Work Text:
It was a year ago that he remembers setting this notification in his calendar.
He hasn’t lost it, the memory of typing it in, letter by letter, filled to the brim with excitement at just the idea of having something like this to celebrate—just as his Ben and May had always done once upon a time. The next year, and the next and the next, if he was lucky. He had shown it to her while they were boarding their flight, the date and the heart next to it.
He remembers the way her smile blossomed, shy yet pleased, bumped his shoulder and said he was kind of a loser to put that down already. But she was just joking—he’d gotten better at reading her—and she squeezed his hand then, fingers interlocking and staying that way until they sat down together on the flight. And while sharing his dual headphone adapter while listening to her favorite crime podcast, he might have fallen asleep on her shoulder. Corny, maybe.
(He definitely fell asleep on her shoulder, but she was the one who let him stay there. Cornier.)
From the second that he ran on the bridge to the second she was in his arms to the second their lips had touched, everything felt like it was falling into place for once. He can remember feeling so deeply happy, unbridled in his chest, like her reciprocating this kind of love had unlocked something new for him.
So yes, it’s been a year, and he hasn’t forgotten—though he hasn’t been actively trying to remember the specifics anymore either, the details in the date, because what’s the point if he can remember all of it, but she can remember none of it.
At least May and Ben had time. At least they got to experience their anniversary once and then more than once because they were lucky enough to have a lifetime together.
Peter stares at his phone screen as if it’s mocking him, the heart with the notification and every memory it brings back.
But it’s fine.
He’s fine.
He locks his phone, puts it back on his nightstand, and pulls the covers up over his head to block out the light of his window.
(Really, he is fine .)
Maybe he’s not fine.
It’s a sensation in his gut, some sort of longing that he can’t fulfill on his own, no matter how much he tries to tell himself that this is how it has been and how it should be. But he thinks about her, more than he has in the past few weeks even if she’s never, ever been far from the front of his mind.
He knows why it’s worse today, insult to injury and such, and he keeps trying to convince himself that this silly little date isn’t worth breaking his promise. Not the promise to her—that’s been long broken, and he knows it—but the promise to himself.
Peter hasn’t been back at this bakery since December, and now it’s July.
Seven months.
Only seven months later, yet it feels like a lifetime ago. The funny thing is, he thought it would be longer. Years—maybe even decades until he decided it would be okay to see her again, pop himself back into her life when it could be safe. Or possibly never at all—he didn’t know if safe was an applicable term in his life. But he’s been good at staying away from her, removing any possibilities of a chance encounter, and the first step was to never come back here again.
But seeing her now, he doesn’t know how he did it, even with just the small glimpses through the glass, how she serves customers with her trademark half-smile and how her hair swishes just around her shoulders, newly cut and colored red. Or maybe not newly—he wouldn’t know.
What he does know is that MJ looks beautiful.
She’s always looked pretty, stunning to him and no doubt to the rest of the world, but she’s older now, even if just by a few months, striking a sentimental chord with him. It doesn’t help his heart regain stability because now it’s jumping into his throat, like if he doesn’t go inside right this minute, he’ll lose all his air. Ridiculous, but not really. It's MJ.
Just five more minutes.
Five more minutes and then he’ll go inside.
“Excuse me,” someone says from behind him, and Peter realizes with slight embarrassment that he’s been blocking the entrance. He apologizes, sheepish, cheeks red as he ducks his head and shuffles over to the bench placed near the door.
He doesn’t have a plan, doesn’t even have a piece of paper in his back pocket anymore. It’s not like he can just barge in and say something along the lines of you don’t know me, but happy anniversary to the day i fell in love with you.
Even though that would probably release the pressure in his chest of holding back his i love you after all these months—but he can’t.
(Right? Right.)
So he sits there and tries to think of something casual, like a coffee order. He doesn’t drink coffee, it’s always been tea—which he can only blame her for as well after getting him hooked—but he’ll try it again.
Maybe if he gets the same order as he did in December but with a little more sugar and cream so that it’s not so bitter. It’s not his fault he didn’t like it, really. He got the same order that she always has, if only to make him feel just a bit closer to her, and hell—if there’s one thing MJ likes, it’s her coffee black and bitter. And if there’s one thing Peter learned he dislikes, it’s exactly that.
He can do this. He can order coffee, no problem. Maybe make small talk, refresh the memory of her voice in his head but stay no longer than fifteen minutes.
This is a plan.
He’s got this.
Peter squares his shoulders and walks inside, the bell chiming near the door. The bakery looks different with all of the holiday decorations taken down, but the heart of it remains the same, and she’s currently looking at him right now. Her hands freeze from whatever task she was previously doing, lips parting, eyes locking onto his, and he immediately wishes everything in his world would shift again just to align with her.
Abort mission.
He can’t do this.
Peter swivels around awkwardly so that he’s facing the door again, closing his eyes and praying that she lets him leave without question. His hand is on the knob and his mind is berating him— idiot, idiot, idiot .
“Hey,” she speaks up, her voice a crack in the silence, shattering it softly like fragile glass. “I haven’t seen you around in a while.”
He sucks in a harsh breath before forcing himself to look at her, feeling a bit pained inside and out. “You remember me?”
“Hard to forget the only person who’s come in here with their full name on a coffee order,” MJ says with that damn half-smile that he finds so endearing. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear and looks down. “Peter Parker, right?”
“That’s me, yep,” he replies awkwardly, wincing at how his words falter, but if she notices, she doesn’t mention it. His eyes travel to her temple, his brain immediately jotting down the fact that the bandaid is gone now. Of course it would be, but there’s the tiniest of scars in its place. He shouldn’t have come.
But she’s looking at him with no judgment, just patience. She’s always been patient with him, even now as a stranger, and he knows this is one of the many reasons he thinks the world of her. He shouldn’t have come…but he’s here anyway, so he might as well stay for a little.
Fifteen minutes.
“Can I get a coffee?” he blurts out, and she raises an eyebrow before nodding. Before she can ask him any follow-up questions, he cuts her off. “Surprise me. Please.”
MJ stares at him for a moment, like she can’t quite figure out the inner workings of his brain, and fair enough. But then she nods. “I’ll get right on that, Peter.”
They’re the only ones in the bakery now, and he doesn’t know whether or not that’s a good thing. He takes a seat at the counter though, putting his phone and wallet down, fingers tapping idly against the cold surface.
“I like your hair,” he says as only her backside is visible to him, and she breathes out a little laugh and a thank you, tells him she wanted a bit of change before heading to MIT. It hits him at that moment, the reminder that she’s not going to be here for the rest of her life. He has to convince himself that he won’t be, either.
He has other things going on in his life, too. Spider-Man. That never goes away, but it’s okay. It’s the only solid thing in his life anyway, and it makes him feel like he’s doing something right at least some of the time. Freelance tutoring, where he gets to help a kid named Miles in physics, though he’d be lying if he thought he really needed it and wasn’t just told by his parents. Picking up hours at FEAST, just like May had, and hopefully making her proud with all of the above.
Seven months and a lot of time on his hands, but he’s trying to make the best of it. It’s working, despite how he still feels partially hollow inside. He doubts he’ll find anything to fill that void any time soon, though.
“Hey.”
Peter blinks and he swallows hard to see that she’s finished with his drink, now staring at him with concern as he probably zoned out. His voice softens a fraction when he says, “Hi. Sorry.”
MJ shrugs, leans her elbows on the counter as she slides his drink over. It’s probably what he should be looking at, but his eyes catch on the chain around her neck, something familiar and dainty tucked into the inside of her uniform.
Seven months, and still.
His eyes sting when he looks down at the coffee, seeing that it looks more like a latte than anything. It’s a little embarrassing when he blinks and something vaguely like a tear splashes in his drink, but it’s fine.
“On the house,” she tells him, and when he looks up to protest because he’s not entirely broke, nor does he want a pity coffee, she’s already turned away.
Well, she’s walking around the counter now and taking the stool to the left of him, placing her phone down.
They sit in silence for a little while, at least until Peter sips his drink and then can’t shut up about how good it is, how he definitely wants to pay her for it. She shakes her head no every single time.
“Consider it a gift from me to you.” MJ offers him a smile that could borderline sadness if he looks too far into it. “I hope it lifted your spirits a little bit.”
“It did. Thank you,” he says, the lump in his throat starting to shrink. “So much.”
“Can I ask…what brings you here? Not to be nosy—” She pauses, frowning. “Or rude. But I haven’t seen you in this bakery for a while. And I would know because I…well, I take a lot of shifts. College and everything is expensive.”
Peter meekly raises one shoulder, propping his head up against his hand and giving her a simple smile. “Best coffee in Queens.”
“Okay, well,” MJ sighs. “You’re lying because the coffee here is shit. It’s all prepackaged in packets, not that you heard it from me. I wouldn’t get a drink here if it were the last place on earth.”
“Oh.” He looks down at his cup and wonders if he has horrendous taste or if MJ is just that good at making bad things taste good. “But…”
“You must not drink a lot of coffee.”
“I’m more of a tea person,” he admits with a slight laugh.
“Me, too,” she says, smiling, and his heart does something dumb where it flutters, even just at the simplicity of it all. He wants to say that he knows. He knows her exact order, and he knows her favorite cafe around the corner near her house, and he knows how she can finish a drink in one minute tops but she doesn’t because she likes to savor it until it damn near turns cold. “Maybe…”
“Maybe…?”
MJ hesitates, her throat bobbing, and she eventually just shakes her head, like whatever was on the tip of her tongue just fell away. “Never mind, actually.”
“Oh. Okay,” he says, trying not to sound all too dejected, opening his phone instead to distract himself. It doesn’t work, not when the notification is still there, front and center, but he can’t bring himself to clear it yet. But his fifteen minutes are almost up.
Peter ruminates over the fact that this might just be the last time he sees her for a really long time, and the idea just makes him miserable. He knows it would’ve been easier if he didn’t come to the bakery, if he just let today pass like any other day, but his heart is a silly sentimental thing, swinging around in his chest like a pendulum that doesn’t know what it wants anymore.
“Could I, um…” He swallows thickly, warmth spreading across his face when MJ looks at him, her eyes wide and expectant. “Could I order a pastry please?”
“Sure.” She ducks her head, hair cascading down so that he can no longer see the outline of her face. “What would you like?”
“What would you recommend?”
“Well, my favorite are the caramel-apple danishes. They’re pretty good and I say that because they’re freshly baked, unlike the donuts and muffins,” MJ says, though she winces at her bluntness. “Don’t tell my boss I shit on his business to all the customers.”
“Oh, you do this with all the customers?” he jokes, and when she walks around the counter again, he can see her on the brink of a shy smile.
“Maybe not all of them.” It almost feels like an inside joke as MJ pulls a pan out of the warmer in the back and grabs a danish, placing it inside of a little paper bag. “But I can trust you, right?”
“Yeah.” Something rattles against his rib cage, guilt or sadness or anger at himself, but he can’t differentiate those three feelings anymore when it’s like they’ve all just turned into one conglomerate pile of misery. “You can trust me.”
“Good.” And her smile is soft, so goddamn soft, and he knows that this is the only person in the world that will ever be able to make him feel this way. It’s both a miserable realization and a heartfelt one because even if he can never love anyone else in the same way, at least he knows he’ll always have this deep and gentle love preserved just for her, wherever they are. “Here’s your pastry, Peter Parker.”
Peter wets his lips, folding his hands and nodding to her. “It’s for you, actually.”
Happy one year to you and me.
“Oh,” she breathes, inhaling sharply, and he mentally snapshots the look on her face to remember for the next few years if he never gets to see her again. “Thank you…”
“Of course,” he says, standing up and rifling through his wallet to pull out a ten, telling her the rest is a tip.
His fifteen minutes are up now, and he thinks that maybe he can handle this—walking away again. Just one foot in front of the other, twenty steps at most, and that’ll be it. He’ll be through the door, and this will be over. Or, as over as he can fathom, at least.
But just as he’s about to bid his goodbye, his attention catches on something, the way her phone lights up on the counter with a notification. It’s a text message from Ned, but that’s not what he notices. He sees the calendar notification right above it, a small emoticon heart and the words i love you in text. Simple, but solidly there.
MJ had never told him she set the date, but maybe she wanted to keep it that way. His heart is beating so loudly in his chest that he wouldn’t be shocked if she could hear it, and when he looks at her, he sees how open her expression is despite the lack of string to tie all the pieces together.
She doesn’t know why it’s there, but it’s important to her anyway.
“I, um…” His voice comes out weak, fragile. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to look.”
“It’s okay. I accidentally saw yours too, earlier,” she admits, almost offhandedly, but the look in her eyes is far from it. Her fingernails tap against the granite, like she’s waiting for him to say something that he just can’t bring himself to say.
“I should…” He should go. His time is up and he can’t stay here any longer, knowing how easy it’ll be to break that promise to himself, but even now, her hold on him is so strong that he can’t make himself move.
MJ is safer without him, and he’s fine on his own. But lying to himself has always been easier when the one person who can see right through him isn’t staring him right in the face.
They’ve had seven months apart, and she should’ve forgotten who he is after his only trip to the bakery, but she didn’t. In a sea of thousands of customers, she didn’t forget Peter Parker, the one who got her favorite coffee order with his full name. And maybe it’s a sign. He’s never been good at knowing what they mean, but he’ll take a risk with this one.
“Do you want to get a drink sometime?” he asks quietly, trying to gauge her expression. Her brows lift and her lips part slightly, but she looks pleased.
“Coffee?”
“Tea,” Peter says with a grin to match, and MJ laughs a little, ducking her head and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I know the best place.”
“I guess we’ll see about that,” she teases.
“As in like…you wanna go? With me?” he asks, astounded, pointing to himself like he really can’t believe it. And she nods, smiling, making his heart skip a few beats in his chest. “Okay, cool, cool.”
They exchange numbers, or at least pretend to, because he’d be lying if he said he didn’t still have hers. And she hasn’t said a word, but there’s a one-sided string of messages in her phone with his number and no contact information.
Peter knows he’ll be so deeply in trouble in the future when she inevitably figures it out, but for now, they ignore the signs, and he walks out the bakery with a see you soon to MJ after his fifteen minutes have long since passed. And see you soon is far better than goodbye.
Maybe the guilt of seeing her just for a date on the calendar that means nothing to her but everything to him will haunt him at night, but really, he’s never felt so happy that he did.