Chapter Text
It felt like being surrounded by empty space while at the same time between a part of that empty space, almost. Floating in the middle of nowhere, but worse. She can’t quite shake the feeling out of her head, even now, days later, and she hates that. There’s still an echo of an ache in her chest containing that emptiness.
Each step she takes is a reminder that she should be grateful that they’re back and everything is the definition of normal again—or, as normal as it gets. But it's not the same as it was before it all happened, and she misses that feeling of peace.
MJ knows he’s on the other side of the door, his knock still the same as ever, but the fact that he’s even knocking and not just coming right in is a sign that things have changed. Something that’s deeply resonated inside her makes her afraid to open it, but she ignores that because she needs to see him.
He’s there, still in his suit—something unfamiliar and metallic that she hasn’t seen before. She’d care more about him being maskless on her neighborhood street if it weren’t for the fact that it’s barren anyway, and it’s also not at the front of her mind.
Something about seeing his face—the same as it was before even if he seems to hold himself differently, like there’s so much more on his shoulders—sends a shock of relief through her. She feels a crack of happiness too—he just does that to her.
But he’s not looking at her, eyes fixated on her doormat, one hand gripping the doorframe like it’s supporting him, and MJ gets it. She inhales sharply and speaks first, saying, “Hey.”
It’s neutral, coaxing, hoping that he’ll just lift his head up a little to meet her eyes.
“Hey,” Peter replies, but doesn’t meet her expectations of looking at her. Instead he drops his head even further, swallowing hard, and she wishes she didn’t understand so bad. “I, uh…I just…”
“Peter,” she says, pushing past the tremor in her voice, taking a step forward, but he squeezes his eyes painfully shut, like everything hurts.
“I had to see you, but everyone’s…they’re all…and if you’re not—if I lost five years with you, too—” He inhales sharply, like he can’t bring himself to say anything else.
“Hey,” she murmurs to him quietly, hesitating before cupping his face with her hands, swiping her thumbs under his eyes to dry the wetness, to heal the bags that feel like they could’ve been there for ages. “You came because you wanted to know, right? I promise you can look at me.”
“Em—”
“I promise.” She wouldn’t lie to him, not now, not ever, and he finally seems to believe her as he starts to open his eyes. His breathing goes ragged when he finally sees her there in front of him, expression crumpling, and then it’s just bare relief.
She’s exactly the same, more or less, as she was five years ago. Not everyone was as lucky—not her parents, not Abe or Cindy, but she was. And so were Ned, May, and now Peter. It doesn’t fix things, but it makes her feel less alone.
“You—you’re with me,” he exhales, shakily like he’s about to cry, taking one of her palms and pressing a soft kiss to it. His shoulders heave, lose some of that shackled weight, and he folds into her arms, holding her so tight that if it weren’t Peter, she’d be nervous of losing air. “I was so afraid that you weren’t…”
“It’s okay,” she assures him, holding him back, cupping the nape of his neck, even if it feels far from okay. That doesn’t really matter to her because at least for right now, they’re okay. “I’ve got you.”
“MJ,” Peter whispers before meeting her halfway in an almost desperate, helpless kind of kiss. She still feels partially hollow, but at least she’s not completely empty.
five months (and five years) earlier
“You look absolutely thrilled.”
“I can’t possibly understand why you would think I wouldn’t be absolutely thrilled for the start of school,” MJ replies while pacing in her socks, probably wearing down a hole in her carpet at the same time.
She releases a puff of air, finally coming to a standstill and giving into the small smile that’s begging to stretch across her face at the sight of her boyfriend sitting criss-cross on her bed, wearing a stolen Midtown crewneck and rubbing Jasmine’s head as it rests in his lap. She has to resist the urge to snap a photo of the two of them and hang it on her wall to go with the others.
“Didn’t you know that there’s a rule when using sarcasm against sarcasm? Like a double negative, they just cancel each other out,” Peter says with a cheeky kind of smile that makes her heart thump pitifully in her chest, just a little bit, so she combats it with an eye roll. “So that means you are thrilled, and I’m thrilled that you’re thrilled.”
“I know you like math and all, but that rule doesn’t apply here,” she grumbles, but who is she to argue when he’s looking at her like that. Of course he’s excited for junior year, and it’s not that she isn’t. She’s just looking forward to it…less.
Maybe it’s because she feels a little spoiled that they got a whole summer of just this—of them, together. And every time she looks at Peter, she remembers it all. The playful kisses they would share beneath the covers, the evenings spent just hanging out in their rooms with him trying to convince her that sci-fi movies should not entirely be wiped from existence, the times where he would take her to a rooftop and they would stay up there all day, falling asleep to the sound of each other breathing.
She doesn’t want this to end, and she knows the start of school won’t cause that, but time was on her side in the summer because she got to spend it with him. And now, it feels like the sun is finally setting after a long, beautiful day.
“MJ,” he drawls, holding her by the shoulders as he kneels upright on her bed so they’re face to face. He leans forward, their noses brushing together with intention, all smiles, and her heart does that thing where it restarts, like a reminder that this is real. God, she’s so incredibly fond of him that it’s almost embarrassing. Almost. “Trust the process. It’s gonna be great.”
She doesn’t trust the process, but she trusts him, so she simply breathes out a sigh and accepts his kiss when he offers it, soft and sweet and lingering.
A moment is all they get though because his phone goes off right after—a familiar news alert that she hears so often because he always keeps notifications on. She reluctantly pulls back to see that resigned look in his eyes already, reluctant to leave but prepared to do it anyway.
He jabs his thumb towards the window, his lips parting as if he’s preparing to explain, but she knows this routine well enough that he doesn’t even need to say anything. She gets it.
“Be safe,” she tells him, as she always does, and Peter simply smiles at her with his clothes already halfway kicked off, his suit on underneath. “And text me when you get home. Please.”
“Always,” he promises, their places now switched as she’s now sitting on the bed, him standing above her with his mask in hand. He plants a kiss on her temple, thumb gently caressing her cheek, before pulling back, the fondness all too evident in his eyes.
MJ likes that they never say goodbye as she watches him climb out of her window and swing into the distance. It’s a silent promise of sorts that he’ll come back to her.
She knows it’ll always be this way, hard and a little bit complicated with everything that he holds himself responsible for. But they’ve waited long enough to get to this point between them, and she thinks all of it is worth having to wait just a bit longer for him to come home each night.
“This is your element, MJ.”
At least the first day has finally decided to grant her one ounce of kindness.
“Is this the type of class where we have to draw people nude?” Peter asks with wide eyes, an owlish expression on his face as he looks at her, and she feels the need to ask him if he’s ever been in a high school art class before.
But Ned isn’t wrong in saying that this is her place, the only class where she feels like she can be purposefully messy because that’s the beauty in art. Not to mention that it’s the best room in the entire school with its big windows, a natural light source all of the time, and there’s something about afternoon light that gives her the nostalgia to paint and sketch. She loves it.
“Please re-evaluate the fact that we’re under eighteen and not worthy enough to replicate art like that yet,” she tells him with a teasing smile and a light kick to the ankle to cover up the fact that she would absolutely find it hilarious if that’s what this studio class was for. Alas, that might be reserved for college.
This is the one and only class that she shares with Peter or Ned this year, shockingly enough. And not to go down the path of conspiracies, but the school administration must be out to get her truly because it’s the worst schedule she’s had her entire high school career, and she thinks that maybe it’s a sign of how this year is going to go.
“I love your relentless optimism,” Peter had told her when she spilled her thoughts of potential impending doom to him right after their art class, and she realizes just how much her sarcasm is rubbing off on him.
“I am a glass half full kinda gal,” she drawled, which caused him to snicker a little bit and swing their hands on their way to lunch, making it seem like they’re one of those couples. Maybe they are—she doesn’t want to do much self-reflection about it. She figures Flash will just tell her anyway, and she’d much rather hear it from him than herself because at least he would be blunt about it. Perhaps give her a nice reality check.
MJ is grateful at least that they’ll always have lunch just for the three of them, no matter how much it feels like she drew the short end of the straw this year. She wonders if she jinxed herself yesterday, but maybe she’s just reading both too far and not far enough into it. After all, it’s only the first day.
“How was patrolling last night?” Ned asks mid-crunch of his carrot stick, eyeing Peter who heaves out a somewhat heavy sigh.
“You didn’t miss much. It was not eventful at all, but I managed to actually stop a bank robbery this time. Probably ‘cause they didn’t have any cool weapons.”
“Not eventful at all he says, while also stopping a bank robbery,” MJ echoes with a hint of teasing in her tone, and he laughs, dropping his head on her shoulder and making himself a little too comfortable. It makes her want to crawl into a hole or scream into her pillow while kicking her legs. Gross. “Loser.”
“All yours, though.”
There go her cheeks, flaming hot, and probably her reputation of being cool, calm, and collected right down the drain, too. She just can’t win.
“Remember how I said I was happy for you guys? Well, having to spend the whole summer with the two of you and now this has reminded me that my toaster is indeed waterproof.”
Ned says that now but the gleam is still there in his eyes, because their trio still is just that—the three of them, always. Which is why she doesn’t feel bad for teasing, deadpanning that he could be dealing with a lot worse, and receiving a carrot stick smacking against her forehead. They both break into a bout of giggles.
“Maybe if you stopped beating around the bush and just talked to…you know who…you wouldn’t have to keep testing that toaster hypothesis,” Peter jokes with a very conspicuous glance towards a certain lunch table. Enough that Ned has to kick him on the down-low under the table. “Hey, don’t kill the messenger when he’s right!”
“Maybe if the messenger didn’t act like it’s just that easy…especially considering how long it took you—”
“Okay, okay, fine, you’re right,” Peter rushes out, blushing hard and nodding like a bobble head. “There’s obviously no rush or anything. But if you need us to wingman, you know…hit us up. We could go on a double date…or something.”
“Peter, no offense, but you wouldn’t know if someone was flirting unless they had a big sign taped to their forehead that said kiss me on it.” Ned pauses. “Not that MJ’s much better, but I would take her as my wingman over you any day. Thanks, anyway.”
“Don’t know if I should be pleased or insulted,” MJ deadpans but eventually decides on pleased, hearing Peter spluttering in the background, indignant. “We’ll work on it, Leeds.”
When the bell rings signaling the end of lunch, she reluctantly parts with Peter and Ned, on her way to her next class of social science. The rest of the day drags on painfully slowly, and maybe it’s because her gaze won’t stop drifting towards the windows with the plain desire to go outside and feel the lingering warm temperatures of summer before fall starts.
Or, maybe it’s because she’s just anticipating this evening, so much so that she thinks she would love to leave early and use that as an excuse to save her the headache of hearing the same first-day lecture within forty minute intervals.
She doesn’t. But the evening rolls around on its own where she gets to spend it at a family dinner between her parents, May, and Peter.
MJ can easily admit how pleased she is that her and Peter’s families get along so nicely, even if her dad might never get over the whole vigilante thing. Her mom has been more lenient since finding out, always sharing a look with May, like they know they would be the last people to break their kids apart just because of a little superheroism.
But at least they all know the truth now, and they’re making progress and the ice is steadily thawing. There’s nothing that makes MJ happier, and if the soft looks that Peter sneaks at her during dinner are any indication, he would have to agree.
She tugs him into her bedroom later that evening when the adults start to forget that they’re there, which is honestly a nice reprieve. It means she can rest her head in his lap, relaxed as he lets her sketch him from memory, and eventually she falls asleep to the feeling of his hands in her hair.
He later frames the drawing and hangs it on his bedroom wall. It’s not the cheesiest thing he’s ever done, but it does make her fall just a little bit deeper into her feelings, if that’s even possible, for this boy that’s already had her heart since the ninth grade.
MJ would be lying if she said that when she was younger, she never had a fear of falling too deep, too hard for someone, so much that she’s in over her head, but this is Peter. She trusts that he’ll always be there to catch her.
She wouldn’t use the term ‘friend’ loosely when it comes to Flash because she truly does consider him a friend. A good friend even, because they hung out over the summer and she may have given him artistic suggestions for his Spidey Instagram when he asked. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a tendency to get on her nerves in the worst way sometimes.
“Em Jayyy,” he says, long and drawn out. They’re sitting in the auditorium as people start to file in for decathlon practice.
“What?” she asks, not looking up from her notes as she writes down the plan to get their decathlon back to Nationals again this year.
“Thinking that you’re gonna want to elect a co-captain this year, am I right?”
“No, but thanks for the suggestion.”
MJ hears the impatient tapping of Flash’s foot, like he’s waiting for her to elaborate.
“Well…why not?” he drawls, popping into the seat next to her, making her pause her writing to look over at him, seeing the cheeky smile stretched across his face. To add to the effect of that, he bats his lashes. “If it’s because you have no volunteers, here I am.”
“No, thank you,” she reiterates.
“How come?” he exclaims indignantly, almost offended as he frowns, scooting his chair closer to look at her notes. “I thought we were a good team this summer. You and I busting our asses to shape myself into the best AcaDec team member that has ever been.”
“That doesn’t mean I want a co-captain,” MJ deadpans, and he sighs.
“I thought the whole point of that though was because you considered me an asset. And you know what assets are? They’re leaders.”
“You don’t think I could handle this on my own?”
Flash snorts, like he finds what she just said silly. “No, I think you’re perfectly capable. But I’m trying to figure out if I’m perfectly capable. You gotta start small with leadership, you know? And then build your way up to the big leagues.”
“And what are the ‘big leagues’?”
“The CEO of a multibillion dollar company.” And he’s being a hundred percent serious, too.
MJ can’t help but chuckle a little bit, shaking her head as she finishes her notes. “I don’t think being an AcaDec co-captain will help you much there, my friend. But, hey, if you want to be an interim captain, be my guest—”
“I’ll take it!” Flash immediately leans over her notes to get a good look, tapping his finger where her pen left marks. “As interim captain, can I offer my opinion? I don’t think you should take Parker off first alternate.”
“And why not?”
“Look, I know you two have been cozying up and all,” he says in the midst of rolling his eyes. “But don’t let that bias fool you. What makes you think he’ll be more reliable this year? I mean, he’s not even here, for crying out loud—”
“Not true, I’m here!” His voice rings out as he’s panting, late and bursting through the auditorium doors with papers flying out of his backpack, hair unruly due to his mask no doubt, but he’s not a liar.
“How the fuck did you hear that—”
“Not important.” Peter shoves the loose papers into his bag before clumsily rushing over to her table with an apologetic look. He plants a very public kiss on the top of her head, as if they’re not about to be in a meeting, mumbling, “I’m sorry, baby.”
MJ thinks her ears burn bright red at those words. Well, that very specific word that she’s never heard come out of his mouth before, and she doesn’t want to draw attention to it, but her mouth moves before she can think straight—which always tends to screw her over. “What did you just say?”
“Um.” He swallows, eyes wide like it didn’t register with him either until just now. Instinctual. Enough to make him blush furiously so they match. He rubs the back of his neck, glancing at Flash as if he can save him and immediately regretting that decision because all that’s there is a smirk. “Maybe. I said maybe.”
“You’re sorry, maybe?” Flash snorts offhandedly, but when they both look at him, he simply rolls his eyes, packing up his bag so he can sit somewhere far away from them. “Pretend I’m not here so that you can carry on in the way I know you want to, but just be aware that you two are not sly—together or separately.”
She squints at him as he walks over to sit with Cindy and Abe while trying to ignore that feeling of Peter blinking at her with owlish eyes. But then he folds their hands together under the table, and her sigh comes out half resigned, half content. It’s not like he’s a newbie on how to win her over.
“For the record.” MJ swallows hard, hoping he isn’t listening too intently to the rhythm of her heart. “I didn’t hate it, so. Do with that what you will.”
“What didn’t you hate now?” he asks, leaning forward slightly, smiling and getting a little too smug for his own good when he was just tripping over his own words not even two minutes ago.
“That you’re sorry , maybe,” she deadpans, and he raises his shoulders sheepishly, dropping his head. “Don’t be late again, or you’ll be back to first alternate.”
“What did I tell ya?” Flash says, loud and clear from the other side of the room, all too gleeful and smug for his own good. Maybe being a CEO would suit him after all.
All day, she’s been hearing the repetitive clanging of moving trucks outside.
From what she can gather from sitting at her window, they look like a sweet family, really. Two parents, a kid, and their two cats.
The thing is that MJ isn’t used to having neighbors, and that feels kind of pitiful in a way. The house to the left of them has been vacant for as long as they’ve lived on the street and the house to their right is owned by a husband and wife who are always away on business, so she’s barely met them anyway.
She didn’t know anyone had bought the vacant house, but it’s kind of exciting to see new people move in. That is, until she starts feeling weird that she’s just been observing them now for a little too long and stops staring altogether, lest she come off too nosy.
That sentiment only works for as long as she’s in her bedroom because as soon as she goes downstairs, her mother ambushes her with a smile far too big and a plate of chocolate chip cookies, requesting her to drop them off for their new neighbors.
“I’m sure they’re really friendly,” her mom says, practically shooing her out the door before MJ can even gather her bearings.
“Then why aren’t you delivering the cookies?”
“Because,” she says slowly, like it’s either obvious or she’s just stalling for an answer. “Because it’ll be nice for you to meet them since this is the first time you’ve had a kid who’s your age on the block.”
“He doesn’t look my age,” MJ deadpans, recalling that the kid only looked like he would come up to her shoulder, but her mom simply shrugs.
“Close enough.”
MJ sighs but eventually relents, though she does take a cookie off the platter and shoves it into her mouth. “Fine, but this is my delivery fee, so thanks. These cookies taste really good…and store-bought.”
“May taught me that trick,” her mom calls after her as she’s on her way out.
She approaches the neighbors’ house slowly because there are still movers going in and out, and she doesn’t want to get in the way of them. But she doesn’t know where any of the family is and the door is wide open, so she hesitantly steps inside, biting her cheek when a mover whizzes right by her with a table in hand.
It’s awkward to be in a house that isn’t yours with no idea where the owners are, so she considers just leaving the cookies on the kitchen island and letting them figure it out themselves. Seems like a neighborly thing to do anyway. But her back is still facing the front door when she hears someone clear their throat in a who are you kind of way.
When she turns around, she sees the kid, of all people, standing there with a basketball under his arm and a suspicious look on his face. She doesn’t squirm under his gaze—she’s better than that—but he’s unrelenting.
“Why are you in my house?”
“I was just dropping cookies off. I’m from next door, so…” MJ trails off lamely, gesturing to the counter. “Are your parents around?”
“They’re talking to the movers.” He still seems to be regarding her with an odd pretense but eventually just shrugs and sticks his hand out. “Been told not to talk to strangers, but you seem chill. I’m Brad.”
She narrows her eyes at the sudden change in attitude, slowly reaching out to shake his hand and saying, “Michelle.”
Brad hums, nodding his head as her hands retreat back in her pockets. “My mom says not to ask women this because it’s rude, but how old are you?”
MJ snorts. “Sixteen. You?”
“Eleven. Dang,” he sighs, dropping his head, almost sounding disappointed, and she laughs internally because she probably doesn’t want to know what’s going on in this boy’s head. “Maybe we could play basketball sometime, or something. Are you a sports girl?”
“Ah, not really.” Not really, as in lacking any and all hand-eye coordination and not making up for it in other athletic categories either unless you count weightlifting the complete novels of Jane Austen during the span of gym class. But it’s fine because she’s never really been interested, anyway. “Sorry, dude.”
“Maybe one day.”
“Maybe,” she echoes with a slightly amused chuckle before jabbing her thumb towards the door. “I don’t want to bother your parents if they’re busy right now, but if you could let them know their neighbor stopped by…and dropped off those cookies, that would be great.”
Brad simply nods, leaning against the counter and raising an eyebrow, more than enough confidence radiating off him for an eleven year old. “Did you make the cookies yourself?”
“Taste one and see.” She gives him a backwards wave while walking out of the house. “Nice meeting you.”
By the time she makes it back to her own house, MJ finds her mother in the kitchen, taking a store-bought casserole out of the oven for dinner, and she thinks that her and May are starting to become a little too similar in that regard.
“How’d it go, Meesh?” her mom asks, dusting her hands off and turning around to look at her.
“I met the kid.”
“Well, at least that’s something.” She waves MJ over to taste the casserole, which is watered down and a little flavorless—just the usual when it comes to meals like this. She hands her mom the paprika wordlessly, causing her to let out a puff of air. “What about the parents?”
“Nah, I saved them just for you,” MJ says with a quiet chuckle, walking out of the kitchen with Jasmine trailing after her, hearing the faint, humored words of love that for me as she goes.
So, as it turns out, the neighbors are nosy.
Even more so than MJ, which might be saying something, but it’s hard to argue when her parents always somehow end up outside for an hour and half because they were trapped in conversation with the neighbors when they only wanted to get the mail.
Mr. and Mrs. Davis are something else—not unpleasant. Just gossipers. Maybe it would’ve been a little funnier if they left MJ out of it, but unfortunately, she overhears them sometimes, talking on their porch—not to her, but about her. Which isn’t great, no matter how harmless their conversations may seem.
But today’s her lucky day. Truly. Getting home from school and running into Mrs. Davis as she’s tending to her garden on the side of their house. Maybe it was false hope that led her to believe she could get past without engaging in conversation, but she was fooling herself.
“Hello, Michelle,” Mrs. Davis greets with a saccharine smile, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead as she stands up. “How lovely to see you. How was your day?”
“Pretty good.” MJ doesn’t want to come off rude by plowing by her to go inside and do her homework, but she knows her answer will somehow end up as the next topic in her and her husband’s conversations. “How was yours?”
“Oh, fantastic. I was actually talking to your parents earlier today about you—”
This is the part where she’s supposed to politely excuse herself because MJ cannot handle the idea of her neighbors knowing so much about her when she didn’t offer them the information herself. It’s a pet peeve, gets on her nerves badly. But thankfully, she doesn’t have to come up with the exit ticket herself when Brad suddenly exits the house, dribbling his basketball on the pavement.
“Sup, MJ,” he says while approaching them, looking between his mother and her slowly, like he can sense the tension. “By the way, Mom, one of the cats jumped into the fridge again.”
“And you let them?” Mrs. Davis gasps, already speed-walking towards the house. “ Brad —”
The door slams closed behind her, leaving MJ standing there awkwardly as Brad spins the basketball with his index finger.
“Well, thanks for that,” she tells him with a slight chuckle, rubbing the back of her neck, and he simply nods, tilting his head to the side. She wouldn’t say her and Brad have become friends since their first meeting as they don’t have much in common at all, but at least he’s not like his parents.
“Yeah, no problem,” he says casually, though there’s something about the look on his face that reminds her of the day they first met. Kind of suspicious. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Uh, sure.”
“You have a boyfriend, right?”
The question feels so out of the blue that MJ is actually a little taken aback. But she nods because yeah, she does have a boyfriend—there’s really no question about it, especially since Peter has come over and met them once before.
He was cordial, friendly to them despite the prying questions from her neighbors, his smile only half as forced as MJ’s surely was. Once a people pleaser, always a people pleaser.
“Why do you ask?”
Brad hums noncommittally, shifting from one foot to the other, and she’d be lying if she said she couldn’t see the slight flush coloring his cheeks. She remembers the disappointment that seemed to radiate off of him when she introduced him to Peter and wonders if it’s related. It would be almost funny in a way, like how you’d humor a little kid.
“Because I think I saw someone sneaking into your bedroom window last night when I was washing the dishes,” Brad says, offhandedly yet matter-of-factly, which completely throws MJ off guard as she stands there, lips parting in shock. “I dunno how they got up there but…I just thought you should know that I saw everything.”
So he’s observant, giving her a run for her money.
“Peter was over, but I’m not too sure what you saw by the window? It was probably just a shadow, if anything,” she says, her throat suddenly feeling very dry, Brad’s expression returning to skepticism. “Thanks for letting me know though.”
“No problem,” he tells her slowly, narrowing his eyes, and she feigns a smile before giving him the typical homework excuse, turning on her heel to go back inside. As soon as she’s there, she dials Peter’s number.
“Hey, you,” Peter greets almost immediately, the smile audible in his voice to match that unbridled fondness, and she feels herself soften just a bit. “I’ll be over in a half hour probably. May has been at FEAST all day, and she‘ll never admit defeat against these boxes, but I know her back hurts after a long day. So I just wanted to be here.”
“No, that’s completely fine. I, uh…I was actually just calling to say that you need to stop coming in through my window,” MJ tells him with a slight nervousness to her tone, only to hear silence on his end after. “Um. Hello?”
“Sorry,” he says, clearing his throat, as if she can’t tell that his voice didn’t just raise an octave. “Did I do something wrong? Is your dad mad at me? I thought I was doing so well too, but—”
“No, you didn’t do anything,” she immediately clarifies, him breathing out a sigh of relief and a slight laugh. “It’s just because my neighbors can see you wall-crawling in my bedroom when they’re cleaning their goddamn plates in the sink. So…that kind of ruins our routine.”
“Oh. It’s…I mean, I get it. That makes sense, actually.” He hums noncommittally. “I guess that leaves the front door for me. How normal.”
“Welcome to how the rest of the world lives. You’re lucky they just moved to New York and don’t understand who Spider-Man is yet.” MJ paces around her living room until she drops onto the couch, pulling her legs underneath her. “Didn’t realize how good we had it until I got neighbors.”
“It’s not that bad.” Peter laughs a little, shuffling around on his end. “But whoever designed that house made some choice decisions by putting their kitchen window facing your house.”
“Maybe if they got some curtains,” MJ says dryly.
“I’ll buy some for them.”
“Even though you don’t like them?”
“What? I never said that,” he splutters, indignant, even if she knows he’s just saying that to not come off as rude. “I mean, they’re kind of…you know. Out there. But they’re nice…? I don’t hate them.”
“I don’t hate them either, but that doesn’t mean I like them,” she drawls, Peter humming in amusement. “Brad is about one slip-up away from either figuring out that you’re the dude swinging around the city in spandex, or assuming that I’m having some secret love affair with him. He’s smart and too…observant.”
“Just like someone else I know,” Peter teases and she heaves out a sigh, a reluctant smile pulling at her lips.
“Just because I figured it out doesn’t mean he should.”
“You’re so right.” He pauses. “Now, a secret love affair? Imagine the headlines. Spider-Man sneaks into his mysterious sweetheart’s bedroom, unbeknownst to her other boyfriend, Peter.”
“Shut up,” MJ says, failing to withhold her laugh much to her own dismay, and he simply murmurs her name fondly, reverently. She knows it doesn’t take much to make him happy, if the pure delight in his voice from her laughing is anything to go by, and that feeling truly is contagious.
By the time Peter gets to her house later that night after their phone call has ended, she’s sitting on the porch swing with Jasmine by her feet, the sun having long since set. The streetlight illuminates the back of his silhouette like a halo as he greets her with a kiss and hands her a surprise bouquet of flowers that he picked up at Delmar’s shop on his way over.
“Pretty flowers for the prettiest girl in the world,” he tells her softly, and her heart thumps in her chest, so loud.
MJ knows this feeling isn’t brand new, far from it, but there comes a point where she can no longer beat around the bush and avoid the fact that this emotion, it’s a lot less of just being in ‘like’ and a lot more of being in love.
Admittedly, MJ now realizes that she shouldn’t have said no to their art class’s field trip.
In her defense at the time, it was MoMA, and the number of times she’s been there—even as someone who loves museums—is frankly embarrassing. So there was no way she was going to pay ten dollars for bus money just to go on that field trip, much to Ned and Peter’s disappointment.
“You’re our art expert. What are we supposed to do without you?” Ned asked, frowning.
“Follow the real art experts, also known as the museum docents,” she told them, not looking up from the book she was reading during lunch. “I’ve been to MoMA more times than I can count and have a collection of miniature paintings to prove it.”
“Woah, really?”
“Yeah. I think they’re cute,” MJ had admitted, and she noticed Peter staring at her with a smile all too wide just from hearing about her tiny painting collection from the gift shop. So naturally, she threw her roll at him, and naturally, he caught it. “Can I have that back?”
“Nope,” he said, biting into her bread, and in that moment, he was the worst person she knew.
But now, Peter is the worst person she knows for an entirely different reason—that being the fact that he’s completely gone, unreachable. Just up and left the field trip bus before it even got to MoMA, the only words he’d said to Ned being i need you to cause a distraction .
And okay, she can see the giant alien spaceship all the way from her neighborhood here, but that’s not what’s bothering her. It should be, but she’s more concerned with the fact that Peter hadn’t texted her at all before disappearing off the bus, which meant he expected to be back to tell her about it himself.
But she heard the whole story from Ned as the field trip got cancelled, and neither of them can reach Peter whatsoever right now, which causes that familiar stone of worry to form in the pit of her stomach. She hates this feeling, the way it amplifies even more when he’s not just the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. This is more than a neighborly task.
She knows the Avengers are fighting destructive aliens and as much as she wishes Peter would stay out of it, it’s just wired in him to help. The only thing worse than that though is how she and Ned can’t even help him help them—not when they’re here, sitting idly in her bedroom—and he’s there, on a spaceship.
“Am I just imagining things,” Ned prompts as he stares out of the window. “Or is that spaceship, like…getting higher in the sky?”
“Well,” MJ says, swallowing thickly as she follows his line of sight. “I wouldn’t say you’re crazy. Do you…think he’s still on it?”
“I guess we’ll find out?”
MJ presses her lips together, forcing herself to stop pacing and sits down on her bed, the flowers from him on her dresser almost mocking her now.
They don’t hear from Peter at all, or the next day, or the next. It turns into a waiting game in front of the news channels and she can’t stand it, especially knowing that he’s in space and anything could happen in space. Her stomach hurts and her brain conjures the worst case scenarios when she’s sleeping, an insult to injury.
The thought that continuously ruminates in MJ’s mind is that she didn’t even get to see him. Not because she needed a goodbye, or that she thought this would be the last time, but for the reassurance that he would come back to her, the promise he always presses to her forehead with a small smile on his lips.
It’s dumb that this is the one thing she can’t stop thinking about, because he’ll be back. He always comes back.
She and Ned camp out in May’s living room—she’s just as worried as they are, but at least they can worry in solidarity this way.
“Those…Avengers better be taking good care of him up there,” May mutters to herself as she stress-cooks a pan of lasagna. “He’s sixteen—he doesn’t need to be in space fighting aliens or…whatever the hell they are.”
“I agree,” Ned says, nodding vehemently, while MJ remains silent, a prickling sensation underneath her skin. She suddenly can’t shake the feeling that something is incredibly off, like the world is shifting in all the wrong ways. “Hey, guys…”
MJ doesn’t respond, swallowing hard, placing her hands onto the kitchen table. She stares and stares and stares until she can finally pinpoint the moment she realizes that maybe they really aren’t going to win this one.
It’s barely noticeable at first, but then it’s all she can see—the sight of pieces of her that are starting to float away, disintegrate and disappear into the air. Her body is almost numb to it. It’s not as if she’s being ripped apart atom by atom, but instead unraveling from existence in the most peaceful way possible, like a thread on a spool.
Mentally, it hurts. Not so much the idea of dying, but the idea of leaving everything she’s ever known behind with no time to even think about it.
But she looks over and sees that it’s not just her, that it’s May and Ned as well, so maybe not everything. The panic is there, so visible in their eyes, but none of them can conjure any words because it happens so fast.
Untethered to the world with nothing to hold onto, weightless as she drifts into the atmosphere, and as much as she wishes she could have a coherent last thought, she doesn’t. There’s not enough time.
It’s just existence, and then nothing at all.