
He stands up, ready to say his last goodbye, taking one more look. But there’s something in the way she stands, tapping her foot and playing with the black Dahlia necklace that has been through so much and still survives, sitting prettily against her breast bone ─a reminder of everything that could’ve been for Peter but nothing more than a piece of jewelry for her, probably.
She holds some tension in her shoulders, not the kind that comes from nerves because she is standing in front of some superhero celebrity, not that he thinks she would really mind about his famous status or the reason behind said fame. But something is off.
So yes, he should be flying away in the night sky to his empty apartment and lay awake on his thin mattress replaying over and over the memory of her in the back of his mind. But he stays.
Just a few minutes. Promise.
"How are you?"
Michelle breathes in deeply and exhales shakily, something he’s seen her do a sparse amount of times before. At that time, they were molding a friendship and she needed to hype herself up before telling something minimal about her own life. It pangs right beneath his ribs.
“I… My date stood me up.”
“Oh.”
For some reason his fists clench and anger rises up his throat, ready to fight the idiot who deceived his girlfriend—ex-girlfriend?—like that on one of the most special nights of high school life.
She scoffs, “Calm down. I can’t really remember who invited me anyway.”
Oh. Fuck.
“So that makes me really stupid because I must have dreamed about it and it lingered in the back of my mind and I asumed it was real,” she rambles, rolling her eyes exasperated. “And it’s not like I’m ashamed or anything, there is nothing wrong with coming with a group of friends to prom. It’s just that I really thought someone would show up and dance with me but now I’m here alone and dropping all this to you. Sorry.”
He shakes his head fondly, wondering for a second if there is any way he could make her night any better.
“Wanna dance with me?” he asks slowly, as MJ squints confused. “I mean, I have two left feet so I’m gonna stomp on you a few times but we could sway to that song you really like-- any song that you like,” he corrects himself. “What do you think?”
He extends his spandex-covered palm up and aside from the imperceptible shake on his knees, doesn't move from his spot, waiting and watching as the wheels turn inside her head, listing the pros and cons of dancing with him on a deserted rooftop.
“Sure. Just one song.”
Michelle pulls her phone out of the pocket of her dress and taps the screen until the first chords of a guitar start echoing around them. It’s a soft and calm melody and he remembers listening to this song as they lay together on her bedroom floor some lazy afternoon, sharing headphones and kisses.
Pressed forward by the memory Peter walks to her the rest of the way and gently holds her hand before twirling her around and into his arms. He smiles as she yelps and slaps his shoulder, and it almost feels like before.
“Love this song,” he says, humming contently as they move on their own rhythm, so close he can smell the citrusy fragrance of her shampoo. The tips of her fingers roam along his nape, and surely if it wasn’t for the mask, she would be running her fingers through his curls—the way she used to, the way she knew he liked, all while smirking mischievously.
“So are you tone deaf, besides having two feet? How do you even save the city Spider-man?”
His jaw drops and he pulls both their hands to his chest in a mocked gesture of offense. “Excuse me, miss. Not all of us can have a beautiful voice.”
“Clearly.”
And for the first time in a long time he laughs, genuine and deep from his belly and almost foreing to his ears. Because MJ is teasing him as they dance at prom and it’s almost as he dreamed of.
He falls in love deeper and further as she chuckles and leans her forehead against his. The whole word fading into nothing until the last second of the song.
“Umm,” she murmurs, pulling back to look at his eyes but not walking away yet. “I should get going.”
“Do you want a swing?”
It’s not that he can’t let go, it’s simply that he doesn’t want to. Not when she is looking at him through her lashes, with rosy cheeks, and the warmth of her skin seeping through his suit.
He’ll just make sure she gets home safe and that’s it. Promise.
“I’m never—I’m never doing this again —”
Her words get cut off with a scream as they drop, muffled in the wind as she can hear the low rumble of a laugh, him pressing her tighter against the hard lines of his body. There’s something familiar about him, about the way they’re tangled together, but she can say for certain that she’s no expert on Spider-Man’s abs. Unfortunately.
“That’s what they all say,” he says, words catching in his throat when they land on the outside wall near her window. She wants to pull back and look at his face, but she knows it wouldn’t make much of a difference anyway with those blank, emotionless eyepieces.
“The people you save?”
Spider-Man doesn’t answer immediately, the silence stretching on for a bit. It makes her wonder what she’s missing, but he eventually just clears his throat and says, “Sure. The people I save.”
The rest of their manoeuvring is awkward, to say the least. With how she’s being supported by only one arm while his other limbs are stuck to the wall, and she has to pry her window open to get inside. Incessant apologies escape him when his hand accidentally grazes a little too low, but the way he says I’m sorry tickles something in the back of her mind that she wants to poke and prod at.
Like this isn’t the first time he’s apologized to her.
Eventually, she gets the window open and practically stumbles her way into her bedroom, which is fine if not a little embarrassing. Even more so because he chuckles, endearingly.
When she looks at him, he just looks back at her, perched on her windowsill, head tilted like he’s just taking her in.
“You’re allowed to come inside,” she says quietly, with no real understanding as to why she said such a thing. She was just meant to use him as an Uber of sorts and let him go right after. But she wants him to stay, at least for a little bit.
“I really…I shouldn’t,” he replies, just as quiet—if not quieter than her. “Your parents…?”
“They’re not home.”
“I shouldn’t,” he repeats, but more to himself this time. His eyes dart around her bedroom, and she thinks she should’ve cleaned up because he’s getting the whole gist of her by just the look of her room. His gaze comes to a halt when he sees a picture taped up on her wall, one of her and Ned from Homecoming.
It feels like a lifetime ago. She can barely remember their lives back then, nothing more than a mess of blurry images and memories and gaps in between.
“That would be my friend Ned and I,” she inputs quietly. “Prom feels a lot like Homecoming, in a way.”
Spider-Man turns towards her. “How so?”
“Just that…it feels like there’s always someone missing.” She doesn’t really want to explain it, least of all to Spider-Man, but the words come rushing out of her anyway. “And not just from the dances but from…everything else too. Maybe I sound crazy—”
“You don’t,” he immediately cuts in, his voice sharp with something emotional and then it softens. “You could never.”
“You don’t know me.” Her walls are usually a consistent form of protection from people that could hurt her, disappoint her, but she finds that she needs to keep a higher defense around Spider-Man because there’s something about him that just keeps chipping away at them. She bets he could break her if he wanted to, if she let him in.
“I guess you’re right.” His shoulders sag and there’s something about the defeated air around him that makes her want to get closer, wrap him in comfort—not that she has much to spare. She’s never been good at this kind of thing.
“I’m sorry. I’m not the best at getting close to people.” She tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her breath shaky. “I expect disappointment…from everyone, because that’s all they do. People disappoint me when I let them in.”
“I’m sorry,” he echoes, his throat bobbing. Genuine, as if it could ever be his fault. “Can I ask how?”
Michelle shrugs. She didn’t mean to turn this into a pity party or to pour her soul out to Spider-Man, but that’s what they’re doing now. “They leave.”
Whether they mean to or not, they leave. She doesn’t want to rehash the story of her life, the way people constantly weave in and out, but no one is permanent. Hell, not even her prom date. And Ned tells her that it’s not because of her, but she’s the only factor that’s remained the same between them all.
“Oh.” Spider-Man looks to be rendered speechless, his hands occasionally going up to his face but then remembers he has a mask on.
“Don’t feel bad because then I’ll feel bad, and then I’ll have to kick you out,” she says awkwardly, but he quickly shakes his head.
“No—no, I just…it sucks that people leave. But you shouldn’t—” He takes a wobbly breath. “You’re an amazing person, MJ. The best person. And I can tell you right now, even if they didn’t have a choice, everyone who left you is feeling your absence. Okay? Like this giant…gaping hole in their life, because you’re the type of person that’s impossible to leave behind. So don’t—you have to know it’s not you.”
Michelle wonders if it’s normal for her heart to be beating the way it is, so profoundly for this stranger that talks like he knows her. She could be imagining the emotion in his voice, like he lost something too, but as much as she wants to thank him for his words, her mind is caught on another thing.
“Only my friends call me MJ.”
“What?”
“You called me MJ—” She furrows her brows, that intermittent feeling of deja vu flitting through her mind once again. “You can’t—you can’t just say all of these things and expect me to believe you think so highly of me as a stranger?”
“You just seem like the type,” he says, trying to play it off, but she refuses to buy into his bullshit anymore. There’s something up with Spider-Man, something up with herself, and she has to know if the two are connected.
“No. You’re lying to me,” she tells him steadily with a hint of casualness. “And if you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll just figure it out myself. I’ve done this kind of thing before.”
“I know you have,” he replies and his voice is low, hushed, and if she listens hard enough, she can hear the way it falters, cracks. There’s a prominent emotion—she thinks it’s sadness, or maybe just pain.
“And how do you know that?” She thought she was just bluffing, but she also feels like she’s had this conversation before.
“MJ,” Spider-Man whispers, a helpless sort of sound from the back of his throat.
“Why did you choose to dance with me tonight? Out of everyone there,” Michelle asks, blinking rapidly because her eyes burn for some unknown reason. Maybe his emotions are contagious.
Spider-Man doesn’t say anything for a minute, maybe even two, and they’re just standing there in her room, looking at each other. She waits for him to answer, but he doesn’t. Instead he reaches for the seam of his mask, hesitating, and she blinks—and it’s gone.
“Peter?”
Peter Parker, from the bakery —that Peter . The Peter that seemed to know too much with just one look at her, the Peter that she was still hoping would stop by one more time, the Peter that she never saw again.
“Hi,” he says, swallowing thickly, eyes roving all over her face like he’s just taking in her reaction, or maybe lack thereof. “I didn’t plan on, uh…but I thought—I thought telling you would make things easier.”
“You never came in for coffee again.”
“What?” He blinks, like he already knew that but didn’t expect her to care about it.
“It’s silly—I don’t know. You came in once and you never came in again, and I…” Was disappointed? That would about sum it up, but she’ll never say it out loud. “I don’t know why I expected to see more of you around.”
“I almost did. I almost came back, but then I saw…” His eyes travel to the edge of her temple, the place where there once was a bandaid and now there’s a scar. His throat bobs. “And yet here I am. I guess I’m just bad at staying away from you.”
She wants to ask if he likes her, but that seems a little juvenile and not really fitting when she can finally see his eyes and the way he looks at her. Like she really is that missing gap in his life that he’s talked about before. So maybe he more than likes her—she would just like to know why.
“You still know more about me than I’ve ever told you,” she points out and he drops his head, laughing wryly. “Is it because you’re Spider-Man?”
“Somewhat.” He hesitates, sheepish. “Are you surprised…? That it’s me?”
“No.” Michelle has half a mind to wonder why that is—why it feels more like waking up from a long dream than coming to a new realization. “I feel like I should’ve known this already. But my memory hasn’t been the best lately.”
It takes a moment, Peter shifting from one foot to the other, his mask being wrung between his hands as he looks to be contemplating something. And then he finally sighs, squeezes his eyes shut, admitting, “That’s my fault.”
“Your fault?”
“I made a promise…and I broke that promise, and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it—or you, ever since,” he continues, gnawing at his cheek. “But I’ll tell you now, okay? And whatever happens, happens, but you deserve…you deserve to know. You, and Ned—I’ll find him later.”
So he explains. The reasoning behind his knowledge, the way the undeniable holes in her life were left by him, the catalyst of events that led them to this moment where she finds out she’s not so much standing in front of a stranger anymore. And her heart is in her throat because there’s so much—so much she forgot, so much she needs to remember. But it was taken away, leaving her with nothing but the ghost of memories and empty space where the boy she loved had resided.
“You know, staying away from us wasn’t some noble decision,” she says, and she has to wipe her eyes because he easily made her cry. And for that, he looks devastated. “Maybe it was selfless to you, but that was the most selfish thing you could’ve done.”
“MJ—”
“I get it—you want to protect the people you care about. Okay, but what about us? Aren’t we allowed to do the same thing?” She inhales sharply. “And we can’t do that if we don’t know. It’s our choice to be in your life, and it should’ve been our choice to stay in it.”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he tells her, shaking his head, teary-eyed. “I just didn’t want to hurt you guys anymore by being in your lives.”
“You could never hurt us, okay? As long as you don’t leave,” Michelle says quietly, finding his wrist and grasping it, tentatively pulling him closer until he folds into her arms with ease. His shoulders shake, and as angry as she should be, she can’t help but feel at peace holding him like this. “Do you promise?”
“Yes. For real this time,” Peter mumbles against her the crook of her neck, his fingers hooked around her back as they keep each other encircled in their arms. “I don’t want you to expect disappointment, least of all from me.”
“Good,” she hums, her tone soft as they pull back slightly from each other, and his eyes—they’re rheumy, big, pupils dilated as he looks at her. “I wish I could remember it all from my point of view.”
“I can help remind you until you do,” he murmurs, thumb grazing her cheek as he holds her face. And she nods, smiles, doesn’t hesitate when he leans in to press a gentle, lingering kiss to her lips. It’s warm and could sustain her for ages, a kiss that feels like an echo of one they shared before. A flicker of light is cast in her mind, and she thinks he really will help her remember in due time.
“I appreciate that,” Michelle says with a little laugh, seeing how his smile lights up and his eyes crinkle. She truly wonders how she forgot him because after seeing all this again, it feels almost impossible.
“Hey.” He reaches out and tucks a strand of her hair behind her ear, all soft and gentle. “I love you.”
She swallows, those words being a flood of emotion in her ears. Her heart already knows how she feels, muscle memory and all, even if her mind is still catching up. “I…”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Peter says quietly, resting their foreheads together. “I’ve found you, and I just wanted you to know that I love you back. And we’ll get it right when the timing’s there, eventually.”
“Okay,” Michelle breathes, letting her eyes close as he leaves a kiss on the bridge of her nose. “Hey, thank you for dancing with me at prom, by the way.”
Peter merely smiles and shakes his head. “Even though I was technically the terrible date that ditched you, I wanted to keep at least that promise. One last dance, just for us.”
Just for you and me.